[center][h2]Tautom City Commons
Second day of Battle[/h2][/center]

[center][i]“We’ve sailed across the sea
Rowed for miles and miles upstream
Passed by Tautom City
Seen Lake Laelae gleam!”[/i][/center]


In the distance Vetericus stood, the pinnacle of dread. Though his vision was crossed by stiff resistance, he knew a last assault had to make short work of the plotting of heretic and sword. The command could be given now, and recklessness would approve, but the wiser course was to wait and coordinate with the Amalians. Nonetheless, he gave the Tautan defenders and the ilk who sought refuge with them little respite; the night had been filled by Baltavigoc song and music, warriors taking turns to bare their souls before God and request His strength. With luck their sleep had been disturbed, whereas the Baltavigocs rested all the more soundly for it. By dawn’s light the defenders witnessed the heads of their comrades now mounted on pikes, paraded along their shared interior wall from the commons to the periphery quarter, held aloft in the grips of cheerful Baltavigocs who maintained their tune. Vetericus watched it all, frustrated at how close Tautom was to being restored to a city of faith, delayed by the vermin cowering behind their walls and steel they had long since forgotten how to use. He struggled to find any sympathy for the fate he would bring unto them. A brief grip on his shoulder caused him to turn.
[i]“Paladin? Are you well?”[/i]
[i]“Merely lost in my thoughts, Vierland.”[/i] 
Vierland stepped forward to stand beside Vetericus, who in turn resumed his vigil.
[i]“How fare your men?”[/i]
[i]“Well enough. The Amalians are kind to be so diligent of our wounded, and we keep the wall patrolled in good order.”[/i]
[i]“And the gate?”[/i]
[i]“Not to be a problem for much longer. Quintus appears to have fought off the Tautan sally, but it’s hard to know the cost.”[/i]
Vetericus nodded, mulling it over before speaking.
[i]“I hope enough of them are in good order to handle their flank themselves, but in truth we cannot get every warrior through their…”[/i] Vetericus paused a moment, quickly substituting a different word for the gate named after traitors of the vilest sort. [i]“Northern Gatehouse. Nor any breach we make in the wall. When that harbour gate opens, I can think of no better man to ensure the Amalian bite is felt.”[/i] 
[i]“I was going to suggest it myself. I have already decided on the warriors to come with me. I will arrange for a man to watch for your attack and signal us.”[/i] 
Vetericus turned slightly, lifting a hand from where it had been palm-down on the smooth stone wall before him to offer his quickly taken customary wrist-shake. 
[i]“See that God’s will - and Emperor Cauroman’s - be done, Vierland. He marches with all of us.”[/i]
With that Vetericus took the haft of his axe in his grip again, letting it rest over a shoulder as he walked towards the besieged Tautovigoc Gatehouse. 

Vierland soon found himself stepping through a newly-made breach in the internal wall between the commons and harbour, the Chlotarians sappers who made it, the very same who had engineered the collapse that allowed them into said commons in the first place, giving a hasty salute as they stepped back to retrieve their weapons. Facing them they saw a tight formation of weary men; Amalians who held their posts but appeared dispirited in doing so. Regardless he continued towards their ranks, his own soldiers following close behind in a long column three men wide. By comparison, the Chlotarians positively beamed. Barely a metre he made it before an Amalian with a red-crested helmet under his arm stepped forward, calling out to the newcomers. 
[i]“Identify yourself!”[/i] 
Vierland halted, swiftly followed by hundreds of boots and spear-hafts audibly stopping in their tracks. Keeping the frustration out of his voice at the delay, Vierland rumbled back his response.
[i]“Chlotarian relief, Amalian! We are here to help kill your Tautan problem.”[/i] 
The Amalian officer nodded, ordering his men to part their ranks before shouting towards the Chlotar column now marching past them.
[i]“Keep straight to the road, then go left! Our commander, Doux- Er, Captain Quintus Vitalius of Amal, can be found near the gate.”[/i] 
With a nodded thanks Vierland led his men through the harbour, taking stock of the damage. Noting the heavily damaged vessels moored he thought it a shame to have such a fleet harmed thus, but reasoned it better to err on the side of caution than merely err. The state of Amalian troops spoke of the assault they had endured; he was unsure however if it had been especially fierce, or if the Amalians hadn’t the skill, or heart, to repulse it thoroughly enough. At any rate Vierland was eager to meet this Quintus upon whom so much of this invasion had relied, forcing himself to keep his pace towards the gate steady. 

