Expansion Siege of Oveda | Expansion into Hulva

[Adosinda Castellanna]

"I shall give you Oveda, King. And all of Hulva shall revel in your reign, so long such is Fair and Just."
Words Adosinda would regret uttering... Although once, she had believed the rightful ruler of Sparnia may have finally emerged, this single moment of pride came to haunt her, as soon as the dark odds gathered around the prized city....

The skies had grown dark; Clustered by the thick clouds of smoke, rising columns of death to carry the scent of dead and dying by plague and shrapnel and blade. Carriages bounced their way through the streets, once, now diving into the paveless mud, as all stone had been collected to be used as ammunition, or repair the fortifications and barricades alike. The black banners of the Wolf flew only by the strongest wind, for they now rested upon the pole soaked in rainwater. Rain. Initially, when the siege first begun, there was very little of it. Sparnia always had dry summers and green springs. But throughout the spring, the rallied forces of Espada and the Black Wolf had failed to pierce through the multiple layers of defence that protected Oveda; The very capital of Hulva province.

The first assault upon the walls took place long before the army grew, with the Black Wolf leading the charge against the Northern Gate. Although some initial success, the troops failed to take control of the gatehouse, suffering regardless not so many losses. The very next dawn, yet another assault was ordered by the Chaplain, Adosinda. That too had failed, resulting with the chaplain herself being wounded by a cannon shrapnel.

The days became weeks, during which the besieging army invested in fortifying and preparing trenchworks and artillery parks, to what started feeling like a long siege...

As the siege met the spring's heart, emissaries were dispatched across the province, calling the nobles of the land to reach out and swear allegience to the new King; @Marcus Aumont, and pledge their retinues to the red-yellow banner of Espada. A most successful campaign, indeed... Many of the Hulvan nobles brought their bannermen in the field, giving a most-needed boost to the besieger force. But too much, did Adosinda trusted, the lesser nobles... Something that, in time, she would come to regret.

As the siege was brought into a stalemate, a group of nobles, initially sworn to the Espadan rule, organized a night mobilization which saw several hundred troops slip into Oveda, along with supply wagons and one of the most treacherous acts that Hulva could remember. Something that was yet a mystery, whether it happened due to greed, or organized betrayal, to sabotage the entire war effort. The result, however, of this act, was the spike of hatred against the nobility, by the Black Wolf, and the vowing of vengeance. And so, the long siege continued....

As the summer went by, several attempts took place, with the casualties on both sides increasing, due to conditions as well as insufficient resources to commit to a breakthrough.... In all her pride, Adosinda could no longer hide her shame. The chaplain had promised Hulva to fall before Marcus, the King, in a quick capture of Oveda; The capital, and the beheading of the greed-corrupt nobility that once ruled. Something that, after some five months of siege, she could not deliver. Although the stalemate had concentrated all attention in this one engagement, with no efforts by either side being made to attempt a decisive battle, allowing Espada to effectivelly bypass the province, with most of the peasantry and lesser nobility already sworn to Marcus Aumont, the province itself was yet unbent, forming a flag of resistance against the once holy order of the Black Wolf, that now had remained locked in a seemingly perpetual siege...

More and more allied troops arrive in the battlefield, with the besiegers gradually cutting off all roads around the city.

Regardless the efforts of the Black Wolf to break through the walls of Oveda, no significant progress could be accomplished. After four months of siege, the battle-hardened crusaders of the Black Wolf finally yielded to the realities of war and abandoned the honor and valor they sought, launching a campaign unseen, meant to bring down the city by forcing a breach in the walls. A long underground network of tunnels was dug, slowly slithering its tendrils towards the very foundations of the city walls. Unbeknownst to the defenders, the tunnels progressed rapidly, with the addition of more troops from the Hulva allies, finally reaching their destination. However, as the heavy crates and barrels filled with black powder were carried and stacked beneath the walls, the danger of the tunnels being compromised to the foe spikes, with some groups of engineers going missing in the tunnels. Whether it is due to collapsing piles, or quakes by the artillery on the surface, none could be certain. Alas, it is too crucial time to risk the massive mines being captured by the foe! Venture into the underground narrow corridors and face of any enemy that has made their way into the network, and protect the mines until the flint burns down to the powder!

As the siege reaches its climax, a contingent of Hulvan separatists emerges into the battlefield. With the besiegers growing in numbers by the day by mercenaries, royalists and levies pouring in, the siege camp gradually blocks all roads that lead into Oveda. Save, but one!
Through the Northern road, otherwise known to the locals as the "Fish Trail", the separatist army marched through the night, taking formation within the Espadan siege lines, by dawn, making ready for a push into the city. With significant numbers, and multiple supply wagons, one such host making it into the city would drastically shift the balance of powers, jeopardizing the war effort against the royalists. To counter this threat, the Espadan troops muster and ride out to meet the separatists in the field, before the enemy makes their way in range of Oveda's cannons.

The might of the Sparnish arms is tested by the artillery emplacements that protect the determined city of Oveda! Massive barrels with payload that can tear open an entire pikemen regiment with a well-aimed shot, the artillery is protected by reinforced turret machiculations and battlements, as well as rushly repaired walls and makeshift wooden barricades, depriving field supremacy to the besieging Espadan army for months on end! This MUST END! Tasked to neutralize this threat, specialized small companies of elite troops are sent across the no man's land under the cover of the thick ash and smoke emitted by the near-constant bombardments. Climb the towers, reach the artillery and hammer a nail on the flint vents, depriving the enemy of their most precious weapon!

