The howling wind did little to persuade the few armed figures still remaining awake, despite the cold and unsettling sounds of the hissing grass and trees. The atmosphere in the entire camp was quiet and orderly, yet uncertain and frigthening at the same time. Normally, you'd say,trained soldiers would fear little on an ordinary night...but this was no orindary occasion. All men are troubled when their moment has come, and tomorrow that moment would come for each of them. Tomorrow, the hegemonic army was to end the decades long civil war between the Hegemon and the republican loyalists. All that was standing between the Hegemony and total victory was the Pearl of East Canthor itself, the city of Irrida, the last bastion of republican forces. They knew that not all of them would come back after the long campaign and see their families, their homes. Some of the soldiers would find solace in their loneliness by the fire pits after most of their squad brethren fell asleep. Others would just glance at times over the war ravaged hills just outside the city walls. It has been 4 months since the siege started, and everything was set for the decisive stage of tomorrow.
Making his way through the fire pits and scattered tents, with an elegant letter in his hand, Prime Lord Detrius Goran spotted the tent of the Hegemon himself. It was the biggest of them all, heavily guarded and with the color of crimson red, coincidentally fit for the bloodbath of tomorrow. Lord Detrius was the right hand man of the Hegemon, the highest on the political spectrum, in charge of ensuring that the executive orders of the ruler are followed. The dim light of the torches inside the tent gave away the fact that the Hegemon was not sleeping, perhaps troubled himself of the following day? Nevertheless, Lord Detrius approached the entrance and was greeted warmly by the two Ataka guards. Very intimidating judging by their own established reputation, the Ataka were the elite guard troops of the Hegemon. Clad in heavy lamellar armor worn over a heavy padded gambeson with their faces concealed by a chainmail mask and steel helmet adorned with purple feathers, these loyal troops were always present with the Hegemon, becoming universally associated with the hegemonic elite.
Inside, the most important man in all of Canthor was quietly sitting on his wooden chair, by the war table littered with markers and small regiment flags. Lord Detrius swept off the sweat on his forehead and approached the Hegemon, announcing his presence with a slight *ahem*. In the next moment, Nidor Xuleyn rose up from the table in order to face his lesser lord, Detrius...
"Purple silk robes? You've spent so much time in the capital you can't even see beyond your nose now, you snobbish prick." decreed the Hegemon, shifting his cold gaze on the appearance of the lord. Detrius, upon hearing the words of his overlord, replied gently with "Lucky for us, you can see beyond yours, my lord." Nidor's blank facial expression remained the same for the next seconds, as if to comprehend the preposterous words that he's heard from his most trusted man. Indeed, the joke alluded to the fact that Nidor's nose has been bludgeoned years ago, a reminder of the civil war for the rest of his life, and it did little to help the Hegemon's already ugly and rough mug. Come here, you litte shit! yelled the Hegemon with a rather cheerful tone, suddently changing his grim face to a warm and friendly tone. Unbeknownst to many, lord Detrius and the Hegemon shared a strong friendship, developed over the course of the civi war that plagued Canthor for decades. Both of them were born into this war, members of the western noble house of Goran, respectively the eastern house of Xuleyn.
"What brings you all the way here to the east, my friend? said Nidor, placing his gaze on the letter in the lord's hand.
"News from Arkron, my Hegemon. King of the realm, Amon-Mar the Fourth has left this world and his son, prince Rakon-Da, shall be crowned new sovereign. We are hereby invited to attend the coronation in Akronia. I've taken the liberty to..." The lord's announcement was interrupted when the Hegemon dismissively just made his way to the political map of the continent, but not before pouring some fine wine in his silver decorated cup, sliding some gulps down his throat from time to time as he was shifting his gaze from the lord and to the map on the table. "...I've taken the liberty to inform the chamberlain of your highness back in Canthor to prepare everything for the upcoming journey between Canthor and Akronia."
