Confrontation Act of War [AE annexation of Badazza and ES annexation of Ali]

[Euthanor Nachimar]

Each step was a carefully calculated action. Each motion, made with mathematic precision. Euthanor unbound the thread around his throat, letting the heavy black cloak slide down the soil, revealing his true identity. His beaked masked gaze turned North, his mind numbering each of the Hobgoblin raiders approaching the limits of the settlement. Some dozen buildings consisted the village. Fishermen huts and brothels and inns, long abandoned by the coming of the Alurmanat horde from the South.

It was there, by the well, where Euthanor decided it best to be the place he would make a stand. Once again in his element, he practiced siegecraft as if it was an arcane art, and he, a master sorcerer. As the Hobgoblin tribesmen rushed closer, waiving their weapons in taunting warcries, he let the empty vile fall off his gloved grip. His other arm holding calmly onto the black oak rod, crowned with a silver handle.

The Hobgoblins soon surrounded the man. Spears pointed and scimitars shined naked of their scabbards. Euthanor did not adopt any fighting stance. He welcomed them. He observed as they surrounded him, as if this was an act bound by inevitability, within his masterful plan...

It was.

Greenish smoke emerged from the well right behind the Plague Doctor. Some of the tribesmen took notice. Late, as it was, the mist had already expanded within their ranks.

"What is this sorcery, flesh-skin!?" one of the Hobgoblins grinned to the Plague Doctor. He aimed his scimitar to the man's throat in an attempt to intimidate him, alas, the Plague Doctor simply tilted his head, unamused.

"Sorcery?" He questioned. His voice judging and demanding, with the Osterian accent sounding loudly in each of his words. "Sorcery is heresy. I practice Science as taught by the God-Machine."

"What is this?!" the Hobgoblin insisted, pushing himself back as he accidentally inhaled the green smoke.

"A virus." Euthanor replied coldly. "One which only I, among here, have been injected with the antidote..."

"Viru-what? What is--"

Before the Hobgoblin finished his sentance, a loud scream made him jump back, coming from among the tribesmen ranks. Another scream followed, with one after the other, the warriors breaking down in coughing and blood-spitting.

"Virus..." Euthanor repeated. "Lung-tearing Skyworms, to be exact... They do no good in hot climate... But if put in moist environments..." he turned his head over his shoulder, looking down the well. "Oh..."


"They multiply.... Too fast!"

 

[Kingdom Of Espada]

The New Era - The Espadian Navy


The Alurmanat Xebec ships cut through the waters with precision, their sleek designs perfect for swift maneuvers and raiding ports. The blockade formed a tight net around the harbor, with their cannons raining fire upon the Espadian-held port. On land, the Alurmanat forces pressed forward, aiming to overwhelm with a coordinated attack from both sea and ground. Chaos reigned, the city engulfed in smoke and the cries of battle.

But then, on the horizon, a new terror emerged. Massive Espadian warships, their Sparnish designs towering over the enemy xebecs, broke through the haze of the ocean. Lady Nepheli, standing at the helm of her flagship, exuded an air of dominance. As the newly appointed War Master of the Night Court and the overarching commander of Espada’s forces during the day, Nepheli had awaited this moment with meticulous preparation.

These ships weren’t just vessels; they were symbols of Espada’s evolution into an empire. Larger, stronger, and armed with revolutionary firepower, the Espadian fleet represented a new era of naval warfare. The sheer sight of the massive ships approaching sent ripples of unease through the Alurmanat blockade.

Once within striking distance, Nepheli raised her hand, her voice cutting through the roar of the sea. “Fire!”

The Espadian cannons unleashed a thunderous barrage, tearing through the Alurmanat ships with devastating accuracy. The blockade, which had seemed impenetrable moments ago, began to falter. The smaller xebecs scattered, some attempting to retreat, others struggling to regroup against the overwhelming force.

“Keep the pressure on them,” Nepheli commanded, her tone cold and unwavering. “No ship leaves these waters intact. Let the world know Espada rules both land and sea.”

The Espadian fleet surged forward, crushing the blockade with methodical precision. As Nepheli’s flagship led the charge, the remaining Alurmanat ships were forced into disarray, their once-coordinated assault now a desperate bid for survival. The message was clear: Espada was no longer just a terror on land—it was an empire destined to dominate the seas as well.

 

[The Night Court]

On the King’s command, Caiden, the enigmatic leader of the blood-bound cultists, set forth to the west with his devoted followers. Their crimson banners fluttered in the wind, an ominous symbol of their loyalty to Marcus and the unrelenting force they represented. The cultists moved with eerie synchronization, their eyes filled with fervor as they marched to join the Black Wolf Company and the human Espada forces.

The journey west was not merely a tactical maneuver but a unification of Espada’s diverse strengths. As they moved, reinforcements from the surrounding lands bolstered their ranks—seasoned soldiers, hardened militias, and even local warriors inspired by the promise of Espada’s protection.

