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Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
And that man also happens to be someone the rest of the army hates even more than us. FeelsBadMan.
1.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"I'm happy to see Lieutenant Lewes is well."
For once, Lewes does not have a bitter reply held in reserve. "Thank you for your concern, sir," he replies with a stiltedness that borders on the rehearsed, "and I apologise if I gave any offence during our last encounter. My men owe you their lives, a service which warrants gratitude, not abuse."
For all of its awkwardness, the green-jacketed Lieutenant's show of gratitude seems to you an entirely earnest one.
"We were only doing our jobs, Lieutenant," you reply magnanimously. "Besides, you repaid us by guiding us to Fort Kharan."
For a moment, there is an awkward silence between the three of you as the ruffianish Lieutenant seems to struggle to say something further.
"Listen, sir," he finally manages with a considerable amount of effort. "I know that sounded like something I read off a scrap of paper, but I'm serious; my men and I owe you our lives. Our camp's by the south end of the cantonment, in between the 7th of Foot and the engineers. If you should ever have the opportunity to visit, we'd be happy to have you."
Reyes nods. "Agreed. You saved my men, sir. We'd be happy to save you a drink in return."
1) "I thought the Experimentals were still at Fort Kharan?"
2) "Are you always this familiar with your subordinates, Major?"
3) "Excuse me, sirs, I have pressing business; good day, gentlemen."
For once, Lewes does not have a bitter reply held in reserve. "Thank you for your concern, sir," he replies with a stiltedness that borders on the rehearsed, "and I apologise if I gave any offence during our last encounter. My men owe you their lives, a service which warrants gratitude, not abuse."
For all of its awkwardness, the green-jacketed Lieutenant's show of gratitude seems to you an entirely earnest one.
"We were only doing our jobs, Lieutenant," you reply magnanimously. "Besides, you repaid us by guiding us to Fort Kharan."
For a moment, there is an awkward silence between the three of you as the ruffianish Lieutenant seems to struggle to say something further.
"Listen, sir," he finally manages with a considerable amount of effort. "I know that sounded like something I read off a scrap of paper, but I'm serious; my men and I owe you our lives. Our camp's by the south end of the cantonment, in between the 7th of Foot and the engineers. If you should ever have the opportunity to visit, we'd be happy to have you."
Reyes nods. "Agreed. You saved my men, sir. We'd be happy to save you a drink in return."
1) "I thought the Experimentals were still at Fort Kharan?"
2) "Are you always this familiar with your subordinates, Major?"
3) "Excuse me, sirs, I have pressing business; good day, gentlemen."
1
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"Oh, we were," Reyes answers. "We were just ordered down here little more than four weeks ago."
"I was under the impression that Fort Kharan is being besieged by a large Antari force," you reply. "How did you make it out?"
"Fort Kharan was being besieged by a large Antari force," Reyes replies. "They made the mistake of stockpiling all of their winter rations in a single place, so about a month before the first snows, Lewes and I led a dozen men through their camp and set the whole thing ablaze; we smelled like burnt turnips and charred buckwheat for six whole days."
"They couldn't bring more supplies down, not with the roads as bad as they were during the autumn rains and winter not a few weeks away," Lewes explains, "so they had to either lift the siege or starve to death. They chose to run. We routed eight thousand Antari without losing a man."
"There's no doubt the enemy are planning to make another attempt this year," Reyes adds, "though if we are fortunate here, we shall not give them the chance."
"What have the Experimentals been doing since you left Fort Kharan?"
"What we are best at, sir: reconnaissance," Reyes replies cheerfully. "I trust you are familiar with the rumours, the ones about Prince Khorobirit leaving his winter camp and marching down to attack us as soon as the spring melt ends and the river is crossable?"
Of course you are. By this point, you would be surprised if knowledge of those rumours had not yet reached Aetoria itself. "Are they true? The rumours, I mean?" you ask.
Lewes nods, his face grim. "Every single word of it; Khorobirit hasn't just left his winter camp, he's burned it to the ground. He's throwing everything at us, every gun, every horse, every bloody urchin with two legs and a pointed stick."