In all honesty many unflattering thoughts had flitted through Vierland’s mind in regard to the appearance of Quintus. So much so, indeed, that when he finally came face to face with him he was almost taken aback; rumour had taught him spies and Tautan’s were akin to weasels, though perhaps that was only true of the latter. Quintus’ introduction drew him out of his musing.
[i]“Quintus Vitalius- I’m sure an officer has already told you. You are?”[/i]
Vierland had yet to decide if the disappointed expression he wore was natural for his face, or a result of recent events. 
[i]“Palace-Mayor Vierland, under the command of Paladin Vetericus to assist.”[/i] 
Quintus muttered something to yet another Amalian officer by his side, who in turn saluted and scurried off, before addressing Vierland again.
[i]“Appreciated, but untimely. My sentries report no Tautan advance on the gate.”[/i]
[i]“I suspect that would be because their attention is held by their failing gate. Something the Paladin wishes us to exploit.”[/i] 
Quintus adjusted the grip on the short sword belted at his waist, glancing over his men stationed nearby. 
[i]“Go on.”[/i]
[i]“We wait for the signal of the Baltavigoc advance. Then, sally out and attack them from their rear.”[/i]
[i]“I see. My men are battered and bloody, Palace-Mayor... but itching for revenge. We’ll follow.”[/i]
Quintus quickly got to dispatching his officers, rounding his men up and delivering them promises of a chance to get more than even with the Tautans. Vierland meanwhile simply got his warriors into a loose formation before the gate, just wide enough to fit through it and the streets beyond unhindered. No words of encouragement were needed for them, for now many had adopted the fierce fire in their eyes the Baltavigocs had taught them. 

[i]“We’ve sailed across the sea!”[/i]
Vetericus shouted, the response from his Baltavigocs merrily returned.
[i]“Rowed for miles and miles upstream!”[/i]
Baltavigocs had hacked their way through the door of the Tautovigoc Gatehouse, though it was by no means the end of their work. Beyond debris had been piled up, seemingly as much of the furniture from the district beyond as they could fit in its narrow corridor and stairwell. Instead of expending hours upon hours clearing it, they had elected to gather great bundles of fabrics, mostly from the now abandoned commons, pack it between as much of the furniture as could be reached and set it alight. At the same time, and for a while after the blaze had begun, Baltavigocs had been dispatched to locate the sturdiest log in the city they could. Once it was brought before Vetericus two notches had been cut out of its top, one near the front and one near the rear roughly equally. More timber was acquired to act as crossbars, and then the crude battering ram was fastened together with the strongest rope as could be found on short notice. The Tautans’ had little need of the carefully-stacked cart of goods it had been securing anymore anyway. While unfit to take on any sturdy fortifications, it would suffice for this task. 
[i]“Give me all you haaaaave!”[/i]
Vetericus’ voice rang out again, walking the ‘ram’ backwards with the other men who gripped crossbars. The response was returned not just by them, but by the hundreds of Baltavigocs preparing to rush through the breach soon to be created both in the gate below and gatehouse atop the curtain wall.
[i]“Push as hard as you can!”[/i]
The Baltavigocs whom had previously been marching along the wall holding pikes aloft now stood at the front, severed Tautan heads still impaled upon them, though they had been slid far enough down so as to ensure the tips would still find more foes. Behind, the usual Baltavigoc mixture of weaponry dominated by large axes, followed by those who refused themselves the battle in place of their instruments. On the fringes Amalian priests competed to have their blessings heard over them and the growing battle-chant, but nonetheless the warriors appreciated their efforts. 

