[h2][center]Amalian Quarter, Tautom[/center][/h2]

Vetericus could not help but feel drawn to the sounds of battle across the quarter, where his Baltavigoc kin sought to break through the doors of the Tautovigoc Gate on the walls, but knew his immediate duty lay elsewhere. Under the careful watch of Crocus, he need not worry. Instead he glanced up at the grand old belltower of Tautom, the commanding spire visible from every quarter of the city. Once it rang daily, each toll of its great black bell a proclamation of devotion to God; now it had become so hated by the Tautan that they dare not even defile its architecture. It was at once the most neglected and pristine building in all of Tautom, and Vetericus would see it returned to its purpose even as the rotten city around it was burnt to cinders. 

[i]“Sirs! Sirs!”[/i]
The shouts brought Vetericus out of his musings, at once able to tell it belonged to no Chlotar or Baltavigoc. Indeed, as he glanced over his shoulder, from his garb it was clear this was one of the many Amalians who had volunteered to fight alongside their liberators. While Vetericus admired their spirit he had little desire for them to fight alongside his men, and Palace Mayor Vierland echoed that sentiment. Rather they had taken up the mantle of many logistical responsibilities, supplying the fighting men with water, the wounded with aid, reports from other occupied quarters, fetching equipment and in this case, messengers. Even a few priests had redonned their robes and resumed preaching with a fervour that befit the release of the years faith had been repressed by Tautom. 
[i]“What news?”[/i] Vierland yelled back in response, shouting over the din of men working in the background.
[i]“Progress on the Tautovigoc Gate is slow, but it’s drawing their attention! It looks like damn near every last one of those bastards in the city has been thrown into the Viigoc Quarter to keep you out!”[/i]

Vetericus nodded before waving him off, the Amalian responding with a salute that indicated some prior form of soldiery, before rushing away again, in the direction of the now closed Amalian Gate if he had to guess. Their eagerness had taken a great deal of strain off of his combined forces, and he was nothing but glad to have the extra warriors freed up as a result. Turning his gaze back to the almost pathetic interior wall that separated this quarter from the Central Plaza, and thus the belltower, he kept a close eye on the progress of the few Chlotarians they had with experience of undermining fortifications. These walls had never been designed to withstand assault, simply divide one class from the next. It wouldn’t be long now. While he still had the chance, he resumed his conversation with Vierland.
[i]“The strongest shields you have, Captain. These rats are not yet cornered enough to fight fiercely here, but caution nonetheless must be taken.”[/i]
[i]“What of the harbour, Paladin?”[/i]
[i]“I expect Quintus to be able to hold them. They appear to not have even been noticed yet, from the walls.”[/i]

[center][Hider=Reference Image]
[b]Vierland[/b]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/55666799-83a0-4f8e-9822-50ec643ac280.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]


Vierland, catching a Chlotar officer as he jogged past, quickly relayed orders for those amongst them who favoured the largest shields in their arsenal to report to him. As minutes went by several dozen Chlotarians arrived in various states, some marked by no more than the dirt kicked up by the run to the gate and others bearing flecks of blood, presumably not theirs from their fitness, or a few scales shattered or missing from blows that would have likely ended their participation were it not for the padding beneath. More importantly however were their shields; upon inspection by Vetericus the smallest came up to his waist, while the largest went little more past his stomach, albeit Vetericus was by no means a short man, and all were rectangular. It would suffice. Vetericus stepped back and Vierland addressed his men.
[i]“This wall will come down shortly, and when it does, we expect archers to be behind it. Stay low, close the distance and don’t expose yourself. No doubt they’ll run. Pursuing them isn’t our concern, however! We make for that belltower and follow on from there. Understood?”[/i]
A mixture of ‘Yes sir!’, ‘Yes Chief!’ and ‘Yes, Palace-Mayor!’ was returned, a testament to the fact that Vierland commanded troops of his tribe and beyond. The unity of it had always impressed Vetericus, that so many had been brought together as comrades by Cauroman. Even now, Amalians, Baltavigocs and Chlotarians toiled as one. 
[i]“And for God’s sake, try to cover each other if you notice a gap. Mind your legs.”[/i]