Caiden, ever the strategist, ensured that his cultists integrated seamlessly with the Black Wolf and other forces. Though his followers were viewed with suspicion by some, their ruthless efficiency on the battlefield and unshakable loyalty to the King quickly earned them grudging respect.

With their combined might, the Espadian forces prepared to face the Alurmanat hobgoblins. From the land, the Black Wolf and Caiden’s cultists would strike with devastating precision, while the reinforcements ensured their ranks were strong enough to withstand the Alurmanat assault. From the sea, Lady Nepheli’s fleet would ensure no enemy escaped, cutting off any chance of retreat or reinforcement.

The battle was shaping into a defining moment for Espada, a chance to demonstrate their dominance both on land and at sea. Under Marcus’ command, every piece of the Espadian war machine moved with purpose, ready to crush the Alurmanat Empire and solidify Espada’s claim over the region.

 

[The Night Court]

Under the King’s command, Agatha, Celeste, and Ahmad rallied their forces and rode to the south, their banners casting long shadows under the moonlit sky. Each leader carried with them the weight of Marcus’ will, and with their combined might, they would bring the wrath of the Night Court to any who dared threaten Espada’s borders.

Agatha, sharp and calculating, led a contingent of Red Mages, their arcane powers crackling in the air as they prepared to unleash destruction upon their enemies. Her command was precise, and the Red Mages followed her orders with unwavering loyalty, knowing her reputation as one of the King’s most trusted leaders.

Celeste, known for her cunning and resourcefulness, marched alongside her own company of Red Mages. Together, they wielded spells designed to devastate enemy ranks and fortify Espadian defenses. Celeste’s strategic mind ensured that the magical might of the Night Court was used to its fullest potential.

Ahmad, the fierce leader of the Ashirra, brought with him one of the strongest forces of the Night Court. Hardened warriors, honed through centuries of conflict, marched under his banner. Their loyalty to Ahmad was absolute, and their skill on the battlefield was unparalleled. His presence alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of those who would oppose Espada.

Accompanying these leaders was an army of vampires, ghouls, and undead, their numbers vast and unyielding. They moved as an unstoppable tide, their hunger for blood and destruction driving them forward. The sight of the Night Court’s monstrous forces marching together was a chilling reminder of Espada’s power and the terror they inspired.

As they approached the southern borders, their mission was clear: defend Espada’s lands, repel any threats, and ensure no enemy dared challenge the sovereignty of their King. Under the combined leadership of Agatha, Celeste, and Ahmad, the Night Court’s armies were a force unlike any other—a harbinger of destruction to those who dared stand against them.

 

[Marcus Aumont]

In the heart of the capital, Marcus, the Vampire King, presided over his inner sanctum, the dimly lit chamber emanating an air of foreboding power. At his side were some of the Night Court’s most fearsome champions, a testament to the might he held in reserve.

Towering above all was the massive Night Court champion, the ogre. A creature of unmatched strength and brutality, it stood as a living weapon, a symbol of destruction waiting to be unleashed. The ground seemed to tremble beneath its heavy footfalls, and even the most loyal of Marcus’ subjects regarded it with wary respect.

Flanking the King were Aamon and Barthlomew, two of the most gifted Red Mages in the Night Court. Their mastery of dark and arcane magics was unparalleled, and their loyalty to Marcus was unwavering. They often whispered spells of protection and foresight, their presence a constant reminder that Marcus’ rule was fortified by both martial strength and eldritch power.

The King himself stood over a sprawling map of Espada’s territories and beyond, its surface marked with intricate notations and troop movements. His crimson eyes scanned the battlefield in his mind’s eye, considering every possibility, every angle. He knew his plans were unfolding perfectly, each piece moving as he had envisioned.

When needed, Marcus reached out telepathically to his generals, his voice resonating in their minds with the authority of an undeniable command. He ensured their coordination remained flawless, guiding their actions from the shadows of his capital. His insight, sharpened by centuries of experience, allowed him to predict the enemy’s moves with terrifying accuracy.

What Marcus knew with certainty was this: the unification of the Night Court under his rule had transformed Espada into an unstoppable force. The armies of humans, vampires, ghouls, and monsters moved with a singular purpose, their will bound to his own.

As he traced a finger across the map, his lips curved into a cold, calculating smile. The world would soon learn what it meant to stand against Espada. Those who opposed them would be swept away, their lands consumed by the might of the Night Court, and their legacies extinguished under the shadow of Marcus’ empire.

 

[Harsul Bid-Ulza]

Squeling shrapnel flew over the decks, casting crew and ropes alike to the sea, while blinding flashes quake the decks, tossing the heavy guns of the xebecs overboard. The Espadan navy speared through and spared no moment to allow the Alurmanat ships to prepare for the coming battle. Charred bodies sunk beneath the waves, while the mighty galleys seeded panic in the corsairs of Maorkisharra.