You feel a shiver work its way down your spine, though you do not know if it is one of excitement or fear. So, the rumours are true. "It is to be a fight, then?" you ask, giving voice to the question to which all three of you already know the answer.
"It is, sir," Reyes replies gravely. "I do believe it is."
1) "Are you always this familiar with your subordinates, Major?"
2) "Excuse me, sirs, I have pressing business; good day, gentlemen."
"I was under the impression that Fort Kharan is being besieged by a large Antari force," you reply. "How did you make it out?"
"Fort Kharan was being besieged by a large Antari force," Reyes replies. "They made the mistake of stockpiling all of their winter rations in a single place, so about a month before the first snows, Lewes and I led a dozen men through their camp and set the whole thing ablaze; we smelled like burnt turnips and charred buckwheat for six whole days."
"They couldn't bring more supplies down, not with the roads as bad as they were during the autumn rains and winter not a few weeks away," Lewes explains, "so they had to either lift the siege or starve to death. They chose to run. We routed eight thousand Antari without losing a man."
"There's no doubt the enemy are planning to make another attempt this year," Reyes adds, "though if we are fortunate here, we shall not give them the chance."
"What have the Experimentals been doing since you left Fort Kharan?"
"What we are best at, sir: reconnaissance," Reyes replies cheerfully. "I trust you are familiar with the rumours, the ones about Prince Khorobirit leaving his winter camp and marching down to attack us as soon as the spring melt ends and the river is crossable?"
Of course you are. By this point, you would be surprised if knowledge of those rumours had not yet reached Aetoria itself. "Are they true? The rumours, I mean?" you ask.
Lewes nods, his face grim. "Every single word of it; Khorobirit hasn't just left his winter camp, he's burned it to the ground. He's throwing everything at us, every gun, every horse, every bloody urchin with two legs and a pointed stick."
You feel a shiver work its way down your spine, though you do not know if it is one of excitement or fear. So, the rumours are true. "It is to be a fight, then?" you ask, giving voice to the question to which all three of you already know the answer.
"It is, sir," Reyes replies gravely. "I do believe it is."
1) "Are you always this familiar with your subordinates, Major?"
2) "Excuse me, sirs, I have pressing business; good day, gentlemen."
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Reyes nods. "Of course, sir, I apologise for having detained you. Good day, sir."
Lewes nods to you as well. "Good day, sir, and thank you again for helping my men," he says as he passes you by.
You continue on to the command tent under a distinct cloud of unease.
To have heard the rumours and to intellectually know that there was some grain of truth to them is one thing. To hear them confirmed by a man who had seen the truth of it with his own eyes is quite another.
Now that truth is unavoidable, inescapable: Khorobirit is marching for you this very moment, his forces perhaps only two or three days away, an endless horde of peasant infantry, invincible tides of Church Hussars, and who knows what else.
You walk into the Duke of Havenport's pavilion with a sense of dread, knowing that the meeting to come will only confirm twice over what you already know is coming.
-
By the time you arrive at the Duke's pavilion, the immense structure is almost full to bursting. The entire space is a kaleidoscope of uniform jackets and gold braid.
Even above the normal smells of a military encampment, the air reeks of worry. The officers around you speak in hushed, anxious voices as you push your way past them towards the immense map-covered oaken table at the centre of the floor. Every man here knows or at least thinks he knows what is about to come, though few of them voice their thoughts aloud.
A few familiar faces greet you as you pass them by: Viscount Hugh of the 5th of Foot, Milton of the 11th, Lord Marcus Havenport commanding the Highlanders, Wiltshire of the 3rd of Horse, Palliser of the Lancers, all blooded and experienced officers, all of them looking as nervous as schoolboys.
You are not sure you can blame them. The last time a Tierran army staked this much upon a single decisive engagement had been Blogia, something which you are sure every man in the room, from the enlisted sentries at the door to the Duke of Havenport himself, must be uncomfortably aware of.
