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Commander Yorrek skirted around piles of freshly-fallen stone and debris on the ramparts of Castle Bathory as he surveyed the destruction from Ulrek's barrage. The last shot from the Baron's batteries had scored a devastating blow to the citadel, toppling one of the outer spires and sending a rain of rubble down onto the courtyard and walls. The rebels taken by the Madness had fallen back shortly after the collapse of the spire, affording the castle's guard a brief respite to tend to the casualties. Soldiers around him worked hastily to dig out their comrades buried under stone and rubble. Yorrek watched for a moment as a pair of guards yanked a dust-caked soldier out of a pile of crumbled bricks. His armor cuirass had been dented and beaten-in by falling brick, and a trickle of blood-tinged saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth. One of his comrades removed his helm and pressed two fingers just under his jaw.

"He lives!" Cried the soldier upon feeling a pulse under his fingers.

"Take him away for triage," Yorrek ordered. That made at least a score wounded and nearly as many men killed during the collapse of the spire. A mercy that the boy had not been killed, but Yorrek knew that he would be in no condition to defend the citadel. Against such numerous and merciless foes, the guard could scarcely afford to lose even a single man. And with the bodies already mounting, the odds of Castle Bathory surviving the siege were becoming increasingly slim.

"Clear this rubble away," Yorrek barked to another cluster of guards as he went along. "Sort out any heavy stones or bricks that can easily thrown and stack them up against the battlements. We'll want them as projectiles if they try to ladder up onto the walls. Throw everything else over the walls."

"Aye, sir." The soldiers replied. Brave, diligent soldiers; Yorrek knew that they would fight to the last man to defend their rightful sovereign. But steadfastness in the face of overwhelming odds would not be enough to change the nigh-certain outcome. Ulrek was going to take Castle Bathory and flay everyone inside, assuming the Madness-gripped rebels didn't storm the citadel first. The chamberlain had the right of it, the guard would not be enough to protect Edward and Emily.

Commander Yorrek followed the men taking the wounded up to the infirmary, following in the wake of the stretchers against the steady stream of soldiers streaming out of the guard towers and taking position on the ramparts. Dining parlors and guest suites of the castle were being used as makeshift infirmaries where those with less pressing injuries, or those with especially grievous wounds that would likely prove fatal, were taken. Badly wounded men who had a good chance of surviving - if given proper care - were being taken all the way up to the infirmary proper for intensive treatment. Yorrek followed the stretchers heading up to the true infirmary, knowing he would find Edward there beside his beloved Emily.

Everyone inside the castle was being pressed into the defensive efforts. Even the cooks were set to work; Yorrek watched the cooks haul two huge stew cauldrons out of the kitchen and down the corridor toward the stairs, followed by a number of guards and kitchenmaids rolling barrels of oil, water, and any other liquid on hand that could be cooked to a scalding boil and cast down off the ramparts on attackers. Servants gathered firewood from the countless fire hearths scattered throughout the castle to fuel the cooking fires with which to boil the vats of oil.

"There's no more wood!" One of the servants called out to his companions after rummaging through the ashes of a fireplace. "I've looked everywhere!"

"Well what about this?" Another servant asked, pulling a chair from one of the guest suites out into the corridor. It was exquisite chair of carved walnut, polished sleek and adorned with upholstered velveteen on the seat and backing. A fine piece of woodwork crafted to impress dignitaries staying at Castle Bathory; Yorrek guessed it to be worth a little more than what these servants earned in a year.

"Are you mad?" Asked one of the servants. "That chair must be worth a fortune. You can't seriously think to use it as fuel."

"Better to have it burn and contribute to the defense than to leave it for the Baron and his ilk to plunder," Yorrek chimed in as he walked past. "Use anything in this castle that will burn."

"You heard the commander!" Yorrek heard from behind him as he continued on toward the infirmary. "Let's get some hatchets and cut these chairs into manageable pieces, I'll start taking this wardrobe apart!"

Yorrek was greeted at the infirmary by a dozen groaning soldiers laying on stretchers just outside the doorway. Bloodied bandages were wrapped tight against many of their faces. These were the wounded with severe injuries that were not immediately life-threatening. They could afford to wait outside while the healers and nurses inside dealt with the more seriously injured. The Guard Commander regarded his wounded men with a somber grimace before entering the infirmary. Inside, there were dozens of healers and nurses tending to twice as many wounded men. The beds were all occupied now, and bedrolls, blankets, or whatever else to keep the glut of wounded men off the cold stone floor was employed to maximize the occupancy of the infirmary. Nurses with bloodied hands wrapped linen gauze over horrific head wounds, many of which were caused by falling brick and stone from the collapsed spire. Anguished shouts of pain mixed into a choir of agony as the healers worked fervently to save the dozens of wounded guards. Yorrek resolved to see that the Baron would be made to pay for all this bloodshed.