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

The view above the walls was hardly giving, due to the dense smoke that shrouded the entirety of the no man's land, beyond the battlements that had turned black by the spat powder from the mouths of the heavy cannons. The thick black leather gabardine flapped by the occasional blow of the wind cast by the cannon's firing. And yet, the grim figure didn't move; Remaining motionless, the bleak gaze from through the glass visors, of the creature that, to the rest of the garrison men, only "seemed" human, by the siluette of the thin, tall individual that may be residing beneath the cloaks of the Plague Doctor...

"We have been pounding them for days" the artillery captain snorted. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was feeling the strange unnerving sensation of a cold itch, crawling up the spine, as soon as one approached the Plague Doctor. His very being caused discomfort. And yet, there was no magic around him. No aura of darkness or taint in the air. Quite the opposite. It was his "magic" the fact that the mortals around him knew, his cryptic knowledge of science could cause nightmares that were strong enough to break the mages of the central Erova...

An asset, that was most welcomed, when he first appeared, in Oveda; Many whispered that the Plague Doctor had presented himself to the separatist nobles right before the Espadan invasion, and he was the one who convinced them to stand in defiance. Something that impled, if true, a dark agenda was at the works....

Euthanor knew better than simply giving in to rumours, or hearsay, like most humans did around him. It was ironic, to him, that although the Lords of Iron were manifestations of pure law, and order, discarding any baseless suprestitions in favour of science and progress, it was indeed rumours that initiated Euthanor's investigation in Sparnia. Far from the motherland, Euthanor had made plans, coordinating his efforts with numerous agents operating in Hulva, cultists being cultivated and nurtured to the ways of Iron, as well as honourless scum, answering and reporting in exchange of coin that, unbeknownst to them, was being fabricated in the distant Cult's motherland.

"Bring up the bombs" the solemn, calm voice of the Plague Doctor sounded from through the leather. The siege itself was unimpressive to him. Tactical warfare, with few elite troops and loads of levied men, sent to die against the walls. With few adjustments on the cannons, and enough range to cause significant harm to any who attempted an assault, Euthanor had fabricated a crisis that would, inevitably, force the hand of the darkest forces of Espada....

Should he was lucky, Euthanor would soon have his answer on what was truly happening on Espada....

 

[Marcus Aumont]

Standing at the rear of the company, Marcus dressed in robes covering his entire body and light amor under the robes. The King of Espada didn’t want his identity revealed as he had a couple objectives coming to essentially was the front lines. With his presence it would inspire the troops, but the man didn’t want to create that affect as his objective was at any cost winning this long drawn out war and he would have it today.

With covering his identity his objective was simply to be apart of the group attempting to besiege the walls. Once they accomplished the goal, Marcus planned on going after the enemy leader personally and would end this once and for all. Many would have been purely against the King joining the front lines and therefore he made sure no one would know he had done the act.

What the Vampire King was most interested in was how this small realm had held off Adosinda’s assaults for so long. The realm was scouted before they attacked and given inside information about their abilities. Magic wasn’t prominent in the area and the technology was fairly low as well however somehow they resisted them for so long. Marcus wondered if they somehow had an ace up their sleeves or if an outside entity was helping them with higher technology or magic.

Regardless in Marcus opinion if it wasn’t magic, it couldn’t possibly be something that could harm them on any drastic level. Unfortunately he would learn that he had miscalculated and underestimated the humans he would soon find out.

Tag: @Euthanor Nachimar

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

"Heave!"
The levied men pulled the ropes that caused the elevation of the heavy crate up towards the ramparts, while the crane that lifted it squealed as the wood struggled to sustain itself. After several pulls and roaring coordinations from the officers, eventually, the crate made its way up, until the troops on the ramparts pulled it with hooks and additional loops to the cannon emplacement.

Euthanor stood tall, by the murlons, observing the no man's land, as the artillery of the besiegers went silent. Something was off. He couldn't quite place it, yet it was a feeling he was unable to banish from his skin. Admitedly, his mutated senses must have caught something, in order to bother him so much.
His gloved hand rested against the chest, tightening into a grip around the iron medalion that hanged from his neck, over the leather gabardine.
"My rifle" he commanded, without taking his gaze away from the field beyond the walls.
His assigned squire rushed away.
After several breaths time, the squire returned with a long fabric-wrapped case, which he placed on the rampart, right next to the Plague Doctor.
Euthanor knelt down, unwrapping the case.
The troops around him continued to pull the nails off the crate that was delivered, while the artillery crew cleaned the cannon barrel, preparing it for the load to come.
"Two hundred meters." Euthanor instructed, without taking his eyes off his task. "Fifteen degrees North."

The troops begun calibration, without any further question. The Plague Doctor had already proven his ability to maintain this siege into a stalemate... To question him, was not the wisest of approached, anymore. But all couldn't help but wonder, whether Euthanor was indeed aware of something, or if he acted preemptivelly, against what felt as a prequel to an assault.
Every time the besiegers prepared to assault the walls, their artillery would pound the city, duelling the guns at the walls, before they fell silent barelly minutes prior to the land attack...

 

[Marcus Aumont]

As the forces prepared themselves, Marcus and one of his most trusted Red Mages travelled together with the small group of elite guard that’s sole purpose was to travel through the smoke and ash, and breach the walls of Oveda. Among them was the very King of Espada and the vampires that no one even knew was among them as they had been secretly hand picked by the King and instructed that identities not be revealed.

Marcus had planned such a tactic to not only allow them to be more stealthy but also because he had planned from the start to join the company. The armies still sought to besiege the walls of Oveda but was in a tiresome stalemate. Today Marcus would show that he would breach the walls through his stealthy tactics and use of elite guard. Something however felt off, and weird scent was in the air that was rather erie.