Tautan defenders on the other side warily eyed the scorching heat now emanating from the Tautovigoc tower, the banded boards on the door below cracking and blackening to charcoal. More pressing however was the din on the other side of the gate; a cacophony of what to them sounded like the demonic howling of a beast to the tune of, admittedly rather excellent accordion playing, and the steady pounding of wood on wood. What worried them was the pounding slowly giving way to creaking as the bar on the door broke and what little they had leaned against it started to shift backwards. Weak demands for more barricades were made by what were supposed to be officers, but the reality is most of the men had already lost their spirit before battle was even to be joined. In the span of less than two days the city with walls they had known to be impregnable lay overrun by barbarians who had little interest in showing them mercy, their attempts to secure escape through the harbour had failed, their own gate served to trap them, their sleep had been stolen, no siege rationing had ever been maintained, most of the defenders knew several comrades who had fallen in the defense and the cost of their lifestyle which had enabled all of this had stared back at them for hours with dead eyes affixed on jubilant marching pikes. Near certain death had bolstered some of the defenders, true, but most simply felt as if they were entrenched in a city that was no longer theirs, kept alive not due to any defence, but because the invader felt like letting them live a while longer. Without even God to turn to, bleary-eyed Tautans holding spears in weak grips aimlessly watched the gate and awaited their fate. 

Vetericus could feel it in his bones. The gate was finally giving way, the last impact had made more progress than the previous five combined. Another man on the ram shouted it back to the army, eagerness clear in their eyes. Soon to have their hands around the throat of the enemy with nowhere left to run. The smaller group on the wall, who were to go through the ruined gatehouse after it had finished burning, willed the flames to die down, happy to suffer the terrible heat afterwards as long as it got them into the battle. As Vetericus helped bring the ram backwards one last time he remembered part of a fable most every Baltavigoc knew, and though it had held a much different meaning for the ancestors who had created it, he found it fit just as well now.
[i]“Tautom and beyond!”[/i]
Rushing towards the gate, the ram slammed into wooden panels one last time before being pushed backwards as the last of what had been keeping the gate firmly shut was smashed aside and snapped, those on the ram quickly dropping it and pressing all their strength against the doors, opening them wider for the troops behind. As they began to march forward, without fault the host finished Vetericus’ quote.
[i]“That’s where the winds will us guide!”[/i]
The ex-ram crew quickly moved backwards, cautious of arrows, but had no reason to fear. Vetericus took his offered axe back from the Baltavigoc he had lent it briefly for keeping, clapping the warrior on the shoulder by way of thanks, before stepping into line beside the pikes. Though the Tautans’ were slightly longer, that did little to bolster their courage at the sight of red-and-black faced men moving towards them with a grim smile on their lips and chant on the tongue. With no alternative they moved themselves into formation, those who sought death for fear of survival at the fore. 

The Baltavigoc pikes were held carefully by their wielders to ensure the mounted heads faced upwards, the average Tautan struggling to avoid looking into their ghastly eyes. For a moment it looked like it might be a standstill, Baltavigoc spears held just out of reach. Instead, gaps were formed in the Baltavigoc formation as infantry, and Vetericus, wielding weapons much more fit for close quarters rushed forwards past their spear tips. Some didn’t make it through the second row of spears, skewered where they stood as chants were replaced with shouts of pain soon drowned out, dragging themselves off speartips and hoping they hadn’t been impaled too deeply. Most however were quick enough, causing many Tautan spears to swerve to the side in a panicked attempt to intercept, most uselessly smacking their hafts against chain, scale and padding. Unfortunately for the Tautans it provided the opening the Baltavigoc spears had been waiting for, pushing them forwards wherever they could find purchase. Some were dodged by the nimble, some were deflected by luck, yet some found their marks and caused a Tautan to die gripping the severed head of a comrade to drag the spear which impaled both out. Finding little room to maneuver Vetericus forced his way through their paralyzed defense, shoving and making short swings with his axe where he could. The shorter weapon wielding Baltavigocs beside him had a much easier time, hacking through sometimes padding, mostly flesh, with wild abandon. Through gritted teeth, Vetericus growled at a Tautan who sought to obstruct him with particular determination.
[i]“God as my witness, Tautan! I’ll run this city into the ground!”[/i] 
The defined streets ensured neither force could utilize their numbers as an advantage, but the zeal of the Baltavigocs ensured that row by row the Tautans would be outmatched. Blood flowed freely and the cries of the dying mingled with the instruments from the rear, care having to be taken to avoid tripping over corpses soon becoming a carpet. Vetericus spent some time carving a path through the defenders, each slain a monument to the hatred he freely showed his foe, almost surprised to suddenly find himself staring at a man with the same black and red painted face, covered in soot. Vetericus did in fact not recognise him for a moment, given where he was or his state, but quickly picked out features. 
[i]“Crocus, so singed I thought you a demon!”[/i]