At the far end of the infirmary, surrounded by a contingent of honor guards, was Edward Bathory and his beloved Emily. Despite not feeling completely well yet, she had graciously given up her bed to a wounded crossbowman who had taken a falling brick squarely in the back and lost movement in his legs. Before the royal couple and their guard attache could leave the infirmary, Yorrek stopped them.

"Your majesty, the Baron's army has breached the city's fortifications, and he will be at the walls of Castle Bathory imminently." Yorrek drew closer, such that only Edward and Emily could hear him now. "The guard will fight to the last man to repel Ulrek's forces, but with his vast numbers and siege engines, there is no way that we will hold the walls. Fear not though, not all is lost. The chamberlain has a plan to destroy the Baron and the remainder of his army, but the castle will be destroyed in the process, and so we must take you and Emily of the castle."

"Those ones, these.... and then lastly this one," a white-bearded dwarf with thick-rimmed goggles said, peering up from a roll of parchment bearing detailed blueprints of Castle Bathory. "These are the primary load-bearing columns. Take those out, and the main tower collapses under its own weight. The rest of the castle will collapse with it."

The Chamberlain surveyed the cavernous undercroft of the castle, craning his neck up at the vaulted ceiling high above him, held up by row after row of thick stone columns, each one bearing thousands of tons of rock and castle and men. If they failed, Castle Bathory would collapse under its own weight, destroying everything within. If that happened with the Baron and his men inside the castle, Ulrek's war would be over.

"Well, you lot heard the engineer," said the chamberlain, turning to the two dozen or so servants he was able to muster together for this task, each armed with chisels, pickaxes, and prybars. "Let's tear these columns out."

"And bring the whole goddamn castle down on our heads?" Asked an incredulous servant. "No thank you, sirrah!" The other servants grumbled in agreement.

"If I wanted to kill myself, I'd just throw myself over the walls and not waste my final hours doing backbreaking labor."

"Make no mistake," said the chamberlain, trying to settle his disgruntled team of unwilling sappers. "I served under Baron Ulrek Bathory for many years. If we do not accomplish this task, then I assure you that the Baron will flay every single one of us alive. To die down here, toiling to bring ruin and death down upon the usurper would be a mercy. Better still, you need not die down here. The engineer said that the castle will only collapse once this final column is destroyed. I assure you, the castle shall not fall until this column is taken out. Demolish the others, but leave only this column. Only one man is needed to deliver the finishing blows against it, the rest of the party may escape with his Majesty after their work is done."

"Fair enough. But one man has to stay to finish the job though," one of the servants noted. "Who's the poor bastard that gets stuck with that detail?"

"I will," replied the chamberlain. "I want to be the one that ends that miserable beast, even if I have to die to see it happen."

With the clattering of heavy chains, the gates of the city drew open before Ulrek Bathory. Crossbow-armed mercenaries peered down from the gatehouse, giving proof that his forces had control of the gate. A solid door of mammoth timbers reinforced with a lattice of iron beams lifted up into a recess in the archway above. Ulrek, mounted and plated head-to-toe in silver armor, rode at the very front of the massive army waiting to enter through the gate into the capital. With a soft rumble high above, the gate stopped opening. With a kick to the haunches of his steed, Ulrek led his army through the gateway. Dwarf mercenaries peered through the murderholes in the gateway to watch the vampire prince lead the largest army these lands had seen in hundreds of years through the gates and into the annals of history. Ulrek rode at a canter, followed immediately by his mounted knights and mercenary horsemen. The slobbering, leashed ogres followed directly behind the Baron's retinue, followed directly by the unhorsed mercenaries that hadn't entered through the breaches, and they were followed in turn by the Baron's vast force of conscripts.

As Ulrek rode down the main thoroughfare of the capital, the mercenary capitain Kharald Halfbeard galloped up to him from a side street and rendezvoused with the vampire prince.

"There was no one on the walls, Baron. There's no one on the streets. No one in the houses or shops we searched. It's as if they evacuated the entire city," Halfbeard reported. "I've been in a siege or two in my day, but I have never seen anything like this."

"It would seem they've evacuated the northern wards of the city to around the harbor and other districts," Ulrek guessed. "It is fortunate. I would prefer to minimize causalities to the serfs, that their taxes may repay my debts that much sooner. If your men encounter anyone in the city, leave them and their belongings in peace. My quarrel is with my Edward and those who fight for him."

