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 9I - Rouel System

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PostSubject: 9I - Rouel System   9I - Rouel System I_icon_minitimeTue Jan 13, 2015 9:42 pm

Rouel System
Rouel I
Paralor Fields

“Men! On a day such as this a man asks himself what he has in this world. For some, what they leave behind, for others, what they look forward to returning to. However a man can only be as good as the nation he upholds. And the god he fights for. Our nation is one of god, and we are one of our nation, so surely we must be messengers of god this day. God is on our side, god will help us win this battle, and god will make these heathens answer for their crimes on our settlements. So when you ram that pike into their grey skin and burn their corpses later, think of the settlements they’ve sacked. Dal’jaegan, Urgamorrus, Malawy, how many more will fall before this war ends? I do not know that answer, but I will tell you what I do know. I know that for every single INCH of straw roof, wooden palisade, and research smithy gets attacked, we shall answer them by drowning them in a RIVAH OF THEIR OWN BLOOD! So GRIP your spears, rattle your armour, calibrate your bows. BARE YOUR TEETH, WARM YOUR BLOOD, PREPARE FOR GHLORY!” he says as he rattled and unsheathed his sabre high to the air.

“My lord, the Kranlutharans, they come.” Said a captain, dropping his binoculars to his neck where they swayed under the influence of a leather strap.
Lord Dougal Monquaine swayed his horse to the right, hand on his sidearm, eyes wide. Kranlutharans, clear as day, some nine foot tall, running and shooting at their position already. There must have been more than 45, more than a match for the 300 levies defending the crest of the grassy hill. The terrain was bumpy, with many hills and crests. Monquaine’s army consisted of men in loose formation with wooden pikes, tipped with metal spearheads coated in an odd orange goo, a gift from the gods. The army’s rabble was the usual of men in formation.

“Watch where your point that thing!”

“How long till we can go come, that’s if we get to go home.”

This was met with erupting laughter, the laughter was cut short when the order to enter battle rang out clear.


Further down the line the command was repeated and echoed. It was quiet, apart from the slamming of footsteps into the ground from the Kranlutharans. Tracer fire shot over the hill violently and snapped over the mens positions. Many men prepared their crossbows. The Kranlutharns had no idea of the melee infantry positioned in the crest of the hill. Monquaine brought a radio up to his ear, speaking into it.

<+ "What’s the status on those trebuchets?"

<+ "Dire milord, the firing solution is difficult to plot on this landscape."

The Kranlutharans ran over the crest of the hill, breathing hard, open mouthed, covering all around them in spit and mucus. The melee infantry gripped their spears just that bit tighter, then charged up. Utilising their surprise, they made their way up the hill, sprinting, spears pointed forward. As the aliens charged down they shot brutally into the melee line. The lines thick armour soaked up the gunfire as they closed in for the most brutal event, one that would echo for months after. The chaos of battle ensued as the crossbowmen opened fire, covering the hillside in explosive rounds before the melee infantry laid into the Kranlutharans.

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” said the first Levy to be sawn in half with high calibre machinegun fire.
The lines mashed together and the melee infantry were thrown high into the air, some even landed on their own pikes. Men fell into the dirt as pikes snapped and In their savage instinct individuals clawed for each other’s eyes, howls and cries of anguish became gurgled as the grass on the hill was kicked up and men and Kranlutharan alike were trampled into the dirt. The crossbowmen fired another volley as carefully as they could into the Kranlutharan back line, being careful not to hit any of their own men. Monquaine began to panic, his melee infantry were getting pushed back down the hill. A peasant levy ran from the fighting, his face unidentifiable.


He was cut short with an explosion from the sky, smacking into the dirt. Monquaine’s radio came through.

<+ “Milord, trebuchets working, fireing solution plotted, rounds away.”

“No you fool, correct, those are too close!”

In the line the melee infantry were fighting hard, the fight smelled deeply of iron, sweat and sewage as men’s entrails were spilled on the ground in the anarchy of the close-in fight. The rounds landed right on top of the melee, throwing soldiers left right and blasting them into parts which then damaged their fellow soldiers. The levies stood firm however, rising back up in their armour and running back at the Kranlutharan’s who had thinned out due to repetitive cross-bow volleys.

“Milord, the mortars!”


“I will not sit here and command whilst my men be lambs to the slaughter, bowmen, fire at will!” said Monquaine as he tightened his gloves and fixed his war helm to his shoulders, he kicked the stirrups of his horse inward and yelled out to make it sprint into battle. Before his charge hit the line he threw a hand-bomb into the fight, before crashing into the line, striking at all with his sword. Captain Nathanius was one of the last to remain amongst the rabble, fighting many Kranlutharans, he dipped his spearhead in the entrails of a fallen comrade and pointed it back up, ramming it at an alien heathen. He turned his head to be attacked by a Kranlutharan who attempted to gut him with a large knife. He panicked and drew his side arm, firing bullets in all directions, hoping one would hit. The Kranlutharan attempted to raise his arm to stab the captain in the head but in the last precious seconds he was over turned. Charged sideways by 6 levies who then brutally piked the squealing Kranluthan to death.

“STAB ‘IM IN THE EYES! THEY LOVE THEIR EYES!” they cried, vengeance in their blood.

Another mortar round came down and kicked up some dirt as the Kranlutharans began to make their retreat out over the mounting dead bodies. The few that retreated were ploughed into the dirt by crossbow rounds to the back, followed by repetitive stabbing to the lungs and facial area by levies. The remaining men, of which there were 43, turned to Monquaine, who had since joined the battle. Monquaine was drenched in Kranlutharan blood, an oozing, glowing yellow. Monquaine drew his sword to the air and cheered, his men did the same. The crossbow line had held intact apart from a few thrown into the fray, who died immediately due to their lack of heavy armor. A few more had been hit by the shrapnel of the mortars or their fallen comrades. The men were caked in blood, both red and yellow. Mud and dishevelled armour coated them, some mourned the dead, some had the after-battle 1000 mile stares, and some said nothing, choosing to continue their duty to deal with what they had seen.
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