As they advanced, Marcus and his team of elite guard moved about the smoke and ash and prepared for the moment that would lead them to getting close enough to climb the walls. Secretly Marcus wondered who was planning the defense effort as he wouldn’t kill the man once they won the war. He had talent to be able to resist his demands for so long. He would remember the man and commend him.

Tag: @Euthanor Nachimar

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

@Marcus Aumont​

"Be careful, lad! This can kill us all!" the elder soldier of the artillery crew told the young man who rolled forth a large black round cannonball, which appeared to have green markings on it, made seemingly by a corrosive substance.
As soon as the cannonball was brought before the barrel, it took three men to lift it up and let it roll into the cannon, before another man pushed the long stick to secure the ball as further back as possible.

Cog Cog Cog Cog​

The cannon barrel slowly lowered its hell-spitting maw, filled to the brim with iron and gunpowder that was ready to be unleashed to the torn field of the no man's land. With a wet piece of dirty fabric, one of the crew, the youngest, brought some cold humidity trapped on the bucket's water, to the barrel. A ritual meant to ease the God Machine that rested trapped within the molded iron of the weapon, before letting it loose. "Beware the jaws of the Machine, for it shall roar louder to the unjust master, than to the ordered foe. Venerate, what you do not comperhend; Fear, what you are unworthy of." the Plague Doctor had told the young lad...

As soon as the barrel was set, and the wick set for ignition, the Plague Doctor moved to the nearest murlon and aimed his long rifle outward, to the field. Over the gun, there was a spyglass attached with bronze grips, from through which he gazed the unseen, to others, target of his'.

Fire​

The roaring of the cannons heralded the bombardment anew. Flashes of blinding light tore apart any living, struggling, or decaying carion that lied in the no man's land, before thick pale shrouds of smoke emerged from the blastpoint. The smoke presisted. For every blast, tenfold was the shroud formed, slowly creating a whole new line of walls made of the flying ash that denied any vision behind its body...

The Plague Doctor observed the bombardment through his rifle's spyglass. Calm. Focused. He did not alter his scouting, as the armoured knight walked up the ramparts, past the artillery emplacements, to reach him.

"My lord. The men are ready, on your mark." he reported.

"Keep them so, captain... First we let our friends make their move. And then-" Euthanor intoned, lowering his rifle as his gaze left the spyglass, and moved to the man next to him. "We make ours."

 

[Marcus Aumont]

Expect the unexpected.

That was the motto of the Vampire King. However what came from the resistance was not just a lack of expectation, no it was a completely different magic... no technology that outclassed their armies. As the cannons bombarded his armies through the smoke and ash, many would be killed instantly, or completely injured. It was a massacre. There was nothing that Espada could do to combat such new technology and it was something the Vampire King who had lived for centuries had never seen. Such a feat actually made the Vampire King excited to come face to face with whoever was orchestrating this spectacle. While losing many of his men was irritating, it was a necessary feat of war. The only thing in his opinion to fight this extreme new technology was magic, however Espada was not ready to be exposed to such things that he and his Night Court could provide. This was the reason he was on a mission with a small elite group into the heart of the enemy camp. The Espada would not breach the walls of the enemy with the assistance they were receiving however, the elite guard, of the Vampire King and him personally would massacre them and turn the tides of battle and call it that they ran out of these special weapons. In his experience manipulating the facts of a war were common when you were the victor.

Continuing on his stride through the smoke, he and his elite guard continued on their path until they made it to the walls of enemy lair. This would be the time when they would use the distraction of the bombardments, the smoke, and the fire to ensure that they remained undetected. Vampires were the ultimate predators, and they were faster and stronger than humans, so this would be an easy feat to get over the walls and infiltrate. He had done quite a feat before. All that was on the King's mind however was capturing the great mind that orchestrated such a powerful technology. His belief was that with magic and technology used in tandem they would be unstoppable. He couldn't stop now until he had his grasps on the brains behind the operation. Perhaps the Vampire King and Demon King weren't too much different in their quest for knowledge and their procurement of rare minds and species.

Traveling up the walls of the enemy's lair, once they would land, they would immediately, swiftly, and quietly, would cut down the guards on the wall that were near the station they were at. They couldn't allow anyone to be able to alert anyone or their plan would be all over. They needed to be stealthy like assassins and move through the advantage of the darkness like they were so used to doing as creatures of the night. If needed, his elite guard, and his red mage were instructed to use magic when presented with a rather tough enemy or technology. However while the elite guards of the King moved to cut down guards along the wall, the Red Mage went elsewhere to disrupt the heart of the army, and the Vampire King just walked along the walls heading behind his Elite guard to sniff out who had created such advanced weaponry.

Tag: @Euthanor Nachimar

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

@Marcus Aumont​

The command post's parapet openned wide as the cannonball went through, causing three soldiers to follow an outward flight in terms of both course and innards, while Adosinda herself fell on her knees, as the dust and smoke fountained from the barren mud by the might of the cannonfire. Some three knights rushed to her side, yet only found her after she had pushed the large wooden plank off her, and shouted, amidst the unnaturally thick smoke seemingly stagnant after each of the blasts.
Being carried out, Adosinda released herself from her troops' aid, stepping closer to the frontline trenches. Her eyes narrowed, witnessing the bombardment. There had been months, and yet still, the damned filth had ammunition to pressist on their defiance.
By simply looking over her shoulder, Adosinda could spot several stretchers carrying wounded troops to the back lines, where the priests had set up makeshift hospitals, with the help of the local population who, after so many months, had flocked to the camps like ants, unbeknownst to her whether such was due to the favour carried towards the Aumont cause, or due to the existence of, scarse, as it was, but food nonetheless...