It was then when, amidst the chaos onboard, when the scimitar cut through the quartermaster's exposed torso, casting the dying body over the bridge, down the deck. All the crew, once in panic, froze, turning to the mighty figure of Capitan Haderdeinn. Old; Very old, Haderdeinn was a heavily disfigured Hobgoblin Paleskin, with eyes drained of colour after decades of lashing seawater and flashing blackpowder. His reputation, or better, renown, as a corsair was legend in the Erovan Sea, having made a fortune by raiding shipping lanes of the Northern shores. After his clash with the Alurmanat nobility, he was brought low in a battle outside Tertur. But his fate wasn't sealed, as it is the irony in the Hobgoblin world...

During the battle, cannon shrapnel tore the skin of Haderdeinn's face, while he received twelve sword stabs and seven gunshot wounds, before he fell, last of his crew. The Alurmanat warlord, @Harsul Bid-Ulza ordered Haderdeinn's body to be tossed to the seas. For seven days and seven nights, Haderdeinn was fished out of the water by Harsul's ships and brought to the Alurmanat warlord.

What happened in the dark chambers of Bid-Ulza remained ever a mystery, yet Haderdeinn eventually emerged a naval commander of the Hobgoblin Empire.

His rule was iron and his words cat tails. No crew of his' was allowed to succum to fear, or disbelief.

"Man the gunports. Bring the ship about! Fire at the Softskins!"

The bosun took out the leather whip and cracked it upon one of the crewmen; Encouragement enough for all others to dash towards the portside cannons and prepare them for the coming fight.

The xebecs hoisted red flags, quick to relay the orders given by Haderdeinn. The ships turned about, presenting their portsides to the coming Espadan ships. Moments passed when both ships fell silent, before all cannons roared in flames and smoke, as the battle for the blockade finally joined.

 

[Aa-Baan Shatih "The Pale"]

"The enemy is bringing reinforcements." the Hobgoblin lieutenant spoke up, voicing the thoughts all the Alurmanat command staff had in view of the naval battle outside the bay.

"The sea is a diversion." Aa-Baan shook his head, turning his attention to the mountains. His keen eyes quick to recognize the elevated dust by the rushing Espadan troops making their way to Moranna Cruz...

"They are moving to the city."

Like a slithering serpent of iron and flame, a part of the Hobgoblin army broke from the main assembled force and marched quickly across the field, around the city, with foreriders mounted on their desert beasts galloping to intercept the Espadan reinforcements before they make entry to the city.
Meanwhile, the siege unfolded as planned. Ladders laid against the walls, while troops bled eachother at the battlements. Arrows flied over heads and more and more reserves were mobilized from the siege camp to assault the walls.

From farther back, heavy cannons were rolled into the trenchworks, with the exotic gunners and specialists quickly preparing them to fire against the city. The bombardment was brutal, with exploding cannonballs spreading fires across the city behind the siegeline, while the heavier pieces aimed at the walls and gatehouse, chipping off bit by bit the thick stone, dragging the city closer to the inevitable doom.

The foreriders gallopped, their expertese of mounted warfare demonstrated by the accuracy of the dozens of arrows shot as soon as they approached the Espadan army in a centaurean circle formation, supressing the infantry with archer fire, stalling, until the infantry made their way to block the Espadan advance to the city.

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

The Black Wolf vanguard warped off the path, to form a defensive bulwark ahead of the road against the Alurmanat push, giving the Espadan host time to cross to the city. Knights rushed forth, while the infantry pulled, letting the heavily armoured foot troops to shield the formation. Some of the knights hesitated crossing the field to the centaurean circle of the Hobgoblins, while the infantry tried to advance in support of the cavalry.
"Forth, champions of GOD!" Adosinda, the Commander-Chaplain proclaimed, her sword waiving over her head while her stallion reared by the tension of the conflict.
The Black Wolf knights charged against the Hobgoblin foreriders, only to find out their heavy gear an encumbrance before the lightly geared wolf riders, who simply rolled their circular formation farther from the knights, focusing their fire to them until their momentum eventually broke, with many knight and steed alike falling to their wounds...

As the knights retreated, the infantry rushed forth. Many of the foot troops already being carried back behind the lines, giving in to the bleeding and the pain of the many arrows stuck inbetween the heavy armours.

"We need Cavalry! Signal the Blood Host!" Adosinda shouted, pointing her sword to the distant Caiden's army. "We need to get rid of those riders! NOW!"

One of the Black Wolf knights gallopped up the trail of troops advancing, heading towards Caiden's host to carry the message of the Commander-Chaplain.

