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

[Aa-Baan Shatih "The Pale"]

"By the will of God, Sparnia shall be united once again. The kingdoms of the West will become one, and His will shall deliver the faithful from the Abyss"

From the Holy Book of Saints​

Many had prophecised the coming of the End Times after the Revelation of the Divine over the Sparnish lands. As the peoples of Espada rejoiced to their new patron and ruler, revering him unlike any other past King of the land, the once exhausted warriors of the Sparnish grew renewed vigor to enact the will of their new master. One after the other, the lands of Sparnia, Valladille and other countries fell under the might of the new Empire on the rise. Those who had defied the will of Marcus Aumont, King of Espada, had either been crushed by the mighty Espadan armies, or grown reluctant to engage the steamrolling advance of his expanding realm, with many even considering to approach through diplomacy in hopes of securing a fair intergration of their lands to the soon to be Empire of Espada.

Alas, while the world of Day continued to have pockets of resistance, minor military action was sufficient to bring these "rebels" to heel without any real mobilization required, the world of Night had a will of its own, and many were the voices who stood a challenge to the King's dominion. An act far worse than a mortal's opposition; An act the King sought to make an example of himself...

Across the Straits, powers beyond had taken notice of the Espadan expansions. Powers ancient and mighty, choosing to act preemptivelly to challenge the path of Marcus Aumont to the South, and send a loud message as a warning. The Alurmanat Empire, and its Hobgoblin masters, brought forth an invasion of thousands upon the province of Badazza, bordering the newly intergraded Ali, of Espada. Although the mighty armies of the Empire were more than a match for any Badazzan noble to counter, the campaign bogged down when the major cities were put under siege...

Siege of Moranna Cruz

The day dawned without a sun over Badazza. Black clouds loomed over the grey shrouding of the smoke emitted from the vast siege camps that were split from the stout walls of Moranna Cruz only by five hundred paces of burned land and charred bodies, left overs from the past attempts of the Alurmanat horde against the city. Weeks it had been, ever since the last assault, post which the besiegers had changed their strategy, seeing the high casualties sustained.

Mighty armies the Alurmanat had fielded, yet they were not enough to cut off all the supply lines from and to Moranna Cruz, with the city being supplied by smugglers from both sea and land, allowing the defenders to stand for a little while longer, while the last resort attempt was made by the city's commander.
Under the cover of night, messengers were dispatched to Espada, begging the mighty King to assist them in their desperate stand against their ancestral foe, in exchange of willingly bowing to the Espadan rule afterwards... A wild gambit, which threatened to bring the two major powers of the region in a direct Confrontation...

The Defilement of Ali​

While Espada and the world of Day holds breath before the spiking crisis in Badazza, and the ever-increasing probability of war with the Hobgoblin Alurmanat Empire, the World of Night fights a war of their own, as the past sins of the Ashirra Vampires finally meets the divine wrath of Marcus Aumont in a brutal retaliation against their mighty powerbase in Ali. Far from the preying eyes of the world of Day, the Night Court bares its teeth and launches a brutal attack to make an example to all the scheming segments of the Night Court who yet consider standing up against the King of Vampires....!

 

[Marcus Aumont]

The Defilement of Ali​

From the moment Marcus stepped into Ali, the battle had been inevitable. Ahmad’s fury had been palpable, his attacks relentless, but Marcus had weathered storms far greater than this one. Each strike from the Ashirra leader was a display of mastery, sand and shadow coiling into deadly weapons, but Marcus matched every blow with cold, calculated precision. He had fought for centuries, and the lessons of countless wars had taught him one truth: emotion was a weakness, and Ahmad was drowning in it.

The Ashirra vampires came in waves, their resilience and strength undeniable. They fought with the discipline of warriors who had honed their skills over lifetimes. Marcus admired their ferocity, even as he cut them down. He could see why Ahmad had been able to inspire such loyalty; the Ashirra were noble in their ruthlessness, willing to die for a cause they believed was just. But Marcus’s authority was absolute, and their rebellion—no matter how honorable in their eyes—was a challenge that could not be ignored.

The duel with Ahmad raged through the halls of the palace, the sands themselves turned into weapons as Ahmad fought with the strength of a leader desperate to protect his people. Marcus could feel the weight of the hatred Ahmad bore for him, the festering wound of the pureblood he had killed long ago. Ahmad’s grief and anger fueled every strike, but Marcus was unyielding. He would not be swayed by sentiment or driven to anger. He fought with purpose, every blow designed to break Ahmad, to strip him of his defiance.