[i]“It’s crumbling!”[/i]
Though nothing seemed to be happening, those digging through the wall quickly scurried away, both for their own safety and to make way. A sizeable force of Chlotarians had been drawn up in the streets surrounding the soon-to-be breach on the off chance the Tautans made a foolish attempt to counter-attack, or if an opportunity to take more than they planned presented itself. Shields were raised and men settled into crouches, Vetericus gripped his great axe retrieved from Crocus so far up the haft it functioned more like a hatchet and Vierland drew his own sword alongside him, not exposing his wrist past the edge of his shield. And then they tensely waited. Vetericus almost began to question if the job had actually been done, when the weight of the compromised walls finally caused it to buckle, bricks starting to fall backwards before the aging mortar bonding them together failed, chunks of bricks smashing into grass with thumps and muddy cobbled streets with crashes. Seizing the initiative, Vetericus grabbed the long pole of the standard which had been embedded in the ground beside him, the red and black of the Baltavigoc Guard adorning one side, while the blue and gold of Vierland hung from the other. 
[i]“In the name of God, forward! For fame! For pride!”[/i]
Vetericus stepped forwards, ahead of the shields, raising the banner high to ensure those on the other side noticed, and knew fear for it.
[i]“For Emperor Cauroman, follow me to war!”[/i]
Vierland stepped into line with his men and whatever confusion for Vetericus not wishing for their protection was cast aside as they advanced, not wanting to be outpaced. Quite without even thinking, they carried the battle-chant Vetericus began that they had learnt from spending so much time with the Baltavigocs.

The wall came down. Despair filled the Tautan archer’s heart watching the breach grow wider. The Chlotar savages were finally into a section of the city he actually cared about! His favourite oil and perfume merchants had filled these streets just hours ago in anticipation for the nightly affairs and now it was to become a battlefield. Even the nearby brothels had stopped their business. This was easily the worst thing to have ever happened, at least since last week when Maximus refused to, shall we say, ‘service’ his ‘rod’. He almost broke into a fit of giggling at such a clever euphemism, his attempt at restraint weakened further by him remembering that Maximus never had a choice in the matter anyway. The look on his face, priceless. What was he meant to be doing again? And why was that flag thing suddenly there? And just who was that man who came running through the gap with a face painted red and black? It looked quite fierce, maybe Chlotar fashion wasn’t so bad after all. What is that he’s saying? Some kind of hymn? The poor man just couldn’t quite make it out. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted another archer knock back an arrow and release it, the projectile whizzing harmlessly past to embed into one of the very impressive shields of the men behind him. Oh, that’s right, he was meant to be loosing arrows at them. Knocking his own arrow, he pulled the string back. That red-faced man was getting quite close now, best to try hitting him. Another miss, the shock of the arrow releasing travelling up his arms, instead hitting another shield. My, what strong arms they must have to hold those big shields… The thought of it nearly made the man weak at the knees…

As they had assumed most of the Tautans on the other side pulled back, leaving a number similar to their own behind to cover their retreat. One of the archers, however, for some reason remained standing in place staring at something behind Vetericus. Vetericus offered up a silent prayer to God, and thanks to Cauroman for bestowing His blessing upon him, certain to be responsible for getting through unscathed. Changing his grip on the standard he let the flags hang behind himself, holding the spiked end like a lance in his left hand, his momentum ensuring it penetrated nearly clean through the chest of the exposed archer, collapsing him onto his back with an undignified squeal while clutching the banner pole that now used his body as an anchor. His left hand now moved back to grip further down the haft of his axe, a nearby Tautan nervously edging towards him with a raised shield, so small it could be better described as an oversized buckler. Swiftly raising his axe only to bring it down onto the shield, the axe blade carved through the wood with little difficulty. The Tautan yelped in surprise and quite possibly pain, if the blade caught his hand beneath. Whether it had Vetericus could not tell, but with nearly as much force as he brought the axe down he yanked it backwards, the sudden shift in direction catching the Tautan off guard as his shield was ripped from his weakened grasp. Before he could move back the axe returned a final time to smash into his ribs, shield starting to splinter as the axe burrowed even deeper into the wood. Gasping, the Tautan stumbled backwards into the few who had come to help him, though by now the Chlotar line had caught up to Vetericus, no longer exposed. 

The Chlotarians used their shields as battering rams, trying to throw the Tautans into as much disorder as possible before breaking off and fighting them more conventionally. A few Tautans quickly fell in this charge, but gaps were soon formed up. A few Chlotarians had overextended, the rash action leaving some in unfavourable positions that earned them a swift death. Vierland barked his men back into order, the line quickly reforming and moving together again, Vetericus often acting as the hammer to provide openings for the warriors near him to exploit. The gaps between the cobbles in the streets soon filled with blood, crimson flowing like rivers as men fell, though the losses for the Tautans were heavier. Vierland began to isolate the individual Tautan here and there, cutting them down with an impressive efficiency that would have been impossible had they been more heavily armoured. A few tried to break off and run, only to die to a blade in the back. The reason why became clearer as the men previously assigned to wait in the streets on the other side of the breach began to filter through, Vierland ordering them to push ahead into the Commons as far as they safely could. His men surged forwards, leaving the stairs to the belltower unguarded. Had the Tautans not been to averse to it, it could have been a defensible stronghold in its own right. 