"Take cover! Gunners!" she roared. "Prepare to fire!"

Men rushed to the concealed siege guns, of which several were burried under the debris of the barrage. Slowly, as it was, they would eventually be ready to counter the defenders' bombardment. But, Adosinda knew, by now, such pressure would not be commited, if it wasn't for a sally to soon follow... And, she also knew, that Espadan troops were crossing the no man's land... To counter fire now, would be to sacrifice them all in the name of... well...

The Gods of War...


"Shrapnel in. Call in the reserve!"

Broken swords, bent iron rods and bags of stone and pebbles were shoved into the barrels, pushed against the blackpowder cartridges as the artillery, under the blinding white shroud of the enemy's barrage, made ready to receive the enemy's foreseen sally...

"Marcus... You better silence those guns...." Adosinda muttered to herself....

If only she knew...

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

@Marcus Aumont​

The chainmail was long abandoned by Ferrand, sold for a piece of bread and a bottle of Pottaunish coniac, some weeks ago. Of the two, the latter's bottle was eventually used, empty, into one of the cannons during one of the attempted assaults on the walls. It was worth it, Ferrand believed... If anything, the false happiness gained by downing the coniac after action, or long duty over the ramparts gave him the morale boost needed to press on. At that point, hardly any of the troops, once pawns of the mercenaries stationed in the city, now matching if not exceeding veterans on their own right, believed in the cause of this war. It was a battle of attrition, with the nobles yet still having the ability to pay the wages of the troops, who in turn had little to spend them on, leading to skyrocketing prices of the scarse food within Oveda. And yet, the recent addition of the stranger brought hopes of victory. "Il Fantasma" they called him. Fitting, Ferrand chuckled to himself, thinking of the black robes and strange appearance of the Plague Doctor.
As he walked along the path next to the outer wall, the tapping of a liquid dripping on his shoulder caused him irritation He used his hand to clean it. "Piss" he thought, knowing well it was often men fell targets of the troops stationed over the walls, as they had strict orders not to abandon their posts, and few were brave enough to demonstrate their manhood before the besieger's guns...
What caused him to halt his pace, was the fact that his palm, after clearing his shoulder, appeared red... His eyes widened, as he turned up, while his hand went directly to his sheathed blade. Neither his gaze, nor his arm would make it to their intended target, as the silver dagger pierced clean through the skull, ending the man's life in an instant.

Outer Walls, near the main gate...

"The men are ready, my lord" the captain spoke, as Euthanor continued observing the siege camp through the rifle's spyglass. "They are peppered proper. We should attack before they rush reinforcements."

"Indeed, captain." The Plague Doctor said, before his beaked gaze was lifted, as if a noise caught up to his hearing. By the time the captain moved down the stairs, heading to the gathered troops below, Euthanor turned his masked face along the walls, aiming his rifle towards the distant rampart. "Right on time...". He growled.

---

The gates openned, as the Ovedan troops were vomited out the city under loud warcries and the firing of rifles. The artillery continued bombarding, while fewer and fewer guns roared, to the Ovedans' surprise... But, for Euthanor, it was a natural flow of events, for he knew what plagued the iron beasts to slumber... And planned, against it.
A gunshot sounded, masked behind the excess noise of the battle outside. One of the invaders, well-within the city's defenses now, fell, with their brains spreading some one metre away, by the openned skull.
Like a crow, numbering its meal, Euthanor pulled once again behind the window of the half-burned house, once again concealing himself into the shadows. Some breaths later, a tinny black iron orb fell behind another debris-laid passageway, right behind another of the infiltrators. As the wick was swallowed by the orb, an explosion shook the nearby walls, causing some windowframes, doors and broken planks to collapse.

And so, the Fantasma, once again, made his way through the shadows, along the half-ruinned city... A game of cat and mouse, in which both had claws of steel and fire, playing in a maze of death and ashes; a labyrinth which, the latter, knew well to navigate...

 

[Marcus Aumont]

It was pure chaos what had ensued. The people of Sparna didn't have resources that could heavily decimate an entire platoon to what the world had never seen before. No this was the doing of another nation that was supporting them, however there was no signs of additional men. What that meant was typically magic could be at play, however in this case there was no signs of it... no this was the advancement of technology that gave the effects of magic. Were the humans advancing at such a rate that they developed something even higher skilled then your typical artillery he wondered. This realization made the Vampire smirk for a second. In his centuries of living nothing excited him more than what had just happened. Whoever was behind the technology had surprised him and he wasn't someone who was easily surprised. Going against foes that could surprise him, would only further invigorate him to think outside of the box to combat and utterly crush his forces. This was needed to progress and ultimately prepare him for a war against the demon lord.

The demon lord was a resourceful man and used many resources similarly to himself such as different races to his advantage. They were gods in a sense, the new gods considered children of the old gods. Perhaps he could capture whoever designed such atrocities so that he could employ them for his own armies, however whoever this was could have a lot more dangerous technologies in his employ. What was important now while he strolled among the enemy walls was to even the balance of death and destruction.... as a demigod he needed to show these humans that using such destructive technologies to tip the scales of war without reverence to the gods, would only meet disaster.

Loss of faith would be mankind's demise.