 

[The Night Court]

Caiden’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the battlefield, the chaos of war playing out before him. The Alurmanat forces were locked in battle on both fronts—hobgoblin soldiers clashing with Espadian forces on land while their xebec ships engaged Espada’s navy at sea. The scent of blood and smoke filled the air, a calling card of the chaos that drove his blood-bound cultists into a frenzy.

As the envoy from Adosinda approached and relayed her orders, Caiden wasted no time. His voice boomed with authority, commanding his blood-bound warriors with a zeal that matched their bloodlust. “To formation! The Black Wolf Company needs us—let them see what we are capable of!”

The cultists moved swiftly, their movements eerily synchronized, driven by their unrelenting devotion to Marcus and their thirst for battle. They assembled into a cavalry formation with brutal efficiency, their crimson banners waving in the wind as they prepared to charge.

Caiden rode at the forefront, his presence a force of nature. His eyes burned with a feral intensity, his weapon gleaming under the dim light as he raised it high. “We carve a path through their ranks! Show no mercy to these creatures—they will know the wrath of Espada!”

With that, the blood-bound cavalry surged forward, their charge aimed directly at the hobgoblin forces. The thunder of hooves and the cries of the cultists filled the battlefield as they cleaved through the enemy lines with terrifying precision. The hobgoblins, caught off guard by the sheer ferocity of the attack, would need to scramble to hold their ground.

Caiden’s men cut a bloody swath through the enemy ranks, their movements almost primal yet calculated. The blood-bound cultists fought with a fervor that seemed almost supernatural, their loyalty to Marcus and Espada turning them into an unstoppable force.

 

[The Night Court]

As the Alurmanat xebec ships retaliated, their sleek vessels darting into position to counter the Espadian assault, Lady Nepheli stood firm at the helm of her flagship. Her eyes gleamed with determination as she observed the chaos on the waves. The smaller, agile ships of the hobgoblins maneuvered with speed and precision, but Nepheli had no intention of allowing them to maintain control of the blockade.

“Bring the fleet into position!” she commanded, her voice carrying over the din of battle. The massive Espadian warships crafted with the finest Sparnish designs began to move with purpose.

These ships, larger and more heavily armed, were built not for nimble skirmishes but for domination. Nepheli strategy was clear: turn the hobgoblins trap into their own prison.

As her orders rang out, the Espadian armada began to form an encircling pattern, driving the xebec ships toward the center of the battlefield. The booming roar of cannons filled the air as Espadian ships unleashed devastating broadsides, their firepower unmatched by the lighter Alurmanat vessels. The sea churned with debris and the cries of hobgoblin sailors as the Espadians advanced relentlessly.

Nepheli’s flagship took the lead in the assault, its cannons blazing as it broke through the enemy line. “Box them in!” she barked to her officers. “Force them into their own trap! They sought to blockade us now they will taste what true naval power is!”

The Espadian ships pressed forward, creating an iron wall that steadily closed in on the hobgoblin vessels. The xebec ships, though swift, began to falter under the unyielding pressure. The Espadian fleets superior numbers and firepower started to take their toll, and the once-organized Alurmanat formation dissolved into chaos.

Nepheli’s strategy was merciless. As the xebec ships attempted to flee or regroup, Espadian ships cut them off, driving them further into the heart of the blockade. The clash of metal and the roar of explosions filled the air, a testament to Espadas might on the seas.

The struggle for control of the blockade raged on, but the tide had clearly turned. Nepheli’s confidence grew as the Alurmanat fleet found itself outmatched, boxed in by the very siege they had sought to impose. This was not just a battle it was a demonstration of Espadas transformation into a force that ruled both land and sea.

 

[Aa-Baan Shatih "The Pale"]

"Sarrrrriff! Sssssssssssssariff!" the thin, sickly-looking reptillian cloaked with a thin black fabric walked in unstable disordered paces towards the mighty Hobgoblin warlord.

Aa-Baan's attention had already turned to the distance, where the dust lifted by the mounted action indicated the spiking engagement taking place against the Espadan reinforcements. His eagle-eye had already spotted the blood-bound horde descending from the mountain passage, towards the wolf riders.

"Sssssssssavagesssssssss! Redzzzz with blood fury!" the reptillian hissed loudly, his weak long hand pointing towards the mountains. "Lizardssss- wake! No army of Esssspada can strrrrrrrrike against banner of the Fire Thrrrrrrrrone, or war bringsss!"

"Quiet!" Aa-Baan barked, causing the reptillian to suddenly alter its scales to a pale colour, as if its fear was projected in the altering shade of its own self.