After a full minute and a half of 'beg-pardon's and 'excuse-me's, you finally get yourself situated near the centre of the tent, standing just behind the row of generals-of-brigade sitting at the edge of the table itself.
Your timing proves to be nearly perfect, for not a moment later, a shouted voice brings the room to a standstill. "Officers to attention!"
The pavilion falls silent to the crisp sound of three dozen pairs of bootheels snapping against each other. The crowd opposite you parts to let through a tall, powerfully built man, his shoulders swathed in a Kentauri parti-coloured cloak and his short-cropped auburn hair flecked with grey.
"At ease," the Duke of Havenport replies, matching gesture to words with a wave of his fingers. You feel your body relax by instinct as the Duke makes his way towards the centre of the tent.
"You all know why you are here, gentlemen," he declares as he takes his place at the head of the table, "so let us not waste our time; to business."
-
Havenport looks over the table, his expression grave but confident. "First, allow me to confirm what many of you have already suspected: early this morning, our forward scouts reported that Prince Khorobirit has left his winter camp and is now advancing towards us with all of his power. At his current rate of movement, he shall be upon us in three days."
Worried murmurs rise from the officers around you, whispers of anxiety to mark the passage of dreaded conjecture from abstract truth to hard fact; that once again, a Tierran army shall have to face the White Bear of Khorobirit upon the open field of battle.
Yet Havenport remains serene. "Though some might consider such weighty news a harbinger of our destruction, I would beg to differ." The corner of the Lieutenant-general's mouth curls upward into something almost like a smile. "In fact, the current situation is our best opportunity not only to defeat Prince Khorobirit but to annihilate his army and break his power entirely."
More murmurs, this time of excitement. As afraid as your brother officers are, the Kentauri General's assured calm gives many of them hope.
The Duke pulls out a thin rod of willow as one of his aides pushes their way to the table and unfolds upon it a huge map displaying the last thirty kilometres or so of the River Kharan's course, right up until the point where it reaches Kharangia's harbour and empties into the Calligian Sea.
"The Antari have many advantages," Havenport begins, his willow rod flicking to the far end of the map, where Khorobirit's army is likely to approach. "Their infantry outnumbers ours by far, their light cavalry is more seasoned, and of course, they have their Church Hussars, heavy cavalry to which we have little answer."
You find yourself nodding along unconsciously. It was the Church Hussars which had nearly broken the Duke of Wulfram's army at Blogia, and given the chance, they could easily break Havenport here. Judging by the anxious looks on the faces of some of your fellows, you are not the only person thinking upon such matters.
Still, Havenport does not bat an eye, "Take heart, gentlemen, for every single one of the enemy's advantages is worthless. We hold the only advantage that matters." With the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, he moves the tip of his rod until the green end of the willow rests plainly on the blue ribbon coursing through the centre of the map.
"We have the river."
-
"We could ask for no greater defensive fortification than the River Kharan," Havenport explains. "With the bridges destroyed, the Antari shall be forced to ford the river at one of two dozen points. The water at the shallowest of these crossings comes up to a man's waist."
The Kentauri General leans back, slapping the end of his willow switch into the open palm of his hand with evident satisfaction. "I am sure the implications are clear to you, gentlemen; infantry cannot bring their numbers to bear when constricted by a narrow crossing, light horse cannot manoeuvre when they are flanked on both sides by deep water, and not even a Hussar's charger can manage a gallop whilst up to its belly in running water."
"So long as we hold the river," Havenport continues, punctuating each word with a tap of his willow against the edge of the table, "we can keep Khorobirit at bay."
"With all due respect, sir," calls out the Earl of Castermaine from his position at the far end of the table. "Holding Khorobirit at bay will only give us a stalemate, not a victory, and certainly not the crushing blow you have promised. At best, it will only fix the Antari in position."
"That is all I need it to do," Havenport replies, "for while the bulk of the army holds the crossings, we shall be ferrying our cavalry across Kharangia harbour. When Khorobirit piles his last reserves into our line of defence, our horse will sweep up from the coast and strike him in the rear."