As his small group of elite soldiers moved to eliminate those on the walls that continued their onslaught, Marcus went to the shadows of the walls, initiating a rather strong spell that would send echoes throughout the enemy's encampment. Biting his finger and drawing a magical line across the stone walls, Marcus would begin enchanting his spell that would turn the tides of this war and even the deaths among the warring sides. What he didn't realize was that he would potentially create something that would be the most terrible virus/disease that humans would come to know. As his blood stained the walls of the stone encampment, the blood magic that would be activated would not know friend vs foe, which was why he hadn't brought any along with him that were particularly human. No, he brought his blood cult would be immune to his magics because he had shrouded them in the protection of his own blood. The great thing was that since his forces weren't in the immediate vicinity they would not be affected by the effects of his magics.

"Let there be despair...."

With those words, the blood magic spell, or what some would consider a curse would ring about the encampment silently affecting all that were inside of the walls. Luckily those that had already had left the walls would not immediately become affected, but some within the group would for not leaving soon enough and would spread to curse to their brethren. Once the spell initiated, many would begin to bleed from every open pore in their body. Blood would escape from their eyes, mouths, open wounds. This magic had made sure to slowly kill its victims and spread the affects to those that came into direct contact with them. The gods were not happy, and this blood magic would show that to the masses.

Coming out of the shadows, Marcus would only smirk as screams could be heard throughout the walls, and even starting to be heard out of the walls, as some of the armies that marched towards the Espadian army now halted by the phenomena. Whoever was leading the forces with iron, would learn that his plans would be thwarted this day through the use of divine magics. The only problem was now, finding who had created such pieces of technology. The ultimate hunter was now focused on tracking down his prey, who he knew would attempt to flee the impending situation that was a losing battle. Marcus wanted to intrude in on his thoughts, his nightmares, and steal such delicious knowledge of his technology. Now it was truly a cat and mouse game.

Tag: @Euthanor Nachimar

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

@Marcus Aumont

"Damned be the wicked of arcane soul"​

Screams. Cries louder than the cannonfire which fell silent by the taint of the spell, as the streets ran red. The very core of Euthanor's Iron Soul shook, as moles begun forming across his body, beneath the tightly worn black clothes. His eyes widened, behind the sealed visors. He turned his eyes over the window to witness the troops who once marched, now breaking apart as they gauged their very own eyes out in a desperate attempt to be relieved by the pain caused by the vile arcane befallen upon their worthless souls.

"Haemomancy!" he growled in realization. It was not his first contact with such abominable remnant of divine blight. He had experienced the wrath of the fallen children of Marcareon. Sorcerers of innate evil, once blighting the lands of Ostronnia until the Cult's judgement descended upon them. Nachimar witch-hunters had long procecuted the Abhartach breed from central Erova. The very indication of their existence in Sparnia was a lead Euthanor now knew he did well to investigate...
There was Wickedness in the West. And so, the Iron Gods were wrathful of their servants' ignorance. But now.... Now, the tables would turn....
And they would turn swiftly!
The sudden spike of blurry, disordered thoughts swarming in his mind caused the Plague Doctor to shake his head, in a reflective-led act. He knew now, he was the prey. He knew now, the Haemomancer was after him. He had to leave Oveda the soonest, now that his mission was concluded!

Holding yet another black orb at hand, with the wick half-sparked, and his other hand wielding the rifle, Euthanor jumped from the broken window of the arching building over to the rooftop across the ravine-like street below.
Latching himself on the roof shingles, Euthanor moved like a mist across, with his keen eyes continuously scanning for activity in the now silent streets.
A man ran across the distant crossroad. Through the spyglass, Euthanor could identify him as one of the trapped civilians. Wasting a shot on such target would be illogical, he thought, furthering his way from roof to roof, to balcony and broken section, through half-standing ruins, continuously zig-zagging through the broken city, to make his way to the Eastern Gate, from where he could leave the site entirely... But.... the way to there, was a long and dangerous endeavour....

 

[Marcus Aumont]

The cries of the enemies rang through the ears of the Vampire King with delight. While he had delivered on his promise to take siege to the city, his personal objective was not over however as he could not allow whoever developed such ungodly technology to escape and tell the tale of what happened this day. No for him he would play it off as a biological weapon newly introduced from a disease from rats blood he had gotten concentrated, however if he allowed whoever created the canons to get away they could alert whoever could mass produce these weapons that Espada had such a weapon. Marcus couldn't allow what happened today to get out to the main world and so he focused his vampiric abilities and went into a state of zen.

The Vampire King being the original and oldest vampire knew of how to use their abilities to the utmost highest ability due to his years of practice. So he tuned everything out that was distracting. He tuned out the cries and the screams, he tuned out the heart beats of those that were beyond anxious and had fear for their lives ending today. Once he removed the distractions, he focused on any signs of his prey trying to escape. He listened for the hurried footsteps, the heart of his victim racing not in an anxious mood that he would die, but the racing due to trying to escape.

One that was trying to escape from a predator had a different rhythm to their heart beats. Also if someone was running away from the madness which was natural to do, they would ultimately give themselves away. To run into the madness with a plague running rampant was suicide afterall. As the Vampire King continued to focus, he could faintly pick up those signs that he was looking for. Someone was running towards the east. The first sign was that they were running along the rooftops it would seem from the sound of the hurried feeting hitting the shingles and the second observation would be that the man's heart was one that seemed anxious to get away vs afraid for his life in the traditional sense with a plague attacking ones every core.

As the man ran, like a mouse from its cat predator, Marcus would go on the Prawl, as he would cover himself with a mask that he brought along with him and cover his head with his robes that he wore to disguise himself and would bolt off of the high walls and down to the very inner city without much effort. Landing on the ground gracefully without any issues, the Vampire would bolt forward and through the city high on the trail of his prey. He would get his hands on the intelligent brain that would have led a small group of noblemen to decimate a small portion of his army at their walls. To Marcus this was such an exciting game that he hadn't played in such a long time with a human that thought they could evade him. If @Euthanor Nachimar wasn't careful he would find himself ensnared in the trap of the Vampire King.