"As you wish, Baron. But I can see our enemy has at least a little fight in them," Halfbeard gestured to citadel at the far end of the thoroughfare in the center of the city. The red silken banners of King Zacchaeus fluttered defiantly in the tempestuous skies above Castle Bathory. Between the guard towers and battlements of the citadel, the ramparts could be seen teeming with guards. The battle for the future of the Empire Under Shadow would be fought on the very walls of Castle Bathory.

"We shall test their resolve shortly," said Ulrek. "Once Goutfoot and his cannons are within the walls, have him take position and take careful aim at their walls and gatehouse. It is imperative that the castle remain standing. But once inside the walls, spare no mortal man. The soldiers may do as they wish with whatever plunder and noncombatants are within the citadel."

"As you wish, Baron," the dwarf captain affirmed.

"But Edward must not be harmed," Ulrek added. "Not by anyone but me."
The dwarven cannons had been firing without cessation for well over an hour, into the early afternoon. Each chest-compressing report echoed across the hills of the Heartland and off of the walls of the Capital, now severely degraded by the bombardment. Two hours ago, the northern rampart of the city had been a truly redoubtable fortification, standing some thirty feet high with crenelated battlements and anchored by guard towers with catapults atop. Now, after being struck by over a hundred cannonballs, the wall was crumbling in several places. Lord Goutfoot had focused the fire of his cannons on certain points in the wall, blasting the solid blocks of stone into sloping scree piles of rubble and sand. Stray cannonballs had even managed to topple one of the guard towers, rendering the catapult atop a twisted, splintered mass of wooden beams. There were now at least three breaches in the northern wall, and one was large enough to accommodate three men abreast or a single ogre.

Baron Ulrek surveyed the devastation from horseback as he and his entourage rode over to the dwarven batteries. The cannons were powerful weapons to be sure, battering some of the finest fortification in all the land to rubble in mere hours, and inflicting great damage to the city behind the walls. Columns of smoke billowed up from various fires throughout the capital, giving proof to the devastation caused by the dwarven guns. Destroying the city had not been Ulrek's intention; his quarrel had been with his Brother and Father, not their subjects. But knowing that the vampire slayer was within the city - working even now to kill Edward before Ulrek got a chance to exact his revenge - the Baron instructed Lord Goutfoot and his dwarves to fire as quickly as possible and not to waste any time taking precise aim at their targets. Some ruined tenement buildings and a few thousand slain cityfolk were tolerable collateral damage so long as Ulrek reached Edward first.

Ulrek found the Dwarven lord leading a battery of four bombards on a ridgeline overlooking the Baron's gathered army. Giant tubes of black cast-iron held at a low angle by huge beams of solid oak, the cannons sizzled and fumed from the unrelenting bombardment. Ulrek and his retinue watched briefly as the dwarves prepared the next volley. A team of dwarves packed linen bags of firedust down into the smoking aperture of the cannons before a heavy cannonball was rolled down onto the firedust charge. Another dwarf, holding a ramrod three times taller than he, would then hop up onto a stool fashioned out of a sawn half of a barrel and pack the charge down. While this was taking place, a pair of dwarves would scoop trowelfulls of a waxy, white cream from barrels positioned by the cannonball stacks and apply it to the cannons, smearing it all over the surface of the gun as the opaque cream was melted into a watery fluid by the residual heat of the cannon. The smell of cooked meat or bacon filled the air as the guns were lathered down.

"Hog lard," Lord Goutfoot explained proudly, noticing the Baron and his retinue at last. "Firing at this pace, the cannons need to be cooled down or the gun will expand from heat and cause the projectile to jam up inside, like a cork wedged down in a bottle of mead. Blew a cannon up that way once before. Sad business, that was," Goutfoot recalled with a frown. "But the lard cools it down enough to fire almost nonstop and gives it a nice waxy polish to boot. Does a good job of keeping the rust down."

"Ready!" Shouted a dwarf, followed shortly thereafter by the other three in charge of their respective cannons. The next volley was about to begin.

"Might want to cover your ears, Baron," Lord Goutfoot recommended as he fished two wads of cotton out of his breast pocket and packed it into his ears. "Wish I had when I was younger as I'm practically deaf nowadays... Fire!"

Torches went to the fuses of the cannons, which burned down into the breech with a menacing sizzle. The dwarves manning the guns ran back a considerable distance as the fuses burnt down, suggesting that they too had seen a cannon or two explode." Ulrek's knights, Kharald Halfbeard, and the other riders with the Baron put their palms over their ears, but vampire prince only watched through the frozen stare of his silver helmet.