"So long as the crossings hold against the full might of the enemy," Castermaine replies acidly. "If the Antari are able to make a breakthrough, they could swarm across the Kharan, overwhelm the defenders, then destroy our cavalry in detail. If this plan works, it will be the most brilliant victory of the war. If it fails, there will not be enough left of the army to burn the dead."
Havenport nods, gravely. "Which is why we cannot fail."
-
For a moment, there is quiet in the pavilion, a fresh pall of uncertainty, but only for a moment.
"If you are quite done speculating," Havenport begins, the commanding tenor of his voice ending the silence before it could sour once again into new mutterings of fear, "I would very much like to return to the task of ensuring that your dire predictions do not come to pass; I would rather dislike being dead."
The tent responds to the jest with only a furtive ripple of laughter. Kentauri are not, after all, known for their sense of humour. However, it does break the tension.
"Now, if I might continue," Havenport says, snatching up his willow switch yet again. "The order of battle for the river positions shall be as follows: Castermaine, you will anchor the left flank, from the walls of Kharangia to the first two fords. Your brigade will consist of both battalions of the 9th of Foot, the 1st of the 11th, and 2nd Battalion, Grenadiers. Matheson, your position…"
So it continues. Havenport moves his willow down the length of the riverbank, assigning his generals-of-brigade the battalions and squadrons they are to command, along with the crossings which they will be responsible for defending. In rapid succession, he assembles and assigns brigade after brigade, barely taking a breath in between.
Finally, he comes to the crossings on the far right flank, nearly seven kilometres from Kharangia's walls. "Cunaris. Your brigade shall hold the last three crossings—"
"My brigade, sir?" your immediate superior interrupts, confusion plain in his words and features. "I beg pardon, sir, but I was under the impression that I was to retain my command of the cavalry."
Havenport shakes his head. "Palliser will have the cavalry," he replies matter-of-factly. "You shall have the right flank."
"With all due respect to Colonel Palliser, he has commanded the Lancers for less than a year," Cunaris says in return, outrage building in his voice. "I would very much like to know why I am to be given an unfamiliar command instead of the one I am best suited for."
"You will have your dragoons, and I am giving you both battalions of my Highlanders as well," the more senior General replies. "You'll also have the Experimentals and both battalions of the 5th. It is a very solid brigade, sir." Havenport speaks in soothing tones, taking care not to offend the other man; though Cunaris is inferior in rank, he is the Kentauri's political equal.
Yet Havenport's attempt at appeasement seems to only have drawn more of Cunaris's ire. "Saints be damned!" he exclaims in frustration. "I can command the cavalry better than anyone else in this room!"
"Can you lead a charge of horse, sir? Can you gallop as first sabre into the enemy? That is what I would require of you," the General rails back, his voice rising with each sentence until the last comes out as a full-throated roar. "What good is a commander of horse who cannot ride?"
-
This time, the silence lasts longer and is yet more terrible, for the eyes of the entire room are fixed upon the face of your commanding officer, his bearded features made slack with shock.
For what seems like half a day, Cunaris sits, his eyes wide.
Only after a long moment does Cunaris finally gain some self-possession. "I beg your pardon, sir," he mutters, his voice most wretched. "Might I be excused?"
Havenport seems no less in shock by the effect of his words and his temper. He can manage little, save a nod and a brittle "of course, sir."
What follows is no less painful, for Cunaris cannot simply get up and walk away. Only the creaking of the shattered Duke's wicker chair can be heard over the roaring silence as he slowly brings his ungainly apparatus about and wheels himself dejectedly from the table.
When the Duke of Havenport speaks again, his voice is quiet, small even. "Will—ah, will there be any further questions?"
Already, some of your fellow officers are putting forward questions as if the whole awkward incident had never happened.
Yet the affair has left a sour taste in your mouth; Cunaris is the Colonel of your regiment, the father of one of your officers, and almost something of a mentor. Should you not at least go after him?