The kind of the reptillian the Hobgoblins called "Truth Speakers". A rather rare and fragile breed of reptillians, contrasting strongly other scaled monsters one would consider apex in their respective environments, the Truth Speakers were as sickly and as easy to break as an infant. They had found themselves under the protection of the Hobgoblin Alurmanat palace, serving for their arguably unique gift: Truth.
These insect-eating reptillians were thralls of deities even the Hobgoblins considered a mystery. Their ability, however, to see through things and people alike, able to even read truth and lies through the weak-minded, made them inquisitors as well as scribes of the Empire. The innate effect of changing their scales' colour like chameleons based on their emotional state, a welcome side-effect the Hobgoblins usually used to torment the Truth Speakers with.

Aa-Baan in particulare resented the Truth Speakers. If he could, he would execute the pittiful mistakes of Creation. It was unfortunatelly illegal, according to Hobgoblin law, to kill one such creature. Thralls abused by nature and masters alike, indeed, yet the Truth Speakers were considered tainted by unknown and uncontrollable deities, or even worse, demons, by the Hobgoblins. To kill one such creature, would be to taunt the demon within or around it... And the Hobgoblins dreaded such events.

As the Hobgoblins reinforcements moved onward, the Wolf Riders started moving their Centaurean circles back, pulling from the descending Blood Host, luring them farther from the Espadan lines in the process, and closer to the Hobgoblin infantry.
As soon as the Wolf Riders reached their allies, they broke formation, riding behind the foot troops, who formed a shield wall.
Grunts and retchlings, it was anyone's guess they would not stand against a Blood Host charge. Alas, although their lines could crumble, their numbers would force Caiden's troops to a tedious slaughter which would offer the time for the real counter attack: The Hobgoblin Tribesmen, advancing behind the frontline. They would prove a much stronger a foe, for the Blood Host.... Meanwhile, the Wolf Riders would ride up the slope, the wolves much more akin to such climbs than horses, raining down arrowfire to the charging host to break their momentum.

 

[Harsul Bid-Ulza]

Haderdein observed as his corsairs pushed their attack against the Espadan navy. The Xebec, contrasting the bulky and heavy Sparnish warship, were small and rather fast ships, made from eons of pirate tradition of the Southern shores of the Erovan Sea. As the sleek crafts pierced through the waves, their sail masters perfectly maneuvering them through the fight, their smaller guns shot with precision, cracking holes in the lower parts of the Sparnish ships to let the waves do the Death Harvesting.

"All to starboard!!!" the Human captain roared, his eyes widening as he saw the gunports of the Sparnish Galleon openning. Before the sails master managed to turn the ship, the bombardment of cannonballs and smoke-trailed explosive and chain-shots cracked the xebec open; The masts breaking in two,, crashing down to the panicking crew, while flames emerged from below deck, casting entire parts of the upper levels into a thousand shrapnel rain of fire.

Haderdein knew such a battle would not be won without sacrifice. And the lives of corsairs, slaves and buccaneers had never been a concern to take into account....

"Chains on! Break their necks!" he barked to the quartermaster, who quickly flogged the crew in action.

The cannons of the Xebec spat flame, focusing their attack in the shutting gap between the Sparnish ships that pushed to close the gap of their trap. A seasoned naval commander, Haderdein used the high maneuverability and speed the Xebecs could achieve to pour his fleet through gaps and the closing edge, while inflicting tremendous damages to the enemy leading ships, instead of engaging the entire fleet which he knew he couldn't outgun...

 

[The Night Court]

Caiden’s grin widened as he laid eyes on the hobgoblin tribesmen, their hulking forms and fierce war cries marking them as a greater challenge than the rabble they had just cut through. His blood-bound cultists, already drenched in the carnage of battle, let out guttural cheers of their own, their fervor only stoked by the sight of an enemy that might actually push them to their limits.

“Now this is what we were made for!” Caiden roared, his voice filled with exhilaration as he raised his weapon high. His men echoed his cry, their bloodlust surging as they surged forward to meet the hobgoblin warriors head-on.

Steel clashed against steel as the two forces collided. The tribesmen fought with brutal efficiency, their strength and skill evident in the way they held their ground against the ferocious onslaught of the blood cult. Blades bit into flesh, shields splintered under the force of powerful strikes, and the battlefield became a chaotic frenzy of combat.

Caiden, ever the embodiment of violent ecstasy, carved through his foes with practiced savagery. He dodged a heavy swing from a hobgoblin warrior before driving his blade through the creatures gut, twisting with a wicked laugh before pulling it free in a spray of gore. “Good! Fight harder! Make this worthwhile!”

His cultists, spurred on by their leaders energy, fought with reckless abandon, reveling in the challenge. Blood slicked the ground as they tore into the enemy, some falling, but more pressing forward with unrelenting aggression.

Despite their strength, the hobgoblins began to falter. The sheer madness and ferocity of the blood cult were unlike anything they had faced before. They had expected soldiers disciplined formations and structured warfare. Instead, they were met with something far worse: an army that wanted to bleed, to suffer, to revel in the carnage.

