1048AT - The Bloody Conflict Over Fendor

Fendor is a region located in a central location of Markoth, It has seen many conflicts arise due to it's proximity to the Royalist Alliance, and it's lack of defensive capabilities. Since the war broke out, Fendor has changed hands many times, below are some of the events and accounts surrounding those key battles.

Prelude

  Sunset, 10km outside Fendor, the battle had subsided as Royalists declared victory in a forward assault on the Imperial encampment - taking them entirely by surprise, then retreated to their city defenses in Fendor. The Imperials surveyed the remains of their camp, frustrated yet impressed.   "How did such a meager force deal so much damage?" Said one of the soldiers, righting a cart as others threw grain bags into it.   "We underestimated them. We wont be repeating that mistake..." replied Sergeant Kaelin, wiping his blade on the bloodied tabard of a slain royalist.   "But, what makes you certain we will be ready when they come back, sergeant?" Inquired another, grabbing a slashed bag and spilling its contents into the mud.   The sergeant turned around and looked at the muddy grain with a frown, then peered into the distance - a smile creeping across his face. The soldiers stood and turned, the sunset eclipsed by a massive train of imperial supply carts and cavalry. At its centre, a large carriage with flags escorted by guards. The cart rolled to a stop at the camps edge and the door flung open. The sound of maille rustled as Captain Blightridge of the Silvelion Command stepped out of the carriage and slammed his feet together into the soft earth with a thud.   "Sergeant?"   "Y-yes captain!"   "I want this camp defendable by the morning and ready to launch our assault tomorrow night. Make it happen."   "At night, Captain? But, surely with our numbers a daylight siege wou-"   "We attack at nightfall. We will ensure they get no rest, and have no chance to see our true numbers. Get it done, sergeant"   "Yes captain!"   The Silvelion Command was preparing to strike....  

The Final Struggles

Mud squelched and slopped as Sergeant Halfire of the Silvelion Command’s trudged through the ruined streets of Fendor. The Sky was a mottled grey and charcoal blanket with occasional bouts of rain. The Battle had dragged on for weeks, with both sides losing countless soldiers to infection and illness.   Halfire was followed by eight of his soldiers as they rounded a corner and saw a gathering of Royalist soldiers around the ruined fountain in the centre of town. They stepped out into the street and began walking toward the group, weapons drawn. The Royalists charged, clashing hard with the Imperial shield wall, the sounds of struggling and muddy death filled Halfire’s ears, until he heard something he’d been waiting for all day.   “I challenge you, Imperial scum!” Came the voice. Halfire turned to see a fresh-faced Royalist recruit, quivering blade in hand, pointed at the Sergeant. Soldiers slowly stopped fighting from both sides and had now begun to gather around the spectacle.   “I am Marius, and I d-demand to face you in a duel, sir” Halfire looked the boy up and down, noticing his shoes were the wrong size, and his tabard had clearly had someone else die in it.   “Run along, boy, this is no place for you. Go and find a woman to bed, start yourself a family. Don’t die here.” He said, gesturing away with his sword and turning to leave the circle that had now formed.   “Why? A-are you a Coward?” called Marius. Halfire grinned deeply, the creaking of the Imperial’s gloves on his sword made the men around him shrink away. Without a word, Halfire wheeled around on Marius, swinging wildly at the frightened recruit. Marius was parrying and blocking well. He caught Halfire’s sword on the way down but was shoved backwards into the mud.   “Give up, you’ve been bested. I will not kill you if you admit defeat and leave.” Halfire sheathed his sword and began to walk back.   Marius gripped his sword and pulled himself from the mud, he screamed as he ran at Halfire, sword overhead. A hand shot out and grabbed the wrist on Marius’ sword hand. Followed by a sharp pain in his gut. He winced, and looked down to see the handle of a dagger protruding from his stomach. As Marius slumped to the ground, Halfire wiped the dagger blade on his surcoat and looked at the Royalist line.   “I’ll challenge you, Lion, but your men should be ready to carry your body back to your mother!” came the call from the back of the Royalist line. Halfire instantly drew his sword, knowing exactly who said it.   Reigar Illion Cor of Camdoria emerged from the Royalist group, his armour clanking as he whirled his two-handed axe in front of him. Halfire rushed him, blocking the axe with his shield and swinging hard against the knight’s armour. Both sides watched as the two exchanged strike after strike, with complete disregard for defence. As the two duelled, fighting broke out amongst the crowd, and the whole square erupted in a mass melee.   As the Battle ended, the two were still duelling. Halfire had thrown what was left of his shield to one side, and had drawn his dagger. Reigar had abandon the cumbersome axe for a sword and a shield he had gathered from a fallen Camdorian. Both circled each other limping and grimacing. Halfire stopped. He surveyed the square and noticed he was alone in a crowd of Royalists. Sensing the only way out would be through honourable victory or death, he lunged hard at Reigar – catching him in the arm with his dagger but also receiving a shield bash directly to the throat. He slipped to one knee and looked up as Reigar kicked him square in the chest, sending him sliding backward through the mud.   “You can yield now, Imperial dog. I am done with you!” announced Reigar, dropping the shield and ripping Halfire’s dagger from his arm.   Halfire went to get up, but was pushed back into the mud by Royalists as they picked up his sword and removed his broken helmet.   “You’re ours now, sunshine!” Came a gruff voice from behind the Sergeant’s view as Reigar’s boot raced toward his face and turned day into night.