Racing through the city, blending in to the shadows of the city. the King moved swiftly, however unheard. While his prey made considerable noise when running, the vampire did not. Each step was graceful and silent as if walking on air. As he turned the corner Marcus pivoted as his prey zig zagged through the city trying to evade whatever was after him, not realizing he was only further revealing his position. Diverting towards the new location of his prey, Marcus finally came out of the shadows and would attempt to ensnare his victim in a trap by launching out a whip made of blood at his feet to not only trip him, but to capture him.

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

@Marcus Aumont​

"We are wasting time! Our troops are spent!" the man with the luxurious red gabardine roared, causing his delicately shaven mustache to move like a struggling shelless slug on a leaf shaken by the waterdrops of the rain. "It is a matter of time before that MADMAN leads the Aumonts into our doors!"

"I know, cousin..." Giermo was irritated by the tone of his younger kinsman. The pressure of a dying siege was enough, yet he had managed to keep himself together throughout. The emergence of that strange Plague Doctor did assist, he admitted to himself, yet it seemed that even an Ironborn was unable to turn the tide against such great a foe like Espada and the Black Wolf. "We are being choked amidst two devils here. The Espadans will make an example of us, if we try surrendering. It has been too long of a siege! Yet, holding up is to bend the knee, if we survive, to that raven-peaked doctor and his masters. I still cannot think which is worse a fate...."

"We should leave! We made our point, there is little reason in presisting! Soon they will have us over the gallows." Panic brewed in Lord Huan's heart, with Giermo's words helping naught this state but worsen.

The doors of the large hall openned as a running man rushed inside. His chestplate marked by several dug spots, remnants of shrapnel and rifle balls that bounced on the iron, further blend in with the mud and dust latching against the cold armour like a plague.
"Curses, my lords! Curses and death!" he cried out. His spit failed to escape the long untrimmed beard, while the thick blood begun swelling on his shoulder beneath the torn fabric, as the palm no longer held pressure to deny it its crimson vomit.

"What is happening!?" Huan gasped.

"The gate! The gate is overran! The Wolves fly! Our men are routing!!"

---

The longsword's black iron was slowly pulled out of the eye socket's cave, formed by the openned skull by the past blow. The Chaplain's eyes narrowed, in shadow of the helmet's visor from which blood dripped, as she marched beneath the gatehouse's corpse-laid cavern. The sword quivering, still lavishing by the slaughter held on one hand, while on the other, was held the dreaded flag of the Black Wolf, of which pole Adosinda stabbed against the ground.

"Oveda is OURS!"

The Chaplain's warcry caused a chained reaction to her men that flooded into the city's streets under the cacophony of shouts, curses and warcries, as they chased the fleeing defenders deeper into the settlement. The few who fell on their knees were already put to the sword; Liberated, of their pain, most still under the influence of the dark magics that overcame the up to now unbroken spirit of the Ovedans.

In the distance, doors were kicked in, as the ruins gave little cover to the panicking troops who kept running, falling on their knees in cries and begging as soon as they were cornered by the blood-lusting Wolves. In such cases, mercy was offered, to those who repented. It was unclear why it was so, but violence overcame the noble warriors of the Black Wolf. In the view of the defeat of those who once caused the suffering of their peoples, and theirs in the long siege, the Chaplain saw no ill in the sudden spike in their blood. Hot, like burning oil, it drove the minds blurry, and the muscles tense, seeking only the release of the bloodletting that insued.

She couldn't explain it. At the time, nor her knights nor she could even realize the foul powers that were at play, blinding her once holy gaze into savagery....

Oveda was falling....

And the streets ran red with blood of Mortals...

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

@Marcus Aumont​

Hide. Run. Ambush.

The oldest of games was at play, in the ground of carnage. But, unlike the Vampire King, Euthanor had no intention of revelling in the acts that turned any Mortal like himself in mere playthings of the ungrateful False Gods... No, whatever foul miscreation had brought magic into this realm, he would call by name, and cast them into the Abyss with all their kin. If not, he would leave this lost realm of unbelievers knowing well the enemy that lurked in the West.

"Mortal swine may be blind to your wickedness, spawn of Marcareon..."​

The sinister voice of the Plague Doctor sounded amidst the ruins. The once market district had many parallel abbys and streets that spread like nerves across the nearby districts. But now, after the long siege, Oveda was a ghost of its former majesty. High walls of naked stone and scrapped half-burned wooden planks formed columns of shadow, further darkening the narrow debris-laid corridors. It was no bombardment that had caused it. It was the very flaying of the city's own defenders, seeking resources to enhance the walls and the many defences around the siegelines. A foul trick of the Plague Doctor's devise, that made certain that there would be no winners of this long war... He had no stakes in this conflict, save for the suffering of those he viewed as Blind, and the death of the wicked wizardlings that hid amidst the blind's ranks....

And he made sure, long before the confrontation of his and his true enemy's, he would be remembered... And despised.

"But I see through your mask... I see through your form of flesh."​

The large round hat of the Plague Doctor and his leather outfit beneath the black cloak resembled that of Ostrian fashion. But it was of no beholder's eye to see the mail beneath the cloth, nor the iron fitted in his mask. A Hunter. A Killer. An Inquisitor....

His one arm extended, as his form became more visible as the dust settled around him. His slow steps brought him closer to his prey. It was of no surprise, for a man that had grown so accustomed to the streets of this city to slither his way into the perfect spot. Whether or not such was his plan all along was anyone's guess... But now, he had achieved the debate he was after...