Caiden laughed as he met the gaze of a particularly massive hobgoblin champion, one who had cut down several of his men already. He could feel the raw power emanating from the beast, and it only made his hunger for battle grow.

“Come on then!” he growled, rolling his shoulders and tightening his grip on his weapon. “Let’s see what you’re really made of!”

And with that, he lunged forward, eager to test himself against this new foe, his cultists battling with the same manic fervor that made them one of the most feared forces in Espada.

 

[Kingdom Of Espada]

The Alurmanat xebec ships darted between the towering Espadian warships, using their superior maneuverability to outflank the heavier vessels. Their chained cannons tore through Espadian masts and rigging, crippling the lead ships as crewmen were ripped from the decks. Flames licked the sky as splintered wood and bodies crashed into the waves. The hobgoblins fought with ruthless precision, striking at the heart of the Espadian fleet where brute force could not win them the battle.

Nepheli’s eyes narrowed as the tide of battle momentarily shifted. She had anticipated their agility but not their sheer audacity. The xebecs were designed for speed and maneuverability, not for direct engagements. If they thought they could dance around the might of the Espadian navy unchallenged, they were mistaken.

“Pull the lead ships out of their cannon range! Reform the line and let them come to us!” she commanded, her voice carrying over the chaos of battle. The Espadian fleet, disciplined even in the face of disorder, responded swiftly. The larger ships broke formation, shifting away from the immediate threat, allowing the enemy to overextend in their pursuit.

“Target their xebec fleet sink them!” Nepheli ordered.

With the shift in formation, the Espadian gunners adjusted their aim, focusing their fire on the smaller, more vulnerable ships. The roar of cannon fire echoed across the sea as the new wave of destruction began. The xebecs, while fast, could not withstand the sheer force of Espada’s broadside barrages. Cannons ripped through hulls, sending shattered vessels and panicked hobgoblin sailors into the sea. The waters turned dark with wreckage and blood as the smaller ships were picked off one by one.

But Nepheli was not content with just breaking their formation. She wanted the head of their commander.

“Bring my ship forward! Find their leader, I will end this battle myself!”

Her flagship surged ahead, cutting through the chaos with an unrelenting course toward the heart of the Alurmanat fleet. She would not let this battle drag on?she would show them, and the world, that Espada’s naval might was absolute.

 

[The Night Court]

The southern border of Ali trembled under the weight of the advancing Night Court. The sky darkened as if in omen, the sun veiled by the looming presence of an army unlike any the hobgoblins had faced before. Vampires clad in crimson and black, ghouls with gnashing teeth and hollow eyes, red mages wreathed in eldritch fire, and horrors beyond mortal reckoning marched in perfect unity. Their banners fluttered ominously in the wind, the sigils of Espada and the Night Court displayed as a herald of death.

At the forefront of this dread host rode Agatha, Celeste, and Ahmad each a legend in their own right.

Agatha, draped in crimson robes, led the Red Mages with an eerie calm. Their arcane chants filled the air, a chorus of destruction that promised to unleash fire and ruin upon their enemies. The Red Mages of the Night Court were scholars of devastation, and under Agatha’s command, they would burn a path through any who dared resist.

Celeste, a cunning infiltrator and deadly spellcaster, moved among her forces with cold precision. Though she was no war master, her command over magic and subterfuge made her indispensable in warfare. Where she walked, illusions and hexes followed, ensuring that the enemy would be overwhelmed not only by force but by fear itself.

Ahmad, the leader of the Ashirra, rode at the head of his devoted warriors. The Ashirra were one of the deadliest forces within the Night Court’s disciplined, silent, and merciless. The gleam of their curved blades under the dim light was the last thing many enemies would ever see.

The hobgoblins at Porto de Padam had prepared for war but not for this.

The Night Court’s march was methodical, inexorable. As they approached, an unnatural stillness settled over the battlefield. The air grew thick with unseen terror, the creeping realization that this was no ordinary army. This was annihilation given form.

The first order had yet to be given, yet the hobgoblins already felt the weight of defeat pressing upon them. The Night Court was not here to merely defend Ali’s borders.

They were here to erase their enemies. To reclaim the lands of Sparnia in the name of Espada. And to leave nothing but ruins in their wake.

 

[Marcus Aumont]

Marcus sat upon his throne in Ali, his gaze fixed upon the grand war map before him, every movement of his armies unfolding like a carefully orchestrated game of death. A young human woman stood beside him, her body trembling ever so slightly as his fangs pierced her wrist, drawing deep from her lifeblood. The warmth of it spread through him, sharpening his thoughts as he contemplated his next move.

From the reports reaching him, the war was progressing as anticipated. Nepheli had seized control of the naval battle, proving Espada’s dominance on the seas, while the Black Wolf and Blood Cult carved through the enemy on land with relentless precision.