The tide of battle shifted with the arrival of the Night Court’s armies. From the palace steps, Marcus could see his forces flooding the city. Celeste, riding alongside the towering ogre champion, led the charge with devastating spells. Undead, ghouls, lower vampires, and cultists overwhelmed the Ashirra defenders, their numbers a stark reminder of the power Marcus commanded. The Ashirra fought valiantly, refusing to yield even as the city was consumed by chaos.

As the Night Court’s forces encircled Ali, the final moments of the battle played out atop the palace. Ahmad, battered and bloodied, still fought with the pride of a warrior. Marcus, his patience finally spent, disarmed him with a swift and brutal strike, sending his weapon clattering to the stone floor. Ahmad lunged in desperation, his form turning to sand once more, but Marcus was ready. With a surge of his power, he caught Ahmad mid-assault, gripping him with inhuman strength.

“This ends now,” Marcus said, his voice cold as the grave. With a single, decisive motion, he hurled Ahmad from the palace steps. The Ashirra leader crashed to the ground below, his body shattered and tethered by his defeat. Marcus watched as the surviving Ashirra vampires, still loyal to their leader, swarmed him in a futile attempt to defend their fallen master. Their attacks were frenzied, their loyalty unwavering even in the face of certain death.

“Undying loyalty to your dead patron, how noble… you would all die then to just simply submit, let it be known that you will in fact all die if you do not submit.”

The Night Court’s armies moved in, their presence overwhelming as they began to crush the last remnants of the rebellion. The city of Ali, once a bastion of the Ashirra’s pride and defiance, was now under siege. Marcus stood atop the steps, his figure imposing against the chaos below, as his armies demonstrated their dominance. This was not just a battle for control—it was a statement. The Ashirra’s rebellion would be stamped out, and the Night Court’s unity, under Marcus’s unchallenged rule, would be restored.

As the Ashirra rushed forward, Marcus would utter one word. “Begone.” The King commanded as those that rushed him would simply stop mid air and then be flung back forcefully out of his immediate area. This was the power of the Vampire King that stood above the Nighy court that secretly ruled over the world of day.

 

[Aa-Baan Shatih "The Pale"]

​

The scale-mail clanked against the leather, as the dust settled. Warriors beat their large shields or their chests with curled fists, embracing the thrill of the battle that unfolded. Inside the circular pit marked by the gathered warriors, the mighty Hobgoblin warlord knelt. His eyes fixated on the bruised Man who dragged himself away, his body too exhausted and battered to allow him to stand up for yet another round of combat against the much superior champion and arch-enemy.

Aa-Baan Shatih reached down the soil and picked the scimitar. The handle was still hot from the Man's grip. He stood up, and approached in menacing steps the man who had almost reached the limit of the circle. Warriors from the gathered spat and cursed to the Man, while others roared for him to stand and fight, for it was too much the coin they had placed on him on the betting table. Others smirked and grinned, rubbing their greenish hands in anticipation of the reward.

Aa-Baan himself had taken no part in the betting. His origins from the desert tribes had always made him much more susceptive to anger and violence when compared to the crimson-skinned royals of the Empire. The deep cut across his skull, once delivered so powerfully that it partially cracked the bone beneath, was a constant reminder of his masters' wrath to his ways. And yet, it was his gift of war that allowed him a chance of redemption. Unlike the noble generals of Maorkisharra, he was tasked with subjugating tribes and quenching revolts across the desert, never to walk in the gold-gilded halls of the Capital, or be blessed by the Holy Flame of the High Temple.

He had made his terms with his fate. He had accepted the warrior's path as it was offered to him, enforced with enough brutality for even him to respect the decree, never to challenge the line of Kishmen again. Loyalty and obedience were fundamental principles of the Empire which stood for many a century, after all.

He approached the Man. He had proven himself a skilled duelist. Although foreign to wielding a scimitar -These Bashar prefered straight-pointed blades instead of the Maorkisharran curved scimitars and jatagans; Too soft-skinned to embrace what was, to Aa-Baan's perspective, a much superior weapon of war- the Bashar was yet worthy of his rank as Captain. He had stood in defiance of Aa-Baan, being him who demanded death by duel instead of accepting the dishonourable beheading that was ordered for the entire crew of the "LaSol"; A smuggling ship caught breaking the seaborne blockade around the city.