[i]“You fight like a duelist, Captain!”[/i]
Vetericus clapped Vierland on the shoulder, impressed by his performance. Clearly this man had earned the position through merit.
[i]“When I have the opportunity, Paladin. I hope not to offend when I compare you to a madman possessed.”[/i]
Vetericus laughed, glad that Vierland was more willing to speak his mind.
[i]“I think it madness not to know God has your fate in His hands, Captain. If He ordains me to fall, then fall I shall. Until then, let others fear.”[/i]
Vierland had no cause to argue; indeed, if God was not with them, who else? 
[i]“A conviction I can only admire, Paladin. The bell?”[/i]
Vetericus returned to the standard still gripped in the dying archer’s hands, yanking it out with a sickly squelching sound as smoothly as he could. The archer had faded so much so as to not even react to it, life leaving soon after as the blood pooled within his chest cavity spilled over. 
[i]“May God rest your soul, if it not be too tarnished to find Him.”[/i] 
Vetericus and Vierland climbed the steps, the building stretching far above like a solemn oak. Its monumental doors had been been barred shut with a wooden plank then nailed to them, a trifling barrier to a Baltavigoc axe. With each man pressing a shoulder to a door and pushing together, doors which had not seen use in years creaked open on painfully neglected hinges. 

The interior was dark, the sun well into its descent not helping matters. One had no requirement of light to notice the copious quantities of dust on every surface, suddenly scattered by the opening of the doors and new circulation of air. Both men began to cough just from breathing, and neither dared to speak. Vetericus elected to move for the stairs and get up and out of it, Vierland resolving to follow. The stone steps, worn smooth by the feet which once walked them, wound high along the interior, a fall from them soon becoming a fatal prospect. Eventually the bell chamber was reached, the wind blowing strongly enough this high up to put it at odds with the dusty interior below. The bell itself, a gargantuan and beautifully crafted piece of bronze engraved with the Baltian Eagle, holy symbolism and script, was held in place by thick cords of rope one would expect to find mooring heavy ships. Thankfully everything else about it seemed to be undamaged, if a little frayed, so little was the desire to be here of whoever that degenerate Orso had sent to do this. Vetericus cleared his throat, coughing out the last of the inhaled dust. 
[i]“The bell.”[/i]
Vierland nodded, drawing his sword as he went through similar motions to get the dust out of his lungs. While Vierland got to work sawing through the cords, Vetericus searched for the old holsters the colours of Baltia once hung proudly from, soon finding one that he was sure all within the palace, and its defenders, would be able to see. As the standard of those who would see Tautom cleansed of its blasphemy rose higher over even Orso’s in the palace, the last rope tethering the bell to the ground was severed and dragged free of its mooring, the clapper within already swaying just slightly from the wind. Vetericus and Vierland were left to stare at each other, Vetericus speaking first.
[i]“I assume Quintus would want this honour, however…”[/i] 
[i]“Is it not Baltia? Leave it to a Viigoc.”[/i]
[i]“My thanks,”[/i] Vetericus nodded as he walked towards the rope which controlled the towers mechanism. [i]“This, my friend, has been long overdue.”[/i]

The first downwards pull required a great deal of effort, the bell above moving very little for it. A rhythm was soon established, and the back and forth tug became like clockwork. Before long, a great tolling broke the air and as if the world itself had reacted in surprise the gap between that first toll and the next was silent as the grave. The swinging of the bell had started to give the mechanism a life of its own, Vetericus pulling it downwards and the bell dragging it back up. Being this close to the bell was enough to nearly deafen both men, but each toll felt like its own reward, and though he was unaware of it the hearts of the faithful below were emboldened with each ring. Still, Tautom was not finished yet, and Vetericus would see it through to the end. Having to talk between the tolls, Vetericus and Vierland quickly walked back down the stairs, now practically vibrating from the resounding clangs. Finding themselves at the doors again, Vetericus surveyed the Chlotarians overrunning shaken Tautans, the gates separating the Commons and wealthier districts being shut, those not through left to die. Let Orso cower in his palace, Vetericus thought. That bell tolls for him, indicative of his time at last run out. 

Still standing on the Palace balcony looking out over the city, Orso saw it all happen. The belltower never lost his eye, and now the Tautan King actually seems to share Vetericus’ thought: his time is up. With mouth agape he receives a blast from the past -- he had not heard the deep tolling of that bell since his early childhood days. He powerlessly witnesses the fall of a Kingdom. The Tautan garrison are retreating to the Upper Districts to make their next stand… And should they falter there, only the Palace will be left. It will be the last stand of Baltia.