To the south, his armies had arrived at Porto de Padam, their mere presence sending waves of terror through the hobgoblins entrenched there. Thus far, no engagement had begun, the Night Court forces stood poised at the border, a looming storm of death awaiting the slightest provocation. But Marcus had no intention of simply holding ground. If the enemy refused to flee, they would be given no mercy. The southern lands of Sparnia would be reclaimed, and those who defied Espada would be erased.

He released the woman’s wrist, watching as the crimson trickled down her pale skin. His forces were in position. The world would soon see the full might of Espada not just as a kingdom, but as an empire.

 

[Vyona of the Wolf Clan]

Vyona fought with a savage grin on her face centre of the line as her Gladiators fought around her. They were an eclectic bunch humans, orcs, trolls, goblins, ogre’s, werewolves any creature that had been deemed fierce enough for the fighting pits that Vyona had rescued in exchange for their service. They were a tough breed, they’d had to be to survive slavery then the fighting pits where she recruited from. Vyona had a general rule for the humans that they needed to survive at least five fights before joining. Unless she saw real talent or opportunity. Trolls and Ogres she snatched up as soon as she could.

She’d even gotten several offers from slavers directly for replenishment of her ranks, but Vyona preferred to see there talents on the sand first, not to mention she wanted to be a rescuer to her troops which buys loyalty worth more than gold.

Vyona caught a hobgoblins spear thrust on her shield and responded with a savage war cry as her axe cleaved into his skull down to his rib cage.

“Muskets!” She called out in command behind her.

Several of her humans brought their muskets forward waiting for her command to fire a volley. Vyona nodded fierce pride at there discipline. They’d been drilling now none stop. Vyona now knew as fierce as her people were they had refused to change with the times, and warfare was an ever changing battlefield. Quite literally.

Vyona waited as the mass of hobgoblins shuffled and snarled hyping themselves up for another charge. She’d wait until the last moment before giving the order to fire. Vyona was tempted to grab one of the muskets and aim herself but knew she’d be of more use standing off to the side to give the order. All the tactic manuals said so.

The hobgoblins surged in a roaring snarl and charged. Wait for it… wait for it…. Vyona wanted to see the white of there eyes. Now!

“Fire!” Vyona commanded in a roar swing her axe down in signal. The Musket volley fired when the hobgoblins were close enough to smell their foul stench. It was a devastating effect as the first two and some of the third rank crumpled like young boys playing at being soldiers.

“Charge!” Vyona roared taking the lead her ogre’s and trolls flanking her either side cleaving through the faultering ranks of hobgoblins. It wouldn’t be long before they ran. Vyona struggled not to give into the blood lust, the beserker rage. When the Hobgoblins ran she would have to give the order to pull back and reform on the line. Lest her company overstretch before their own lines, be surrounded and cut off. As had nearly happened in her last battle.

Vyona was determined to learn from her mistakes.

Her Gladiators cut a swathe into the hobgoblins who took the charge with shock, then with unfirm resistance, shaking, breaking and they ran. The Gladiators roared with victory, but Vyona quickly put her shrill whistle in her mouth and blew a sharp long note for attention. The shrill whistle hurt all of their ears but did it’s job and halted the continuing of the slaughter.

“Reform on the line!”

 

[Harsul Bid-Ulza]

The waves crashed upon the bulwarks of Morana Cruz, crimson by the blood spilled. Broken half-burned pieces of hull and tattered sails all fell washed off, for the less orderly hobgoblin scavengers and camp followers to try their luck in their finds. Stray cannonfire blasted upon the beach, with the cannonballs driving deep craters in the sand without exploding, quickly silenced by the water and the crushing beach.

The Alurmanat corsairs rushed up the masts, stretching what was left of the tattered sails to give additional speed to their xebecs, as the Espadan navy's circle of death was yet to close. Haiderdeinn, mighty and relentless in his command, used his larger hull to push the lesser ships against the Espadan towering sailing warships, causing them to follow a collision course. A vile tactic not so rarely used by such cutthroats, to salvage the higher valued warships in the expense of their lessers.

They were all expendable. The Southern Shores crawled with cutthroats and buccaneers, easy to be turned or forced into serving the Alurmanat masters of the waves. As of Haiderdeinn? Oh, his time had long now came. He was already dead, for as much as he cared.

The Empire, though... Wasn't.

As the mighty Espadan navy sailed ever closer to the fleeing xebecs, the smaller cannons of the latter failed to compete. One after the other, the small hobgoblin ships blazed in the fiery lash of doom, as the hits scored by the enemy pierced deep enough to ignite the ammunition stores. One after the other, the corsair ships cracked open, or rammed against the Espadan keels with little chance of success. Instead of pushing for a boarding operation, many of the Espadan captains chose to watch the enemy burn, continuing cannonfire volleys or openning fire with the deck cannonnettes and rifles.