At once he extended an arm, blood and soot mixing as Crocus grasped it. 
[i]“In a world of your own again, I take it? You’re missing them turn tail and run.”[/i] 
Vetericus, who had been keeping an eye generally on his fellows but little regard for the Tautan rear, confirmed as he spoke that they had started to pull back.
[i]“Making for the palace, no doubt. Ever the coward.”[/i] 
Vetericus, resting a moment as he let the head of his gore-spattered axe lie atop a dead Tautan, looked over Crocus and those who had followed him through the tower which still wafted smoke out of its now barren stony interior, checking for wounds. Finding none, his gaze returned to the Tautans. Indeed, they outnumbered the Baltavigocs, perhaps even heavily. Despite that, their rear had started to crumble and draw back to the only gate that remained in their control, still some distance away. Their frontline at this point was simply trying to stay alive, backing away from Baltavigocs who never relented in pushing them. Any semblance of order had faded, which made the appearance of a column of well-organised men marching into view behind the Tautans - between them and the palace gate - quite the contrast. Crocus looked towards Vetericus.
[i]“Reinforcements?”[/i]
[i]“Reinforcements indeed.”[/i]
The Amalian banner, suffering its own minor wounds along the way, flew alongside Vierland’s all the same, held aloft by the hammer to the Baltavigoc anvil. 
[i]“This war has endured too long.”[/i] 
Lifting his axe, he shouted to the warriors around him as he began to bound forward into the fray again.
[i]“Storm the district! Head for the gates! Leave no man or woman alive!”[/i]

Vierland stood proud alongside his soldiers, who in turn stood shoulder to shoulder with Amalians. Quintus nearby directed his warriors personally, yelling orders that his officers carried down the line. The Amalians, better suited for the defense, were to support the Chlotarians, and as they spotted the faces of Tautans turned towards them as they tried to run from the Baltavigocs they knew their arrival had been perfect. 
[i]“Walk with Godas!” Vierland cried. “Teach them the error of forsaking Him!”[/i]
Cheers resounded and Chlotarians surged forward. Amalian officers stood with disgruntled expressions for a moment, Quintus snapping them out of it with a barked order to advance. The Amalian infantry, though the fighting had been cruel to them and not made them desire more, were far too disciplined and committed to allow the Chlotars to advance not only without a rigid formation, but unsupported. Training and pride overrode all else, and soon the shared slaughter of the Tautan rear made them nearly indistinguishable from one another. With nowhere to run the Tautan defense had finally become bitter, but far too late. Between two fronts, confusion arose as those in the middle tried to pick a side to defend. For every one or two attacker the Tautans slew they lost as many as four or five of their own. Corpses had begun to pile up so that height played a part in the battle, and the centre of the Tautan mass began to empty save of the dead and dying who slid back down into it. In their final moments, every man at the front was certain they had heard the odd Tautan gripped by despair slip into prayer. It did nothing to stay their blows. Vetericus hoped it would do their souls some good, but had his doubts. After what had felt like days, at last, ally looked ally in the eye past an ocean of the dead, blood filling it as water. No man felt the desire to count the casualties, or envy those who were to clear the street.