Aa-Baan accepted; He had never backed down from a challenge. It was that the way he brought the desert tribes to his banner, adding to the regulars that were commissioned by the Kishmen.

He reached out with his hand, offering the scimitar to the man on the ground, to the latter's surprise. An act that caused silence to spread across the gathered warriors.

"You are brave. You are a Captain, Bashar." Aa-Baan nodded. His voice a clattering noise, heavy and low by the constant barking of orders and raging warcries over the years. A learned veteran and warrior of the blade, evident to each of his words.

The man reached and picked the scimitar. His confusion visible on his bleeding face.

"W.... What now?" he asked.

"Now, you leave, Bashar." Aa-Baan declared. "To the city, to die a warrior, or the fields, to die a coward. Your head sticks on your shoulders today, Bashar. I do not execute worthy warriors. You Bashar have left too few of those. And you will need them all, soon."

 

[Kingdom Of Espada]

Siege of Moranna Cruz​

The situation outside the city of Ali was tense, with the nearby city of Badazza becoming the focal point of the growing conflict. Though not yet part of the Espada Empire, Badazza’s leaders recognized the looming threat posed by the advancing forces of the Alurmanat Empire. Hobgoblins, the backbone of Alurmanat’s military might, had begun moving directly into Badazza, preparing to challenge Espada’s influence in the region. Sensing the danger, the people of Badazza sent an emissary to the Espada army, pleading for aid against the hobgoblins.

The citizens of Badazza, harboring a deep hatred for the hobgoblins, were more than willing to submit to Espada’s rule. Stories of Marcus, the so-called walking god and defender of the faith, had reached their ears. Many believed that under Marcus’ divine leadership, Espada stood as a righteous force destined to destroy their enemies and unite the lands under a banner of faith and strength.

Unbeknownst to the Alurmanat Empire, Marcus had been preparing for this conflict for months, perhaps years. His foresight had ensured that much of Espada’sq armies were stationed along the borders of Ali, ready to act at a moment’s notice. The hobgoblins, confident in their might, underestimated both Marcus’ strategic acumen and the unwavering resolve of the Espadian forces.

The emissary’s request for aid quickly made its way to Commander Loren, who was leading Espada’s army on the frontlines. The missive was soon delivered to Espada’s War Master, Nepheli, who would oversee the war efforts alongside other key figures. The stage was set for a massive clash between two formidable powers, with the city of Badazza hanging in the balance. The question was not if Espada would act, but when—and with what level of ferocity.

Marcus’ faith-driven empire had no intention of backing down, and Badazza’s desperate plea would only fuel the fire of Espada’s righteous campaign.

 

[The Night Court]

The Defilement of Ali​

The streets of Ali ran crimson under the combined onslaught of the Night Court’s forces. Celeste led the charge, her crimson spells lighting the skies and turning the Ashirra defenders to ash. Beside her, the hulking ogre champion smashed through barricades and battalions alike, his earth-shaking blows unmatched. Caiden, commander of the blood-bound cultists, coordinated waves of zealots, their ritualistic fury overwhelming even the most disciplined Ashirra warriors. Agatha, ever the tactician and leader of the Red Mages, directed her subordinates—Bartholomew, Aamon, and Celeste—in creating magical barrages to decimate Ali’s defenses.

Undead zombies shuffled forward in unrelenting hordes, clawing at the Ashirra. Ghouls and regular vampires engaged in more tactical skirmishes, their ferocity matched only by the resolve of their Ashirra opponents. The elite guard of Marcus himself, clad in dark armor and wielding enchanted weapons, carved through the city’s defenses with ruthless precision. It was not the full might of the Night Court, but the force that Marcus had sent was devastating enough to leave no question of his intent.

The Ashirra, renowned for their strength and resilience, did not falter. Each warrior fought as though their last breath would determine the fate of their people. Ali itself became a battlefield drenched in both blood and sand, its defenders embodying the sect’s warrior spirit. Their tactics were precise, their will unbreakable, but the sheer power of the Night Court’s forces began to push them back inch by inch.

In the midst of the chaos, Agatha barked orders to her fellow mages. “Bartholomew, focus on their archers! Aamon, fortify our flanks with barriers. Celeste, with me—burn through their reinforcements!” Her voice carried the authority of a seasoned leader, and her Red Mages executed her commands flawlessly, raining fire and ice upon the Ashirra ranks.

