The Descent
Boluk-Bushi Untirr Thaksin had been through countless engagements throughout several wars and had not survived this long to have left his men to die. When the ceiling came crashing down, it happened with such fury that it left less than several unforgiving moments for his brother subordinates to find cover. Miraculously, the nobleman that had proven instrumental to their counter-attack once again reaffirmed his worth through wisely alerting Untirr in time for the officer to issue necessary precautions before himself finding cover.
The Nezamni subordinates followed orders exactly as specified and to the letter without complaint or unnecessary delays. Such was expected of the soldier corps that commanded the respect of countless Sarifen Emperors and their Aryanpur descendents. They left no man behind and within reason, considered each other equals to where an understanding of duty to the Emperor of Sarife, self-discipline, and an oath to their Zendricaanist sect were valued above many other responsibilities.
The ghastly shades had proven somewhat of an unexpected development that had mostly prevented their demise. As a commanding officer of his orta, Untirr had ordered the surviving men to bring the wounded towards the cellar opening where it was determined that they would initiate their last stand. Cellars were known to withstand the worst of collapsing buildings while serving as an impenetrable refuge against numbers six to seven times their own.
With luck, they could at least tunnel their way through while a rear party withstood the cellar's chokepoint from the warring, traitorous Azads and their swine. They rushed through the opening to find the brave Valanian that had aided their efforts against the Baktrian Azads sprawled across the floor alongside an assembly of his companions and a battered opening leading someways downwards. An alternative route into the Voltisian depths had presented itself and seemed a much better outcome than previously expected.
“Nezamnis!” the officer shouted, “Those still able to walk, I want three formations assembled into separate rank and file. One, guarding the stairwell entrance, one wedging our middle as a reserve to guard our wounded, and one as an advanced party to the opening leading away. Inform the men to a wall of orderly retreat. Corbaci, what is the status of the wounded?”
“The dead were left where they fell, however we have recovered all of our wounded. The men are battered, but they will hold even without sufficient munitions.”
“Then we are in good hands, Corbaci. We will not leave until the last living brothers have escaped.”
Saluting, the Corbaci returned to issue orders amidst barked orders and hand gestures that sent the men into triple lined formation. Within mere moments, the remaining Nezams had quickly formed three solid ranks. In orderly fashion, the soldiers peeled away as one rank offered cover, while the others retreated towards a more defensible position. Despite operating under rapidly descending, fumes, the covering retreat unfolded without complications and in minutes, the maneuvers happened in a very short time period. The warrior aristocrat had found his way into the cellar passage where the commander and the last Nezamnis offered acknowledging nods.
“You of the Noble order,” Untirr firmly addressed as he beckoned an arm forwards, “We are retreating through that opening and we hope you will find your way out. We will not stop otherwise.”
The survivors movements and strained expressions only offered a modicum of comfort as the ear splitting screeches and the pulsating shades suddenly faded. The entire cellar engulfed into a mess of clouded fumes and wall licking blazes. The fumes filled the cellar in a noxious cloud and plunged the entire underground dwelling into a sea of yellowing flames. The remaining Nezamnissaries had wasted no time in withdrawing moments before the flames arrived, however, several straggling and aristocrats screamed or toppled to the floor as the flames wholesomely consumed them.
Then, as if by supernatural intervention, the fumes licked even further to spread across the cellar passage. There was little mercy given how rapidly the fumes retched upon the survivors. As if matters couldn't worsen, a lingering stench of moss, bile, feces, and the deities knew what else had begun to fill the air. They journey had brought the lot through the sewers and it quickly proved evident that if the fumes failed to suffocate their existence, the stench surely would.