His hand was brought forth, his gloved fist holding onto the chain that extended to the fiery spiked iron star, filled with sticky chemicals and charcoal that burned within its cage. Three such starts were attached to the chain he held, resembling an elaborate form of morningstar weapon, clearly designed for targets of unnatural origin...
The siege was never the Plague Doctor's true intent of coming to Oveda...
The war was never his interest.
Time served to force the hand of his foe.
Destruction served to confuse the blind...

And fire....

That, would serve, to cast the wicked back into the abyss!!

 

[Marcus Aumont]

Chasing down prey was exciting for vampires. It was exhilarating to hunt your prey, track them down, experience their anxiety and worries of certain death and for the Pureblood he hadn't gotten much of that feeling anymore since his early young days when he would hunt down the other Purebloods and kill them for supremacy. Yes there had been a handful of Pureblood lines that initially had been under his rule, but he learned betrayed him after the great war. In order to bring the entire vampire race under his rule he had to essentially kill the other King's. Now that didn't mean that others could not be created by special means like Harrul, but Marcus monitored the creation of such creations and dealt with them case by case. Being the original vampire, the King of kings, he needed to exert his supremacy in order not to create divides in power which was why he aligned with Harrul versus trying to kill him. The Ulfbitenn had grown strong over time and was an asset versus a liability. They had a strong sense of duty, and loyalty and he hadn't suspected that any would betray him at this time.

Marcus had grown strong bonds with the Ulfbitenn and truly viewed them as family, an inner court of sorts. Their bloodlines afterall were entwined. As he raced through the streets, he could finally hear the hurried steps getting closer as he closed in on him. Whipping around the corner of the street in his disguised cloak, Marcus would set his sights on Euthanor who had unluckily become his prey today. Seeing his outfit, he could tell that he too was disguised even down to his scent. The man had experience he could tell with other creatures of the night or he was just naturally overly smelly. As he set his sights on him, his initial attack the man evaded with his quick movements and almost immediately Marcus slit his wrist with his finger and whipped out the exposed wrist towards the man, sending a whip of blood towards the man to ensnare him again. The goal was entrapping him, however with the smell of powder and flames, he would need to be careful. The man smelled of a Witch hunter and that meant he potentially knew of his kind's weaknesses.

While this was exhilerating for the King of Vampires, he knew that this was also very dangerous for him as if the man learned of his secrets they could very much be used against him. He knew also that Sylvia and Harrul, and possibly even Taillte would yell at him for personally engaging a Witch Hunter and putting himself in danger as it also meant danger for the Night Court. Luckily he disguised himself to prevent identification. If Agatha and Celeste had been at his side they would also scold him and also try to rip his enemy to shreds for him, but the King liked to get his hands dirty every once and awhile. He wondered secretly if this little bout would excite him if the Witch Hunter could keep up with him. This was all a game for the King after all.

Tag: @Euthanor Nachimar

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

@Marcus Aumont​

Foul beings of unknown origins. Many mythos struggle to justify their existence upon this so defiled world, yet none achieves such to this day. Fou beings, worthy not of the flame and the cog's edge, of which the God Machine deemed miscreations of a past long forgotten, in an era long lost, never to return.

~ Dr. Frethrendic Malholm, Of Witches and Warlocks, Vol III.​

The Vampire Wars, or the Blood Wars, were an event that drastically changed the world of Night in Erova. Conflicts that were dragged for decades. While the blind fools of Castagonna struggled to purge the Mage, the Demon and the wicked, the Vampiric web that wrapped the world in suffocation raged on, and the blind fools did well to serve their unknown master.... Marcareon, the Chosen Prince. The one who ran the Night Red, and the skies pale...

It was part of his early education in the Spires of Fuernburg, to familiarize himself with the myriad of trinkets, poisons and cures that were associated with the foul nature of the Night Hunt. As one of the agents of the God-Machine and the Lord Chalybatte's protege, Euthanor delved into his studies with zeal. His discoveries, were shocking. His trials many. His determination, unshaken, even at the first encounter he had with one of these foul creatures, in Oldenn. The Web of Night was grand, and could only be brought down by the flame of the God-Machine.

From the very first demonstration of power, Euthanor knew this foe was beyond any he had fought before. Such powerful magic wasn't in any creature's sleeve... Whether or not this Vampire had more tricks to deploy, and how deadly these would prove, was anyone's guess;

But Euthanor, was a man of Science.

He was never fond on "chances"....

Like the tendrils of the Beast reached out from the Beyond in a primordial charge to break Terra Firma apart, as such did the whip lashed, bloodied by the tainted venom that was, Marcareon's crimson essence. And equally zealous, wrathful and blazed by the flame of judgement, did the chain of the God Machine strike back, the two intertangling as the flame tongues jumped from the iron cages to embrace the foe in avenging purity. His arm holding firmly the chains, careless of the heat built up, claiming way from the cold iron, now tainted by the fire's heat. His other arm reached for his sheathed sword. An Ostrian longsword, with extended armguard that was branded by crosses and welded cogs; blessings of the Spires' Technomancers, to accompany the Plague Doctor in his path of rectification.
The sword's silver blade darkened, by the very presence of the Abhartach, as her wielder thrusted her towards the heartless chest of the foul being.
Dust that flew in the air by the nearby debris and ruins latched on the peaked mask of the Doctor, due to the splattered drops of blood that escaped the whip's lash.