Silvelion Command - Imperial Victory

    Fendor was a smoking ruin. The flapping of freshly erected Imperial flags the only sound, as light rain pitter patted on armour and mud.   "We did it, We finally took it back" exclaimed Cedric Assam - the Baron of Fendor.   "it's, just, not as it once was..." said said, trailing off as he surveyed the smouldering rubble of the church.   "It might have been destroyed, but we will rebuild it, stronger, and better than before" said Sergeant Halfire, scratching his maille up and down his sword, inspecting it after every few strokes.   The Imperial assault was successful, driving a weary and undersupplied Royalist force out of Imperial territory and back towards Haverly. The Royalist forces killed many attackers, their defensive position costing the Empire greatly. Imperial eyes would have likely been focused on retaliation had it not been for the destruction of the supply carts at the hands of Darkmoor, and the vigorous defence effort put up by Camdoria and The Bloodmoon.   "I hear reinforcements are being diverted now, apparently marching north again to reinforce the Hallow wall?" One of the Imperial soldiers passed a drink to Halfire, dropping his maille in the mud and grabbing the cup with his bloodied hands.   "I have no idea, communication with us and the Capitol died after the assault started, we couldn't afford any distractions"   "We thought we'd lost you, Sir, when they captured you and all. What was it like?"   "Panic. Panic and desperation. It seemed that they were just as angry as we were, they scrambled to defend with the little they had to hold on with, but in the end, it wasn't worth their lives".   Both men nodded quietly, before they began moving toward the assembling soldiers in Fendor's centre.   The town centre was bustling with soldiers carrying supplies, bodies, rubble, weapons and armour back and forth. Assam picked up a crate, flipped it over and dropped in on the cobblestones at the edge of the square, standing atop it, he cleared his throat.   "Ladies and Gentlemen, today has been an historic victory in the Empire's name. Fendor has been the focus of many battles, and more Imperial blood has been spilled here than anywhere else in Markoth." He looked at the crowd starting to form, the saddened faces, the weary soldiers, the injured, the tired, the defeated.   "But with this loss comes a new beginning for this nation. We will rebuild Fendor, bigger, and better than before. Our fields will regrow, our buildings will be rebuilt, and we will have abundance once more. What is more, Fendor is proud to make an offer to the Silvelion command to grant you a permanent home amongst the hills. A fortress will be built, in which the command will operate, watchtowers will prevent our cities ransacking, and the standing army will be increased tenfold!" The crowd roared and clapped as Cedric looked to Sergeant Halfire and winked.   Fendor was Imperial once more.  

The Reception at Haverly

Music and clapping and laughter rang through the Haverly great hall. Lord-Proven Jonas Marco and his family sat looking on as the best of his soldiers cheered and clapped to the court entertainers dancing in the middle of the room. They were celebrating the birth anniversary of their son. Suddenly, the doors to the great hall were flung open, slamming hard against the stone - startling the minstrels into instant cessation. The capping died off quickly, and the performers backed away as the group of four soldiers, dripping with water and blood trudged up to the middle of the performance space and stopped, dropping the corpse they were carrying at the floor of the hall. The body hit the ground with full force, echoing in the now silent hall.   "What is the meaning of this!?" Yelled Lord Marco as he rose from his chair, followed by many of his honour guard, seated around the room. The men stood there, dripping, their uniforms muddied and bloodied. Underneath the mud Lord Marco could just make out the Haverly coat of arms on one of them, and a Camdorian emblem on another's surcoat. He looked down at the beaten body, squinting in the torchlight. Then it hit him, his throat dried instantly, like he'd swallowed a handful of dry dirt. His heart ached as it thumped in his chest. He grasped the tablecloth as he peered down as if looking closer would somehow change who it was.   The boots were a gift he had given to his nephew upon departure to Fendor...     "How did this happen!? Where was his honour guard!?" screamed Lord Marco, his voice cracking as his emotions began boiling over.   "We were set upon by a large Imperial force whilst packing to leave Fendor you maje-"   "That is unacceptable! Where were your scouts! Where were the defensive lines, how did they break through so quickly you were able to flee, but not royalty!?"   The soldiers fell silent, realising further explanations would do little but antagonise the angered Lord.   "What of Fendor." He said, staring daggers at the sergeant who led them into the chamber.   "We lost it, my lord. We spent many young lives in it's defense, but we simply were outnumbered at least 100 to 1, it would have killed us all if we had stayed"   "Maybe it should have!" yelled Lord Marco, slamming his fist into the table so hard a goblet bounced off and onto the floor, the ringing of the metal echoing through a silent hall.   "Did they pursue you?"   "Only until the river Trine, my lord, then they broke chase..."     Lord-Proven Marco looked at his nephew's body, his fists turning white the longer he looked. He whipped his head to the advisors table.   "Marshall Conrad!"   "Yes, My Lord."   "Ready the house guard, the standing army, the reserves, and every capable man we can spare, we have guests on their way who will wish they'd never crossed that river"   He turned and stormed out of the chamber, as the rest of the guests sat in silence and bewilderment.   Haverly were soon to be on the march.
Conflict Type
Military Campaign

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