Caiden strode through the battlefield, directing the blood-bound cultists with a maddened grin. “Spill your blood for the King!” he roared, his twin scimitars slicing through Ashirra warriors as his followers erupted into fervent chants, their own blood fueling powerful rituals. The streets of Ali seemed to quake with the fury of their magic.

The ogre champion waded into the fray, laughing gutturally as he swung his massive club, sending Ashirra warriors flying with every strike. His hulking form was a beacon of destruction, clearing a path for the rest of the Night Court’s army.

Despite their overwhelming power, the leaders of the Night Court conversed as they fought, their strategies adapting to the flow of the battle. Agatha called out, “We cannot afford to destroy them completely. Marcus desires unity, not annihilation. We must cripple them enough to force surrender.”

Celeste, casting a powerful firestorm to scatter an Ashirra counter-attack, nodded. “Their spirit is strong. They would be valuable allies if we can break their rebellion without shattering their pride.”

Caiden scoffed, cutting down another Ashirra. “Their pride will be their undoing. If they do not kneel, we will make them kneel—alive or undead.”

The ogre let out a booming laugh, his voice reverberating through the streets. “If Marcus wishes them to join, they’ll join. One way or another.”

Through it all, the Ashirra continued to fight valiantly. Their resistance was a testament to their strength as one of the most formidable sects of the Night Court, rivaled only by the Ulfbitenn. Marcus’s gamble was clear: if he could subjugate the Ashirra and bring them back into the fold, their combined might would make the Night Court nearly unstoppable.

The city burned as the Night Court pressed forward, a relentless tide of darkness against the proud defenders of Ali. Even as the leaders of the Night Court strategized amidst the battle, one truth became evident—this was no mere display of power. It was a declaration of Marcus’s dominance and his unyielding determination to unify the Night Court under his rule, no matter the cost.

 

[Aa-Baan Shatih "The Pale"]

The siege camp was vast. The Alurmanat besieging troops were numbering in thousands, an amalgam of goblins, Hobgoblins, desert tribes and corsairs from the Erovan Sea, all brought together under the promise of plunder and the threat of reprocussion. They all waited, for their general's master plan of taking Moranna Cruz. Every assault, to date, had been a failure, with successes small or neglectable. It was the damned privateers, the Sparnish swine, who kept breaking through the blockade by sea and providing the desperately needed supplies to the city to allow the defenders yet another day of defiance.

This had to stop. This WOULD stop.

Aa-Baan walked to the edge of the cliff, casting his gaze to the sea beyond. His lieutenant a mockery of a Man, flogged and wept enough for his back to become permanently hunched, and his face deformed by the timeless marks left by the slave collar and the iron rings passed once through his cheeks, causing wounds that even now, after decades, preserved a deep deformity that made his face that of a monster more than it did a Man's.

"Master..." the servant bowed his head, bringing the turban's fabric once again to cover his face, save for the eyes. "Ships are sighted. Man-ships. They are heading to the port, master..."

"Let them." Aa-Baan tilted his head. His gaze turned Northwards, towards the two tinny dots that were the Nau, heading for the port. To their surprise, the Alurmanat blockade ships had withdrawn this day, leaving a tinny window of opportunity for the brave enough to make a run for it. Ah... An obvious trap. Aa-Baan was no fool. Nor was he the one to lick the ears of his superiors. He had sent word to his masters back in Maorkisharra, reporting the situation in the field. "Without ships" he stated, "There can be no taking of Moranna Cruz."

The Hobgoblins were a cruel breed, and yet had a strange way to express their meritocracy. It was the Nobles who had funded and orchestrated this great of a campaign, with many workings still operating behind the scenes. To fail in this opening of an objective would be to expose themselves as weak, to the growing Espadan ruler. A statement had to be made... And so, the Bezir had arranged to ammend the situation in Moranna Cruz...

From far South, the Alurmanat Fleet, consisting of dozens of galleys and cogs and xebec warships journeyed to Badazza, this day finally arriving to their destination. Knowing this development from scouts deployed to the South, Aa-Baan had lifted the blockade to bait any daredevils in, hoping to sink supply ships close to the defenders' port to have them witness the event.

The two Nau sailed fast, approaching more and more the limits of the port. It was then when they adjusted their course, the activity on deck evidence of their discovery of the coming armada. The bait had worked. Now, Aa-Baan thought, he had only to wait for the fleet admiral to work his magicks.....