Euthanor spoke no words. He knew well that any sound uttered by these abominations could be a spell, which he may be unprepared to face. And this Abhartach, in particular, he had already seen once his capabilities... Dreading for what other attrocious magicks he could summon from the void...

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

The streets of Oveda ran red, as the Black Wolf and the armies of Espada bestowed judgement upon the defiant defenders that now ran in panic. Adosinda's blade perpetually quivered, as any being crossing her gaze was cut down, save for those who wore the black of her order, or the yellow of the Espadans. A slaughter; A blood rite. Her tan face was now drenched in blood and ashes, standing for a moment to gaze up the sun; Now an orange ball hardly emitting any light, due to the thick black smoke that covered the pillaged city.

It is the Will of the Gods

She muttered, stepping over the laid dead and dying. Nearby, a knight, once bound in honour now breaking down the house's door, turning over the furnature to scavenge the few jewelry and handful of coins that were abandoned within, allthewhile the dying denizens of the establishment still breathing by the thrusts and slashes delivered by his war-pick, upon entering....

This is no sin of ours. This is no sin of mine.

Adosinda shook her head.

They are to blame. They.

Her dark eyes fixated upon the citadel's towers, where she knew, the last remaining nobles had sought refuge. Her grim around the hilt tightened, as her pacing became fast. The gates of the citadel were being battered by the wooden columns bound into becoming a battering ram, used by the Espadan troops to create opening to the last fortified position within the city.

"These corrupt swine brought ruin to these lands! TO YOUR FAMILIES!" she roared, pointing her basket-hilted sword to the citadel. "Claim justice! Claim VENGEANCE!"

The promise once given by the self-proclaimed King of Espada was now becoming reality. The old corrupt nobility that had oppressed and bled the lands of their peoples... Now, times are changing. Now, Sparnia shall be delivered from the evil that took root.

 

[Marcus Aumont]

The Plague doctor had been slashed it seemed from his Whip which would in turn expose his skin to the outside world which would prove beneficial to one that feasted on blood. He wondered however if the man had any tricks up his sleeve regarding creatures feasting on his blood such as some type of silver injections. Silver however if too much could kill humans so he doubted the man went to such extremes but could have some protections against the bite of the night. When the plague doctor drew his blade, the sound of the silver scrapping across the sheath not only alerted the Abhartach but also put him on alarm as he lunged towards him aiming at his heart. Dealing with those that knew of their weaknesses was tough as the humans that passed down their secrets between generations were dangerous because even for humans they could prove dangerous.

Silver was the very weakness of those of the night, an agent that could end their very own kind. As the blade lunged at him, Marcus drew his own blade and brought it up against the silver blade to defend against the lunch which would create a large clashing noise between the two blades. With the two being fairly close now, Marcus lunged his whip forward again this time in an attempt to wrap around him and capture him, if that didn't work he would use the blood to at least create distance between them to be able to better assess the situation and get out of danger from the blade.

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

@marcus​

The blood boiled in the greenish veins of the Plague Doctor, as the duel became ever more narrow. It was not the first, nor the last of wounds and marks and bruises he had
received chasing the arch-enemy across Erova; But this time, he could feel the difference and the gravity of the situation. This darkling foe was something Beyond. Something far more horrifying than any other. Euthanor could yet not place it; His mind too invested in the fight at hand to process the severity of the encounter which, to his eyes, was bound to occur. After all, it was such the very reason of his visit in this desolate place in Sparna.

The sparking shards of steel and silver were next to none, as both blades bound inbetween the two champions; Both pressed against the other, both craving to taste the foeman's flesh beneath armour and leather alike. But, it would not be so... Not yet.

Having confidence of the distance now closed significantly, the Plague Doctor, upon the binding of the blades, made a pivotal turn around his heels, allowing the weight of the enemy's strike to take ground from his initial stance, while his chain-holding hand lashed, casting the weight of the fiery stars over, above the shoulder of the Abhartach, as the blessed embers fiery within them cracked and spilled in a flaming vomit.

What the Plague Doctor did not calculate, was the abhuman strength in the Abhartach's shoulders. There was no way, he thought, that the Abhartach could effectivelly use the screaming whip in such narrow quarters. He was mistaken; A mistake he would later come to regret, as the whip's tail cracked her way to his back, screaming against the thick leather of his coat and clawing onto the flesh beneath in a deep line that could fill a whole finger within it, in the whip's search for his spine.

Blood and flesh fountained from his back, flooding his coat, as a screeching scream sounded restrained by the mask covering his face.
Fire and blood; Steel and Silver; Death and Shallow acid; The Iron Cult's champion held on, as his potentially unforseen movement had though betrayed him to a wound, yet had for a breath's time kept him free of the whip's grasp, as he took several steps back, knowing now he had been wounded.

It was the Plague Doctor's turn, now, seeing the Abhartach for the second time from distance, that he begun evaluating the situation. This was no ordinary foe. This was no battle meant to be fought in such terms, less so, away from the Iron Cult's strongest assets.

 

[Marcus Aumont]

Marcus sneered as his blood whip lashed across the Plague Doctor's chest, tearing through his robes and drawing a hiss of pain. Without giving his foe a moment to recover, Marcus summoned his dark energy, channeling it through his veins. His crimson eyes glowed ominously as he lunged forward, his fangs bared and his claws extended.

With a swift, fluid motion, Marcus aimed a vicious claw strike at the Plague Doctor's exposed flesh, hoping to rend the man apart and end the fight swiftly.

Marcus didn’t want to waste anytime on this human that moved to end his species. If the Plague doctor stood at the helm of what meant a human revolution towards ending the Night Court, than he would sever the head of said man, woman, or beast.

Tag: @Euthanor Nachimar