1)
A few:
"Do we have exact knowledge as to the numbers and composition of the enemy force, sir?"
"How can we be sure that Khorobirit means to attack us?"
2) "Might I be excused as well, sir?"
Lewes nods to you as well. "Good day, sir, and thank you again for helping my men," he says as he passes you by.
You continue on to the command tent under a distinct cloud of unease.
To have heard the rumours and to intellectually know that there was some grain of truth to them is one thing. To hear them confirmed by a man who had seen the truth of it with his own eyes is quite another.
Now that truth is unavoidable, inescapable: Khorobirit is marching for you this very moment, his forces perhaps only two or three days away, an endless horde of peasant infantry, invincible tides of Church Hussars, and who knows what else.
You walk into the Duke of Havenport's pavilion with a sense of dread, knowing that the meeting to come will only confirm twice over what you already know is coming.
-
By the time you arrive at the Duke's pavilion, the immense structure is almost full to bursting. The entire space is a kaleidoscope of uniform jackets and gold braid.
Even above the normal smells of a military encampment, the air reeks of worry. The officers around you speak in hushed, anxious voices as you push your way past them towards the immense map-covered oaken table at the centre of the floor. Every man here knows or at least thinks he knows what is about to come, though few of them voice their thoughts aloud.
A few familiar faces greet you as you pass them by: Viscount Hugh of the 5th of Foot, Milton of the 11th, Lord Marcus Havenport commanding the Highlanders, Wiltshire of the 3rd of Horse, Palliser of the Lancers, all blooded and experienced officers, all of them looking as nervous as schoolboys.
You are not sure you can blame them. The last time a Tierran army staked this much upon a single decisive engagement had been Blogia, something which you are sure every man in the room, from the enlisted sentries at the door to the Duke of Havenport himself, must be uncomfortably aware of.
After a full minute and a half of 'beg-pardon's and 'excuse-me's, you finally get yourself situated near the centre of the tent, standing just behind the row of generals-of-brigade sitting at the edge of the table itself.
Your timing proves to be nearly perfect, for not a moment later, a shouted voice brings the room to a standstill. "Officers to attention!"
The pavilion falls silent to the crisp sound of three dozen pairs of bootheels snapping against each other. The crowd opposite you parts to let through a tall, powerfully built man, his shoulders swathed in a Kentauri parti-coloured cloak and his short-cropped auburn hair flecked with grey.
"At ease," the Duke of Havenport replies, matching gesture to words with a wave of his fingers. You feel your body relax by instinct as the Duke makes his way towards the centre of the tent.
"You all know why you are here, gentlemen," he declares as he takes his place at the head of the table, "so let us not waste our time; to business."
-
Havenport looks over the table, his expression grave but confident. "First, allow me to confirm what many of you have already suspected: early this morning, our forward scouts reported that Prince Khorobirit has left his winter camp and is now advancing towards us with all of his power. At his current rate of movement, he shall be upon us in three days."
Worried murmurs rise from the officers around you, whispers of anxiety to mark the passage of dreaded conjecture from abstract truth to hard fact; that once again, a Tierran army shall have to face the White Bear of Khorobirit upon the open field of battle.
Yet Havenport remains serene. "Though some might consider such weighty news a harbinger of our destruction, I would beg to differ." The corner of the Lieutenant-general's mouth curls upward into something almost like a smile. "In fact, the current situation is our best opportunity not only to defeat Prince Khorobirit but to annihilate his army and break his power entirely."
More murmurs, this time of excitement. As afraid as your brother officers are, the Kentauri General's assured calm gives many of them hope.
The Duke pulls out a thin rod of willow as one of his aides pushes their way to the table and unfolds upon it a huge map displaying the last thirty kilometres or so of the River Kharan's course, right up until the point where it reaches Kharangia's harbour and empties into the Calligian Sea.
