[center][color=Khaki][h1][b]The Empire of Rhune[/b][/h1][/color]
[img]http://cache.desktopnexus.com/thumbseg/831/831808-bigthumbnail.jpg[/img]

[hr][hr][/center]

[b]Breakfast Room of the Empress[/b]

"Orruks and Beastmen, your majesty, burning in the Southern Reaches again, in the New Territory." An exhausted looking courier rider was sitting at the long table, the only other occupant being the Empress herself. A mug of water and food had been placed before him but he refused to eat until his report was complete. [i]'You have to admire that kind of dedication in a man.'[/i] The Empress did not say the words out loud but nodded, showing the man she was listening. 

The Breakfast Room, as it was widely known, as a long room with windows all down one side that looked out over the menacing battlements of the Imperial City and towards the mountains beyond. It was tastefully decorated with fine wood panelled walls, rich carpets, and the table was made of a single slab of wood, the chairs intricately carved to show scenes of famous Imperial victories. The windows, reaching from floor to ceiling were broad and framed by purple drapes. There was no doubt that this room, like every other, was designed for however. Two cannons squatted on either side of the fireplace, muzzles aimed towards the far mountains, a stack of cannonballs for each resting in corners of the room should they be needed. The room reflected the Empress well, organized, tasteful, attractive, and ready for a fight. 

"At least a dozen villages have been razed, much of the population captured and by all accounts eaten or enslaved." Huge black bags decorated the mans face just below his eyes and from the way he had walked in, the Empress could tell he had been on horseback for some time. "Field Marshal Aoyne was preparing to march south when I rode to carry her message. She has already dispatched the 13th Devonian Dragoons, and the 9th Bowridge Dragoons, to intercept, track, and harass the enemy. That is all your majesty."

"Thank you, and well done soldier." The Empress stood and the messenger instantly sprang to his feet but she waved him down to his meal. "Rest and recover soldier, you have earned it. When you are fit you can return to your unit." She snapped her fingers and a guardsman and lady-in-waiting appeared as if by magic. She pointe first to the guardsman and then lady-in-waiting. "Summon the General Staff. And a purse for our brave messenger. He is welcome to stay with unless until he is fit to travel."

The Lady-in-waiting nodded and hurried away, the guardsman pushing open the hanging drapes that closed off one end of the room. "They are assembled your majesty, and awaiting orders."  

[i]'As they should be.'[/i] She nodded her thanks to the guardsman and passed through the draped doorway into a narrow corridor that immediately offered stairs up and down, or a passage further along. These passages, known as the "Empresses Way" had been built to allow the Empress to move about the Castle to vital rooms quickly, without having to navigate the more opulent and lengthy hallways and great rooms beyond.

[i]'Down we go.'[/i] She stepped quickly down the spiral staircase, her velvet slippers making no noise on the stone stairs. She dressed in a loose fitting pair of black pants, a purple shirt, and wearing a thing circlet of diamonds inlaid to silver on her brow. The Empresses of Rhune had never been ones for gaudy displays and she was not going to break with that fine tradition.

[center][hr][/center]

[b]The New Territory - A Description[/b]

Beastmen. The diluted, disgusting, degenerate, disappointing and most of all, dastardly, of all the races to exist in the world. Their ability to appear almost at random had been an increasing problem for many generations and only intense patrols inside the Empires borders had prevented more than minor tribes managing to make their way into the homeland. This was different though. The New Territory, as it was labelled on Imperial maps, was a region along the border with the Orruks. It had been utterly obliterated by the Orruk invasion one hundred and eighty years before and had been left mostly empty as a buffer zone. But now, with the population straining at manageable levels within the Imperial borders, the Empress had decreed the New Territory available for settling once again, albeit with limited protection from Imperial Armies. 

Ten of thousands had jumped at the opportunity to settle the land, land they did not have to purchase, and an exodus of humanity had left the cities and countryside of the Empire and moved south. For some twenty years they had been left in relative peace. The odd Orruk raid and Beastmen Horde, possibly even some Vermin from the under lands. Those raids had been isolated and easily contained and dealt with by the New Territory Regional Guard, also known as The Regionals. This adhoc military force was mostly volunteer and, save for some veterans, not particularly well trained. 

The Regionals Commander, a bull of a man by the name of Shay Markin, has done his best to prepare the New Territory for the certain eventuality that they would be attacked. The recent destruction of villages has been dismissed by some as nothing more than "enthusiastic" actions by savages but Markin requested immediate aide from Field Marshal Aoyne, Commander of the Southern Imperial Armies. Help has arrived in the form of two Imperial Dragoon units who have made their name fighting skirmish actions against the Orruks. 

[center][hr][/center]

[b]The New Territory - To War![/b]

Sergeant Algar, 2nd Company Senior NCO, of the 13th Devonian Dragoons, slowly slid his Carbine free of its holster. Around him, concealed by dense brush, a hundred or so Dragoons did the same, each man quietly checking the priming was secure. They were a grim lot, faces scarred by powder flash and blade, some missing ears, eyes, fingers, and even the odd nose. But they were fighters, soldiers who had paid for their reputation in blood and savagery. Even their horses matched the riders, armour scoured with a thousand failed cuts, skin nicked here and there, the odd ear half chopped off. None made any noise, horse nor man, for all knew that even a single whiney or spoken word might betray their presence to the Beastmen beyond. 

The wind blew into their faces, the horses sniffing at the smell, a smell so strong even the far weaker senses of the human Dragoons could tell, Beastmen were close. They stank. They stank of horror, tears, blood, sweat, and shit. It was the smell that brought disgust and hatred to the forefront of every riders mind as they cradled their lethal short carbines. 

Then, clear in the early morning air, a carbine shot sounded. The shooter was not aiming for the enemy but rather had been placed to alert the main force of Dragoons when the Beastmen had entered the killing ground. The Beastmen might have been warned but their scouts were dead, five of them nearby the waiting horsemen, looks of stupid surprise stamped on their faces, crossbow bolts jutting from their chests and throats. A trumpet screamed and the Dragoons charged.

They exploded from the woods less than fifty yards from the Beastmen vanguard. No fools, and certainly good fighters, the Beastmen had already began to turn towards the trumpet which had sounded from the wood on their far side. The first volley hit them from behind, sending the creatures into a panicked chaos as turned to face this new threat. No sooner had then done so than a second line of Dragoons appeared from the direction of the trumpet call and more bullets thudded home. 

For a moment it was pure slaughter and pandemonium. Then a Minogor, enraged by his wounds, charged blindly through his comrades, trampling some beneath his hooves, as he drove straight towards the Sergeant. 

Sergeant Algar did not panic. He moved with deliberate calm as he slid his carbine home into its leather holster and drew two pistols. He aimed one, pulled the trigger and watched the bullet hammer into the Minogors chest, slowing it down. The second bullet hit the crazed beast below the collarbone and stopped it dead in its tracks. It blinked for a moment and then slowly collapsed into the crushed crash, hooves kicking frantically for a moment and then going still. 

The trumpet sounded again and the Dragoons turned their horses and vanished into woods once again. They rode hard until a line of horsemen loomed up out of the brush. The Beastmen, in hot pursuit, fast and dangerous, met a second blast of gunfire that further decimated their ranks. Then the humans were gone. Riding north to rejoin their comrades and regroup. 

Beastmen could afford casualties, that much was true, but they could also feel fear and maybe, just maybe, they would not be so confident now.