A series of earth-shaking reports thundered across the land as the cannons fired, eliciting terrified neighing from the steeds of the Baron's retinue as a cloud of heavy blue smoke and fiery embers burst forth from the muzzle of the cannons. Moments later, the cannonballs impacted. One cannonball arced high over the city wall and pulverized a tannery smokestack before crashing into a shop or house. The other two impacted against the wall, knocking off several hundred pounds stone from the eroded northern wall that tumbled down in an avalanche into the rubble pile of one of the wall breaches. But one cannonball had missed dramatically, and impacted one of the spires of Castle Bathory. Even from this distance, Ulrek could see that shot had made a large hole in the spire's wall. The tower teetered and listed for a few moments before ultimately collapsing. A shower of bricks, rubble, and dust rained down from the collapsing spire onto the ramparts and courtyard of Castle Bathory. An enthusiastic cheer rose from Ulrek's army as the damage to the enemy's castle was witnessed.

"Sturin's Beard!" Exclaimed Lord Goutfoot. "We might've killed Edward with that one!"

"Stop this bombardment at once!" Ulrek snarled. The enthusiasm of Lord Goutfoot and the others instantly melted away in the face of the Baron's ire.

"Halfbeard," the Baron snapped at the dwarven mercenary commander, "there exist now several breaches in the city wall. Send your heaviest men and your ogres through the breaches and clear an entrance for the rest of the army. If there is no resistance, send men up to the gatehouse and have them open the gates. Lord Goutfoot and his cannons, accompanied by the horsed knights, will enter the city through the gate."

"As you command, Baron." The mercenary commander turned his horse around and galloped away to gather his men and storm the breaches.

"I did not anticipate that we would be taking part of the actual fighting inside the city," said Lord Goutfoot. "My understanding was that we would only fire upon the city from beyond the walls. My dwarves are not prepared to assist in the fighting."

"The gates and walls of Castle Bathory have yet to be breeched," reminded Ulrek. "I need your cannons to break the inner walls. And you must be more careful with your aim this time."

"No," Goutfoot refused. "The risk of the cannons being destroyed by the defenders is too great. I will not risk it."

"No harm shall come to your cannons," Ulrek assured. "And if they are, I shall double your payments, and you will be able to buy many more cannons for your collection to replace any that might be damaged."

Orrin Goutfoot's eyes widened at the prospect of adding even more cannons to his collection. Once again, Ulrek had successfully taken advantage of insatiable dwarven greed.

"As you wish, Baron Ulrek. We shall participate in the attack." Lord Goutfoot turned to his dwarves, and beckoned for them to pack their supplies onto the wagons once again. "Limber the guns up! We're following the Baron's men inside the city!"

As Ulrek turned his horse away to watch his army march toward the breaches in the capital's walls, one of his knights rode up beside him.

"Are you sure that is wise, your majesty?" Asked the knight. "You have already agreed to pay Lord Goutfoot a great fortune. And you want to double it? Pardon me, but are you not concerned about your ability to repay?"

"Not in the slightest," said Ulrek as the horns of his unhorsed sergeants resounded across the land. "I am a vampire. It may take me many mortal generations to repay these debts, but even a century is a short time indeed for one of my kind. The debts will be repaid surely enough, but my victory will be eternal and absolute."
In Confess, Spam 17 days ago Forum: Spam Forum
I often eat the last of the left overs and then put the empty plate back in the frig.

In Confess, Spam 21 days ago Forum: Spam Forum
Over the course of this human life I have been many things. Among them: a fighter, a teacher, a disciple, an explorer, a conqueror. I have made love to many women and killed just as many men. When my appointed hour arrives and I finally earn my passage through the gates of Valhalla, I shall greet Allfather Odin with a smile on my face, knowing that throughout my many years that I have lived honorably before the Gods and my ancestors. My soul shall be not burdened by neither guilt nor sin.

Save for one.

Forgive me, Allfather.
I sit down when I pee
It's not about the color of your pills, it's about getting diaped-up and getting goofy with your diaperboys. Blue pills, black pills, pills with fun little designs for the kids; it don't even matta. It's about havin a good time and filling up your diapers and cre8ng lasting memeries. So let's stop this divisive rhetoric and get on that diaper love train.

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Dude I'm tryna get them blue pills. Also tryna to score some bud ⛽ and get some extra hours so I can buy tickets to that Drake concert ❤

not much, how bout u? :)
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