"Lower the Red!" Haiderdeinn finally gave in, acknowledging the Espadan supremacy over the seas of Badazza. "Pull the ships South!"

The Hobgoblin xebecs started maneuvering outward from the bay. The large red flag hoisted on their masts, signifying their ill-intent, lowered. An end to a most failed a battle.

 

[Aa-Baan Shatih "The Pale"]

"CRUSH THEMMMM!!! TEAR EMMM 'OL!!!!"

The slave-warrior masses of the gretchlings were massacred by the furious push of the Espadan army and their allies. As Caiden's horde descended, many of the frontline troops were trampled to death before even lifting their weapons aloft. So much for the Alurmanat legions and their renown, many thought... Most wrongful a statement....

The earth shook and the skies weeped, as the drumming of the Maorkisharra Tribes, the plunder driven hobgoblin army pushed onward. Equipped with iron weapons and a variety of armours, the tribesmen of the Alurmanat were the very bulwark of their armies in Badazza. Though far lesser when compared to the Sparnish war machine, the tactics employed by the tribesmen were born of the ruthless and cunning warlords that flogged them into the carnage: Numbers.

And oh... Were they many yet!?

A horde of Hobgoblins descended from the valley, lifting dust on their wake. Atop peaks and hills, their tribal warlords climbed and cast their black words to their warriors, casting leaves of their embers and burning weed, source of their might. Fumes ascended from the large cauldrons carried by gretchling slaves, influencing with their scent the hobgoblins into a berserk state.

The muskets spat flame, and throuhg it, countless shots flew towards the coming waves. In their dozens, the hobgoblins fell, many of which wounded, yet not managing to stand back before their own comrades stumbled and trampled them to death. And so, the tide refused to give in.

Like a foul tempest, the Alurmanat horde crashed upon the enemy line in fury and bloodlust. Their cleaver swords and scimitars cutting deep, while champions from all sides jumped into the carnage with taunting words of death and promise of debauchery.

As the battle was joined, from through the Alurmanat horde emerged hulking beasts; Trolls of the distant deserts, captured and enthralled to the service of the hobgoblin masters, brought to bare with promises of carnage and torment in disobidience. Now, released of their bronze bonds, these monsters went rampant, running amok as they let themselves relish into the battle's tension, to which the weed inhaled and shrooms consumed urged them to champion.

Many flew off the lines with merely a single swipe of their huge spiked clubs, while the beasts themselves endured dozens of shots and arrowfire, yet refusing to fall...

A whole new challenge, for the Espadan hosts.

Across the land, the city of Moranna Cruz weeped, as the first buildings caught fire. Black smoke shrouded the districts of the port, while the few remaining defenders started pulling from the walls that fell one after the other to the Hobgoblin tide. Far weaker than initially planned, the battle for the city was yet to be decided. Although doomed, the defenders saw the bloody battle in the sea and the distant banners of Espada as a sign, and rallied to it, fighting against time and attrition, for the Espadan relief force to reach them.

Alas... It was already too late.

"SSSssssssssssssssssarrrrif." The reptillian scribe voiced, approaching cowardly to the Alurmanat general it served. "Wingzzzzzz an'- Lettersssssss yes?" the reptillian reached with its weakly, skinny scaled hands towards Aa-Baan's side, offering a scrolled parchment.

The general spared a short gaze to it. Seeing the development at sea. He had to secure the city's surrender before the new Espadan foe could influence the outcome of the campaign. And for that to happen, his reserves had to be spent wisely.

"When the walls are secured. Then, we send the wings..."

Aa-Baan gambled for time.

The sea was lost. And yet, without the Espadan land forces, Moranna Cruz stood no chance....!

 

[The Night Court]

Nepheli stood firm at the helm, watching as the hobgoblins, in a last act of desperation, sent their smaller ships crashing into the Espadian vessels, attempting to force them into chaotic collisions. The maneuver was reckless, but she had anticipated their desperation.

“Adjust course! Let them throw themselves upon the waves like the drowning rats they are,” she commanded, her voice sharp and unwavering. The Espadian fleet responded with precision, their superior ships shifting formation to minimize the damage. The Sparnish vessels, built for endurance and firepower, weathered the impact better than the hobgoblins had likely hoped, but the tactic had caused its share of disorder.

As she steadied her forces, Nepheli’s sharp eyes caught sight of the enemy raising red flags across their remaining fleet. A clear signal of surrender. The hobgoblins were retreating.

She could have pursued, driven them into the depths of the sea, but she did not. There was no need. The message had already been sent—Espada ruled these waters now. Instead, she turned to her officers, her expression one of satisfaction.

“Let them flee,” she declared. “They know now what it means to challenge Espada at sea. And next time, there will be no retreat.”

With the enemy routed and the blockade shattered, the seas belonged to Espada. Nepheli had no need to chase ghosts. She had already won.