Long ago, the hindsight of the reigns involving earlier Delacroix kingships had delivered an expansive sewer system that had coated the valley through which Voltas expanded. The aged Voltisian sewers had since fallen on immense disrepair and piled with horrific public sanitation fit not even for demons. They'd little choice and what was a simple intelligence eves-dropping had quickly culminated into a scramble for dear life and in lue of the murderous inferno, his eyes quickly swept across the quasi-national sight of disheveled survivors hailing from differing lineages both aristocratic and soldierly alike. There was little bickering amongst the Nezamnissaries, the defiant looking aristocrat amongst their retinue or the remaining Sarifens whilst most of the surviving Valanians not only eyed each other distrustfully and largely kept to themselves with the exception of Comtesse, whom appeared as irritated as she did another, shorter, albeit venemous looking female companion.
The assembled group largely fell silent silent as the sudden sounds of clattered footsteps, barked orders, and large rings of drawn steel filled the air. Those still able drew steel and fumbled about as anticipation towards immediately combat lingered. It seemed there was no end to this night and even after escaping one inferno, the fates only brought them into yet another. Another confrontation against heavily armed and directed Sarifens was surely one they wouldn't likely win and under the surface, it seemed that both Yadin-Hamon and Athirat had saved their end for a battle in filth ...
What immediately followed proved incredibly unexpected as the survivng Nezamnissaries and few remaining, retainers amongst the aristocratic guests found themselves greeted by ...
nothing ... Gasping, Lucius raised his sword and exhaustively stalked ahead found himself staring down upwards towards a large drainage grill that offered a brief gust of fresh, albeit dank air that reeked of smoke and debris. A hand raised amongst the Nezamni commander as they heard movement from an opening above their heads.
Through wide eyes, the Prince glanced towards the ungainly sight of a small party of disheveled, aristocratic men and women stumble across the streets only to scream as a sea of arrows suddenly planted into their backs. Several young men of Sarifen descent cried for mercy only to find more arrows pierce their necks. The rest were cut down by arrows or blades from fast moving mounted cavaliers wearing Almain rivets similar to those worn by the Crown Watch. Clattered footsteps, barked orders, and metal clanks followed in their wake, announcing the arrival of yet another group of trained and armored foot soldiers.
“Tany ard tümen, uls orny mökhökh ni khezee ch boltugai,” a silky, albeit, heavily accented female voice affirmed from atop a mounted saddle.
“Bénédictions du Athirat et Yadin – Hamon, honorés Kheshig,” a female voice politely addressed. Torchlight flickered as the female figure stepped into the light to resemble a steel plated lady wearing raven dark hair and a commanding expression. Her arriving retinue consisted of a gathering of other, ladies wearing similar plates and. as she glanced towards the broken and bloodied bodies, “I would assume zat your actions were justified in dispatching those innocents? We are treading through uncharted grounds and carrying ourselves across a matter that is beyond our calling. I assume this ees a good reason our sisters were dispatched in the Crown Watch's stead, oui?”
“We do not share your value in peasants that treat their own like cattle and feel it as every reason that it is wise to exact justice as seen fit. At the very least, you should know that if tigers eat at each other, Grand Master; both you and your Lord Sovereign must set an example as is required of you. It will soon concern your fate as do all creatures and kingdoms laying beneath treading horse hooves.”
The sounds of whistles, multiple directives in a foreign language, whips, and loud horse neighs soon followed suit as the ground with horse gallops and steel clanks. The mounted horsemen and women headed in the direction of what appeared to be loud weeping. Several wails escaped amongst various sole female survivors whom tearfully mulled over amongst their slain aristocratic lovers as they were dragged atop the horses and carried away into the night. The cries soon drowned into the background as the sound of rumbling ballista fire, cries of triumph in Emperor Aryanpour's name, and faint, distant cannon fire drowned out the fading horse neighs.
“Best not question the Lord Sovereign's directives, Eugenia,” another nearby figure murmured through the clattering footsteps, “Our exchanges yesterday were suspicious enough. And of course … there's more o'them than you.”
“Cela està juste titre, Bastien,” the Lady Grand Master answered, “I'm well aware of the territorial hand over involving our little charade and I must complement your theatrics. Our arrangement involving the brothels spells that they aren't merely whore houses, but locations to train more sisters in waiting. A mutual partnership for which we may keep more of our numbers under the guise of prostitution.”
