CHAPTER II: LOSSES

Two days after the High Council was finally convinced that an army had to protect the Northern Farmlands, the army meant to protect them left it's southern bases to go to the north. They thought it would be a routine job, lasting a few months at most.
Fast-forward twenty years. the army supposed to have been there only a few months, had instead been there for twenty-four years, trying to push the skeletal raiders out, but with no luck. Garan, our little baby, had grown up in the meanwhile. He was a storng young man, in his early twenties. He had seen the Dysarian forces pass the quiet farming community he lived now. But lately, he had been worried for the safety of his parents and his beloved spouse, Tharitha. He had talked to the troops nearby, in Redleaf Keep, the castle overlooking the countryside. They had told him of an Orcish clan nearby, which had done battle with something. They had found corpses the day before. He had talked to them five days ago. He feared the thing that killed the Orcs was something even fouler, skeletons. But he could do nothing. He was only assigned to temporary militia duty if there was danger nearby. So, to try and calm his troubled mind down, he took a stroll into the nearby forest. In the back of his mind, he hoped he would found some clues about what killed the orcs. He went into the forest, to the pool he had found years ago, a place where he could come to complete rest and calmness, especially at night. He spent the entire afternoon there, forgetting his strange youth, his worries, everything, except how beatiful this place was, and how it calmed him. At the end of the afternoon, he went back, with a bit of reluctance, he loved the pool so much. He walked through the forest, enjoying the light summer breeze that was blowing through the oak trees. He walked slowly, so he could stay in this idyllic place as long as he could before he had to return to the troubles of real life. After a walk of fifteen minutes over the beaten path, he reached the end of the trees, and the full shine of the sun hit him, which he enjoyed after having spent well over four hours in the cool shade of the dense trees around the pool. He strolled eastwards, back to his home village. After twenty minutes, he came to a damaged lap of farming land. This got his mind racing: Huh? What happened to this? This is Luttin's piece of land Why is it scorched? Oh no....., he thought. He started running. He ran over the road that led to his hometown, which led across the many fields, which were all scorched on several places, where normally riping crops should have been. And then he reached the top of the hill, which he had to reach to see his town. But he didn't. All he saw were burning ruins of the pittoresque wooden houses that he had always loved so much. His eyes widened, and he stopped running. Oh no My....my village Wha...what happened?, he thought frantically. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and before he knew it, he stood amongst the ruins of houses he had thought indestructable when he was just a child. He looked around in despair. All he saw were motionless bodies he didn't recognise, he hoped. Suddenly, he heard a moan. Wh..Who's there...?, he asked cautiously. He heard another moan. Slowly, he walked in the moan's direction. What he found was more terrifying to him than what he had thought was moaning. He saw his father lying next to the motionless body of his mother. Ga...Garan...It's you...the...the skeletons..., his father croaked to Garan. The skeletons...they...attacked the village...an hour ago...and...killed you mother..., he paused for a breath. Garran looked at the body of his mother, shocked and horrified by what he had just heard, even though this was exactly what he had expected when he first saw the scorched field of his neighbor, Luttin. His father resumed: Garan...Tharitha...she has been killed...her body lies on...on the village square.. Garan's father made a vague gesture towards the village square. Now...now is the time...to tell you...your true history..., the dying old man said in a raspy tone. Garan was already crying, mourning for the lost lives of the one he had loved so much, Tharitha, and his mother, and the fact that he would soon lose his father too. The old man started telling the tale that the black dragon had spun in his head by way of a spell twenty years ago, when he had carried Garan away from the burning remains of Boughrin, also destroyed by the vicious skeletal raiders. He told him of his real parents, how they were killed, and of the fact that he had