Bohaddon
Current Leader/Government:Ducis Alta
Settlements Owned:/b] 2
[b]Provinces Owned: 1
Population: 160,000
Standing Army: -<Octavian Legion>/<Army Strength>
- <Legionaries>/<6,000>/<Heavy armour>
- <Archer Auxilia>/<1,500>/<No bonuses>
- <Praetorian Knights>/<200>/<No bonuses>/<Fortifying Hightower Citadel><Morale-70%>
-<Honour Guard>/<Army Strength>
<Slaves>/<4,795>/<Weak, Determined>/<Fortifying Hightower Citadel>/<Morale-50%>
None
Exports: Slaves, Iron, Bronze
Wealth: Average
Alliances: None
Trade Pacts: None
Cease Fires: Bahaporian (unofficial)
The First Victory
General Callus looked around him in utter amazement. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
On every side of him lay the ruins of the famed Hightower citadel. The mighty fortress that he had heard tales about from his youth had fallen. Each block of chiseled stone had been dismantled, cast aside like little more than a child's plaything. Mighty arches, towering battlements, spiralling towers, all had been swept away in the wave of destruction that that came with battle. And what a battle it was! Callus gave a weary smile at the memory.
They had attacked in the early hours of the morn, as the first rays of pale light began to emerge from behind the clouds. In this gray dawn they had marched, trampling grass, flowers and earthworms all, leaving death were there was once life. They spoke no words, for none were needed. They knew what they faced. A cunning and wise foe, one who fought not on the common battleground, but instead hid themselves behind the thick, impregnable walls of the Hightower Citadel. The Citadel itself was the first they saw of their enemy. Even in its partially ruined state, it towered higher than any structure the men had seen, it's pointed towers reaching up into the sky like the fingers of a dying man grasping for some last hope in the clouds. It was enough to make even the strongest man have his doubts in his abilities. After all, what could they, a half-starved, half-dying force, do against this fortress that had weathered battles immemorial?
But onwards they marched, to victory or death. Long before they reached the walls, the enemy rained their hail of arrows upon them. They ran then, coursing forwards in a mad rush, desperate to reach their enemy before they fell to their arrows. They poured through those cracks in the wall that the enemy had overlooked, plugging the gaps with their mass of bodies. The blood of the enemy became their second skin, coating every inch of their bodies. Lizard after lizard fell to their blows, as they drove them further and further to their doom. Slash, stab, parry, repeat. Slash, stab, parry, repeat. The soldiers fell into a rhythm, the enemies cries the drumbeat that kept them in time. Hour after hour they fought, until at last the enemy fell, fleeing before their awesome power. They had won. The Citadel was theirs.
And now Callus stood, in the shell of that great fortress, surrounded by the memories of once was. Pulling a half-ruined stool from under a collapsed table, he gave a sigh. This was what war was capable of. This was what he was capable of. Glancing to the splintered doorway, he saw a timid messenger standing there, looking as pale as a ghost. Chuckling softly he gestured for the lad to enter.
"General Callus, sir, I have word from Bohaddon. Frewyn forces from the west are to join us in the fight against the lizards. They are expected to reach us in several days. The Ducis has also asked for a report on the battle, but I can uh....see it was a victory for our men."
Callus considered the information, and then spoke. "Return to the Ducis and inform her that we will entrench in this position until Frewyn forces arrive. The battle was a success, but we expect more resistance now that we have proven ourselves a threat."
The messenger nodded and scurried away, and Callus looked around him once more. They needed to make this place worthy of the stories told about it once again. The Citadel would rise again.