“Une varicelle sur toi,” the pocked-marked street ganger remarked as he too stepped into the torchlight, “All in a day's swoiree ... then again ... that part about my ... ehm ...
farking was a little 'arsh, no?”
“Au contraire, Bastien,” Eugenia sighed as more plate wielding sisters quickly made their way through the streets, “I find your words regarding his late Sovereign Lothair equally vile! Par jambe atrophiée de mon gammer! That one murderer got away, didn't she?”
“Far as I'm aware, yes,” the pock-marked Bastein grumbled, “
Salope! Made usurping le gambers colporteurs mob a 'erible mess. Oh … and you should know that your sister's bolts almost killed several of my own boys.”
“Oh, but it happened for a reason and was enough to hunt down the bastard le gambers mob to a man. At the very least, it seemed convincing enough, did it not? I am as short on time now as I was previously and it's best that we speak in the morning. For now,
please survive the night...”
“Never … again ...” the ganger mumbled sternly as the Grand Master barked strict orders and departed into the night alongside several complements of disciplined Melitan Sisters. Grumbling the scarred ganger sorted amongst the slain aristocratic corpses and seized trinkets and gold before stalked into a dark alley leading into the Merchant's Quarter Walls. For a while longer, the gutter grill opening brimmed with clattered footsteps and horse gallops rang out through the cobbled streets ...
During the harrowing moments below the surface, the surviving men and women of differing heritage, backgrounds, and social standings had somehow managed to support each other in a glimmer of humanity. The filth proved more than they could bear, however, given the circumstances, there was little they could do, but wait out the violence, distant chants, armed deployments that raged from above.The footsteps and gallops fell silent sometime into the night and after a time, the Nezam Commander's hand gestures quickly brought the Nezams to action as they peeled into formation towards a sewer tunnel directly under the grill and away from the Noble's Quarter. As the remaining Nezamnis began to reassemble their ranks and retrieve their wounded, the other survivors quickly following suit. Their headcount proved incredibly paltry compared to their more populous retinues only hours before and their shattered expressions spoke of hardship and trauma in the hours and days ahead.
Amongst their retinue, their colleague Daedhel L'Fevre had somehow managed to have supported the ailing, albeit alive Councillor Gisgo whilst emerging unscathed alongside a beautiful, albeit steely eyed lady aristocrat and her servant. Some paces ahead of the rest, the man in the iron mask, Uriel had managed to guide the survivors through the sewers where all, save the Nezamnissaries themselves, looked to him with weary desperation and guidance.
Several paces away, the Al-Mayrin seer, Onatha, appeared heavily exhausted, yet otherwise alive having proven more than her worth to uncover various necessary truths that would've otherwise remained hidden within the defiling Banquet gathering. Without the towering man that now carried her, it was doubtful she would've survived the inferno and as one of the only surviving retainers of the once feared and respected Garde de Delacroix, Balthazar remained composed and reserved during the ordeal leading up to the harrowing exodus through within the Voltisian sewers. The sole Nezamnissary commander, Untirr, his remaining soldiers, and the defiant Sarifen aristocratic cavalier accompanying their retinue had immediately begun to compose themselves in preparation for the coming morning, despite having suffered severe casualties amidst a suicidal encounter that would've left most others dead.
Lucius proved amongst the last to inch forward and depart, having glanced back towards the grill opening, the smoke plumes that had begun to cloud the night sky, and the battle cries that hailed justice for Emperor Aryanpur. His eyes lit in fury as he glared towards yet another grill opening that offered a hazy, yet clear view of the Palais du Voltas. Through escaping the night's traumatic massacre and finding weary beyond belief, a spark set above the Prince's mind. There was still time and space to exact a blow of defiance against the vile pupeteers orchestrating above ground and it all started with a potential pre-emptive strike against the traitorous Lord Regent's own residence …