been saved. But he didn't, however, tell him of the mighty black dragon, that had in fact saved him and allowed his foster father to tell him this. After telling his tale, the old man drew one, horribly painful, raspy breath, and then blew out his very last, dying in the process. Holding his father's cold hand, Garan cried out to the heavens, and slumped next to his father, crying. Suddenly, he got up. There was something gone in his eyes, and mad rage had come in its place. He ran out of the village, to the river. When he reached the bridge over the river, he took one last look at the village, and saw something horrible. A group of necromancers had gathered in the village square. He saw one of them stand over the body of Tharitha. He raised his staff, and a blood-red fire surrounded the the body, and he heard the burning of flesh, and mere seconds later, in the bodies place, there stood a new skeletal raider. It was heavily armoured in black plate mail, which had an eerie shine upon it. It wore a skull cap on its exposed skull, and it wielded a long, curved, serrated blade and a big, round, spiked shield that was made in the same black color as its armor. Two ice-blue, immensely cold looking burning orbs formed its eyes. They were by far the most frightening part of the skeleton. Garan had tried to look away, but his eyes were locked on what was his spouse. The skeleton ran off somewhere, out of his line of sight. Garan's legs were shaking. He was crying unashamedly, many tears flowing down his cheeks. He stumbled backwards, to the edge of the bridge. He tried to hold his balance, but failed miserably, as he was shaking all over from grief. He fell into the fast-streaming river Toltos, the lifeblood of the Northern Farmlands of the Dysarian Empire. All that could be seen of him after he fell in, was his hand, but this too was quickly submerged in the water.

CHAPTER III: DAWN OF WAR

Baedon awoke to the sounds he knew as a battle drill. .....Huh?, he mumbled, as he tried to get out of bed the right way. The door opened. Baedon What in the name of Kylbodyn, the patron of war, are you still doing in bed?, the soldier, Baedon's friend Farrum, exclaimed. ...But...but...what is happening?, Baedon replied. Oh, for the sake of...you slept through it all? Farrum sighed. Those Dysarians have declared war upon us Quickly, get yourself equipped, before the Sir finds out Ok........, Baedon yawned. Great., he thought. Just when I finally have a good night's rest, those crazy Dysarians declare war upon us. I guess bein lazy will have to wait...yet another reason to hate the Vysi.
Baedon was part of the elite Vanguards, the Paladins of the Ostroan Alliance. These were all elite warriors, very heavily armored and armed. Their skill in arms was only matched by the Paladins of the Vysi Order of the Night. But what made them truly fearsome, was their dedication to Ostro, and their savagery and persistence in battle. But their most fearsome ability was to go berserk. This would increase their strength and speed threefold, and it would make them utterly fearless, even against a complete superior force, which was enormously frightening to those that would be on the recieving end of this berserking. They had their main base twenty-one leagues from the central-western coast of the Alliance, built straight into a big rock outcrop in the middle of the sea. The main keep was a towering structure, being at least fifty meters tall. It was in fact not a keep, but a small city, where the Vangaurds trained in the arts of war, and where they learned new skills and passed old barriers. Next to Vanguards, only a maximum number of fifty Ostroan clerics were allowed in. Below the keep, there were four subteranean levels. The two lowest contained weapon and food storages. The top two levels were used for training. They held two gauntlet runs, an easy and a hard one. Around the rock, on which the keep was built, was the harbor of the keep, known as Berlattstromm. It could hold the massive number of three-hundred of the infamous Ostroan longboats. It was surrounded on all sided by a sea curtain wall, which was eight meters thick, and had been enchanted by ancient mages to strengthen it further. The harbor was divided into five equal parts by walls. Every fifty meters, there was a tower, and each tower held a sige weapon, ranging from simple ballistae to the sheer power of Dwarven cannons. Because of its position, and its massive defences, it was virtually impregnable. Plus it had the advantage that the Dysarians still did not know of its position. But now back to Baedon.