"The Antari have many advantages," Havenport begins, his willow rod flicking to the far end of the map, where Khorobirit's army is likely to approach. "Their infantry outnumbers ours by far, their light cavalry is more seasoned, and of course, they have their Church Hussars, heavy cavalry to which we have little answer."
You find yourself nodding along unconsciously. It was the Church Hussars which had nearly broken the Duke of Wulfram's army at Blogia, and given the chance, they could easily break Havenport here. Judging by the anxious looks on the faces of some of your fellows, you are not the only person thinking upon such matters.
Still, Havenport does not bat an eye, "Take heart, gentlemen, for every single one of the enemy's advantages is worthless. We hold the only advantage that matters." With the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, he moves the tip of his rod until the green end of the willow rests plainly on the blue ribbon coursing through the centre of the map.
"We have the river."
-
"We could ask for no greater defensive fortification than the River Kharan," Havenport explains. "With the bridges destroyed, the Antari shall be forced to ford the river at one of two dozen points. The water at the shallowest of these crossings comes up to a man's waist."
The Kentauri General leans back, slapping the end of his willow switch into the open palm of his hand with evident satisfaction. "I am sure the implications are clear to you, gentlemen; infantry cannot bring their numbers to bear when constricted by a narrow crossing, light horse cannot manoeuvre when they are flanked on both sides by deep water, and not even a Hussar's charger can manage a gallop whilst up to its belly in running water."
"So long as we hold the river," Havenport continues, punctuating each word with a tap of his willow against the edge of the table, "we can keep Khorobirit at bay."
"With all due respect, sir," calls out the Earl of Castermaine from his position at the far end of the table. "Holding Khorobirit at bay will only give us a stalemate, not a victory, and certainly not the crushing blow you have promised. At best, it will only fix the Antari in position."
"That is all I need it to do," Havenport replies, "for while the bulk of the army holds the crossings, we shall be ferrying our cavalry across Kharangia harbour. When Khorobirit piles his last reserves into our line of defence, our horse will sweep up from the coast and strike him in the rear."
"So long as the crossings hold against the full might of the enemy," Castermaine replies acidly. "If the Antari are able to make a breakthrough, they could swarm across the Kharan, overwhelm the defenders, then destroy our cavalry in detail. If this plan works, it will be the most brilliant victory of the war. If it fails, there will not be enough left of the army to burn the dead."
Havenport nods, gravely. "Which is why we cannot fail."
-
For a moment, there is quiet in the pavilion, a fresh pall of uncertainty, but only for a moment.
"If you are quite done speculating," Havenport begins, the commanding tenor of his voice ending the silence before it could sour once again into new mutterings of fear, "I would very much like to return to the task of ensuring that your dire predictions do not come to pass; I would rather dislike being dead."
The tent responds to the jest with only a furtive ripple of laughter. Kentauri are not, after all, known for their sense of humour. However, it does break the tension.
"Now, if I might continue," Havenport says, snatching up his willow switch yet again. "The order of battle for the river positions shall be as follows: Castermaine, you will anchor the left flank, from the walls of Kharangia to the first two fords. Your brigade will consist of both battalions of the 9th of Foot, the 1st of the 11th, and 2nd Battalion, Grenadiers. Matheson, your position…"
So it continues. Havenport moves his willow down the length of the riverbank, assigning his generals-of-brigade the battalions and squadrons they are to command, along with the crossings which they will be responsible for defending. In rapid succession, he assembles and assigns brigade after brigade, barely taking a breath in between.
Finally, he comes to the crossings on the far right flank, nearly seven kilometres from Kharangia's walls. "Cunaris. Your brigade shall hold the last three crossings—"
"My brigade, sir?" your immediate superior interrupts, confusion plain in his words and features. "I beg pardon, sir, but I was under the impression that I was to retain my command of the cavalry."
Havenport shakes his head. "Palliser will have the cavalry," he replies matter-of-factly. "You shall have the right flank."
"With all due respect to Colonel Palliser, he has commanded the Lancers for less than a year," Cunaris says in return, outrage building in his voice. "I would very much like to know why I am to be given an unfamiliar command instead of the one I am best suited for."