"You're saying I'm forced to go and pretend I love to kiss their arses... replied Nidor, scratching his teeths after each gulp of wine. Certainly, the Hegemon of Canthor wasn't the most elegant and gracious individual. He always despised the high court, and regarded most of the nobles as whiny feminine annoyances. Nidor was a military man of career, and at his 36 years of living, he had only known either the muddy rolling hills of his eastern home and the sound of clashing steel during battle. Some would say it's a miracle this noseless bastard survived this long. Perhaps the spirit of survival and his martial character is what made the previous Hegemon Mikel Quenit choose him as successor on his deathbed. "Very well. What do we know about this...prince? folowed up Nidor, looking straight at the lord.
"Surprisingly not too much, my Hegemon. Rumors are that the prince has been seen less and less in public, avoiding plain view. said Detrius.
"In any case, we've got more pressing matters on our hands than Arkron. Tomorrow, if Shanna wills it, we shall end this destructive war once and for all...and my rule will be unchallenged all the way from the borders of Rhaetia to the mountain borders of Abiat and the steppes of the east. Shanna wills it. replied the Hegemon, adjusting his golden nose piece strapped to his face. A spark of flame was burning in his eyes, and the gleaming fire in the tent made it look all the more obvious.
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The battle horns loudly broke the silence of the rather enjoyable early morning. Not even the sun's rays could manage to peek over the horizon yet and the drums of war began to display their unsettling chant as a wave of soldiers approached the scarred fields outside Irrida. The Hegemon and his retinue of Ataka rode through the ranks, issuing to each regiment officers the orders and rode off afterwards to the camp's hill, overlooking the entire siege. For Nidor Xuleyn, it was a most glorious moment.
The first stage of the siege saw the rain of arrows coming down upon the hegemonic infantry as the soldiers climbed the outside ditch surrounding the walls, struggling to maintain their shields over their heads. The professional soldiers were lucky enough to escape death by arrow heads, courtesy to their heavy padded gambesons beneath the chainmail, or simply because of their shields, but many perished from this frontal attack, especially the republican soldiers from previous campaigns, who were conscripted as slaves and promised freedom if they survive the siege. It took three days of non-stop catapult fire, mound building and assault by siege towers and multiple attempts by forcing down the front gate with the battering ram before the hegemonic forces could succesfully gain a secured entrance into the stronghold. When Nidor's forces managed to break down the gate and win the surrounding sections of walls, the invasion of the stronghold could proceed as planned, and as such, the atmosphere quickly changed to the deafening sound of clashing swords and cries of war as the hegemonic soldiers began the battle with the severely weakened garrison of republican forces.
Within mere hours, the remaining contingents of republican forces were either broken or in the course of being broken. The Hegemon and his retinue made their way through the main street, reaching the castle tower in no time and giving little attention to the mindless plundering happening around them. The dirty streets were full of looted goods from the surrounding houses, as the hegemonic soldiers wasted no time to take whatever they could. The only limit to this chaos was the Hegemon's order of not killing any civillians inside, which saved countless families from a gruesome demise.
Inside the castle walls, the republican council of elders was holding their last ritual of prayer to goddess Shanna. Some pleaded for mercy, others reconciled themselves with the situation. Nevertheless, the Hegemon offered each of them a merciful fate: the republic is to cease all existence with immediate effect, any remaining enlisted troops are to be dispersed and present themselves at once to the hegemonic conscription centers for identification and evaluation for incorporation inside hegemonic armies, all senators and elders of the council will accept early retirement and exilation to assigned monasteries in the farthest reaches of the realm. As expected, some outright refused the Hegemon's offer, choosing instead the gallows waiting for them outside the stronghold's walls. Those who accepted were spared, as promised. The hegemonic government has triumphed over the republican forces and now the Hegemony of Canthor is in full control over it's old borders.
While the entire army was celebrating outside on wine and whores, the Hegemon and his emissaries were working tirelessly to prepare a draft for the official proclamation of the Hegemony of Canthor and the reestablishment of diplomatic relationships with all other nations. The previous 50 years were marked by a chaotic civil war that put a halt to the external diplomatic life of Canthor. While both sides requested help, the ultimate decision belonged to the Kingdom of Arkron, and as such, Akronia saw no reason to spend carelessly the lives of their soldiers and drain the treasury into intervening in a civil war of one of their vassals, not to mention the fact that a weakened vassal was certainly a good thing for Akronia, especially if another rebellion would surface.