Ah, finally, your here, you lazy runt, shouted Sir Rauth de Hyleon, one of the greatest Vanguards of the world at that time. I was beginning to worry we wouldn't have ya along, a strange thing at the very least, Baedon. Hahahahaha Yes, sir. I just had problems waking up, for once., Baedon replied. Farrum laughed at this. Sir Rauth was beginning to get annoyed. Ok, men Time to board the boats and sail out to the battlefield, which this time is the border with the Dysarian Northern Farmlands. If you didn't know yet, he looked at Baedon, the Dysarians are angry about that the Skeletal Raiders have destroyed many of their villages there. Remember, this time, we'll be forming up into units, so we won't be leading units of axemen separately, but we'll operate in units of forty. Now get on to those boats Baedon and the other Vanguards boarded three longboats, and waited for their leader to board as well. When the boarding planks were pulled in, the mighty sea gates were opened, and the longboats set off. One-hundred and twenty Vanguards in three of the sleek, fast-moving longboats sailed southeastwards, to their landing site in the Karborim fjord.
Three days later, after a two-days march, they reached their destination, the encampment of the army of Baron Feltódinn, which was stationed there to counter any eventual attacks by the Dysarian forces nearby. The moment they arrived, Sir Rauth was ordered personally by Feltódinn to direct a probe attack into Dysarian territoty, assisted by a unit of one-hundred Gorûl Axemen, the infamous heavily armored infantry that filled the ranks of the Alliance armies. They too held the ability to go berserk. Sir Rauth was an excellent general, well able to field large forces, but even more able to field small forces of around the one-hundred and fifty men. They left the instant they had eaten and were a bit rested. Heh heh heh...I hope this baby gets some real action, said Baedon as he swung his axe around in a wide arc. Me too buddy Theres going to be a lot of stains on their ground when I'm done..., Farrum replied, eager to once again taste the wonders of battle (well to him ). And after a two hour march in the mist of the Northern Highlands of the Empire, he did.
Sir Rauth was the first to spot a large group of moving things. He quickly realized these were two formations of men, marching in the small valley below them. He ordered his men to a halt. Look, we're going to wait until they're straight under us. Then, I'll raise my hand, and when I give that signal, we charge. Got that?, he explained to the men. All of those visible to him nodded. Thankfully, the mist thickened, making it impossibe for the enemy to spot them prematurely. But since they had the advantage of height, they could still make out the enemy as they marched along. The Dysarian patrol was made up of a hundred Dysarian Infantry, heavily armored spearmen with big tower shields, and eighty Dysarian auxiliary archers. To Baedon, the moment to their charge lasted an eternity. At last, Sir Rauth raised his hand, and let it fall again. With loud battle cries and horn blasts, the Ostroans charged to battle. Baedon loved doing this. The Dysarians were completely caught off guard, and before they could reorganize to a formation which let them absorb the shock impact, the Vanguards, which were leading the charge, had reached them. None of the archers had his bow ready by that time, so they couldnt fire at the charging army to make some kills before they reached the front lines. The archers weren't even positioned properly behind the Dysarian Infantry, so they were in the line of charge as well, leading to great casualties amongst them, and they were routed quickly. The Dysarian Infantry, however, were highly disciplined and experienced. They didn't rout quickly. They fought on, but they never really recovered from the shock. Baedon was at the front line, and he was hacking away at his foes with wide swipes with his axe. Next to him fought Farrum, who's sword cleaved right through one of the tower shields of the infantry, severing the man's arm with it. Out of obvious pity, Farrum swiftly stabbed him in his chest. Baedon heard vague shouts from behind, but he was too absorbed in comat to really take notice. It was Sir Rauth, who was ordering his Gorûl Axemen to move into a flanking position to end the battle. Almost immediately, the Axemen formed up and withdrew from the melee, and started to move into a flanking position. Once they were in position, the battle between the Vanguards and the Dysarian Infantry had barely advanced, and the Infantry seemed to be slowly winning ground as well. The commander of the Axemen, a brave and honourable man, blew his battle horn, and his unit ran to the deaths of their enemy. Unable to cope with another charge, again in the flank, the Dysarians suffered even more casualties, and soon, their commander sounded the horn for retreat, and the day was for the Ostroans. But this was not the end of the war between the Ostroans and Dysarians, no...far from that.