"You will have your dragoons, and I am giving you both battalions of my Highlanders as well," the more senior General replies. "You'll also have the Experimentals and both battalions of the 5th. It is a very solid brigade, sir." Havenport speaks in soothing tones, taking care not to offend the other man; though Cunaris is inferior in rank, he is the Kentauri's political equal.
Yet Havenport's attempt at appeasement seems to only have drawn more of Cunaris's ire. "Saints be damned!" he exclaims in frustration. "I can command the cavalry better than anyone else in this room!"
"Can you lead a charge of horse, sir? Can you gallop as first sabre into the enemy? That is what I would require of you," the General rails back, his voice rising with each sentence until the last comes out as a full-throated roar. "What good is a commander of horse who cannot ride?"
-
This time, the silence lasts longer and is yet more terrible, for the eyes of the entire room are fixed upon the face of your commanding officer, his bearded features made slack with shock.
For what seems like half a day, Cunaris sits, his eyes wide.
Only after a long moment does Cunaris finally gain some self-possession. "I beg your pardon, sir," he mutters, his voice most wretched. "Might I be excused?"
Havenport seems no less in shock by the effect of his words and his temper. He can manage little, save a nod and a brittle "of course, sir."
What follows is no less painful, for Cunaris cannot simply get up and walk away. Only the creaking of the shattered Duke's wicker chair can be heard over the roaring silence as he slowly brings his ungainly apparatus about and wheels himself dejectedly from the table.
When the Duke of Havenport speaks again, his voice is quiet, small even. "Will—ah, will there be any further questions?"
Already, some of your fellow officers are putting forward questions as if the whole awkward incident had never happened.
Yet the affair has left a sour taste in your mouth; Cunaris is the Colonel of your regiment, the father of one of your officers, and almost something of a mentor. Should you not at least go after him?
1)
A few:
"Do we have exact knowledge as to the numbers and composition of the enemy force, sir?"
"How can we be sure that Khorobirit means to attack us?"
2) "Might I be excused as well, sir?"
2
Reinhardt
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LordTryhard
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Just so everyone is aware, it is possible to ask both questions and still excuse yourself.
2
Lithium Flower
Arcane
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well, shit
Lithium Flower
Arcane
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Havenport has but to look up. Perhaps he recognises you as one of Cunaris's proteges, or perhaps he only sees the green-grey of your Dragoon jacket. For an instant, his eyes narrow in suspicion, but in the end, he responds with but a weary nod. "Yes, of course, Colonel, you may be excused."
It does not take you long to find Cunaris, for he is not a dozen paces away. He slumps in his chair, his eyes downcast, staring into the atrophied shapes of his legs with the dull look of the utterly defeated.
He does not notice you until you are but a few paces away, but only then when you announce your presence.
"I—" His voice breaks, a thing which you have never heard happen before. He clears his throat and tries again. "I apologise, Colonel, for that unseemly display. You didn't need to see that; I don't think anyone did."
1) "Havenport was right, sir; you can't command the cavalry in your state."
2) "The way Havenport humiliated you was unacceptable, sir!"
3) "Even in your current state, you might turn your talents elsewhere, sir."
4) "Havenport is wrong. You should be commanding the cavalry."
It does not take you long to find Cunaris, for he is not a dozen paces away. He slumps in his chair, his eyes downcast, staring into the atrophied shapes of his legs with the dull look of the utterly defeated.
He does not notice you until you are but a few paces away, but only then when you announce your presence.
"I—" His voice breaks, a thing which you have never heard happen before. He clears his throat and tries again. "I apologise, Colonel, for that unseemly display. You didn't need to see that; I don't think anyone did."
1) "Havenport was right, sir; you can't command the cavalry in your state."
2) "The way Havenport humiliated you was unacceptable, sir!"
3) "Even in your current state, you might turn your talents elsewhere, sir."
4) "Havenport is wrong. You should be commanding the cavalry."
4. Strap him in to the saddle for fuck's sake.
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