"Sound the trumphets... Prepare for an assault." Aa-Baan instructed.

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

The Captain-Chaplain rode down the road, galloping towards the Espadan camp as head of a contingent of some thirty knights of the Black Wolf. Her hair caught and braided, dancing on her neck as the wind blew against her. Her black armour contrasting the sunlight washing hher from above, causing a strange feeling of discomfort she could not place the source of. On occasion, her gaze was distracted, looking up to the sun in taunting glare. A strange urge errupted within her, wanting to draw her blade and claw the infernal blazing orb from the sky to drown it under the mud of her stalion's hooves.

She shook her head, banishing such distractions from her mind, as she entered the camp. The banners flew over the barred entrance, which the sentries quickly openned for the Black Wolf to ride through. As soon as Adosinda reached the command tent, she dismounted, quick on her pace as she walked into the tent with intent.

"Commander." her demanding voice sounded as soon as she went through the entrance of the tent. "What is the army's status?" she unclipped the leather straps that held her gauntlets in place, removing them, to expose her bare hands.

The Black Wolf knights waited outside the tent, occupying enough space in their numbers to create movement within the contingent. Something was brewing... It was no routine inspection nor coincidental visit of the Captain-Chaplain to the camp. They had come with a quest, and that alone meant much, for the Captain-Chaplain received her orders exclusively from the King himself, making her among the most revered and powerful individuals in Espada, as far as the Day was concerned....

"There are developments in Badazza." Adosinda informed then. "The Alurmanat navy has passed the straits. They are heading to Moranna Cruz, as of three days ago. Is the army ready to march?"

 

[Kingdom Of Espada]

As Adosinda entered the camp, her presence commanded immediate attention. The Black Wolf Company’s camp, shadowed by banners bearing their emblem, hummed with the disciplined efficiency of Espada’s finest soldiers. Loren, wasted no time addressing Adosinda’s questions, his tone carrying the weight of urgency yet tempered with confidence.

Loren’s gaze meeting Adosinda’s gaze directly. “The army is prepared to march at command. Supplies have been gathered, and the men are eager for the fight. They understand what is at stake.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “We’ve also received word that the Espadian navy will arrive soon, with War Master Nepheli at its head. Her fleet has made excellent time through the currents, and if all goes as planned, they’ll be at Moranna Cruz within a few hours. With Nepheli leading the charge at sea, the Alurmanat ships will find no quarter. I am not troubled by their movements; the Espadian Navy’s might is greater, and Marcus’ foresight has accounted for such challenges.”

Loren stepped back and folded his arms, his confidence evident. “If anything, this is the perfect opportunity to break their momentum. The Black Wolf Company’s role in this campaign is pivotal. I await your orders, Commander.”

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

"The King is ready for a clash with the Hobgoblins." Adosinda intoned. "We move to break the siege of Moranna Cruz, now. With the warmaster's ships, they will have no option but to break the blockade, or go to war with us. In either case, we will win."

The Captain-Chaplain wasted no words to flavour the situation. It was known that King Marcus was eager to clash with the Empire, with many plans already at the works for the coming carnage in the South. It was now her task to cast the first blow to the enemy in a pre-emptive strike that, if successful, would deny the Hobgoblins the entire Badazza province, while spiking the morale of the Men of the South.

"We march." she declared, pulling from the war table. "By dawn we must reach the port, Commander Loren. No stranglers."

The revelation of God was no short in bloodletting. An irony, Adosinda thought to herself. While the common minded view that reality as a divine wrath, perhaps punishing them more than they could possibly deserve, and others, heretics, believing that the conflicts were omens of the coming dark age the King was bound to bring, Adosinda knew the truth. She knew that while all-mighty, he was not alone. This was a dark world. A dark world full of horrors and unbelievers and monsters. It was the duty of the faithful to purge and cleanse the blight from the face of Terra, guided by their eternal God-Machine.

God-Machine....

The Iron Cult....

The Alurmanat Empire...

The Heretic....

Many were the foes surrounding the Sparnish. Many and mighty, yet Adosinda's faith did not weaver. She was trusting to her patron, trusting of victory and deliverance. It had been long since the people had stood idle, pawns of the corrupt defilers and usurpers. The Kingdom of Heaven was coming, and she was among the exalted heralds of that change...