It is early evening as you stop by a farm along the road, asking how much further it is to your destination - the city of Wiss. As far from the war as possible. Recieving word that your goal is no further than 4 hours walk from there, you decide to move on the last miles. Not much more than 1 hour later, the dark clouds above you release their sorrows in the shape of cold heavy rain, the sound of the heavy drops against your armor and shield unnervingly familiar with the battledrums of the imperial legion, and a life in siege trenches... But you shrug it off, you are far far away from the war now, its just a regular spring rain. Just a regular spring rain. Just rain.
A loud crack followed by a rumbling sound makes you jump, expecting to see Imperial Fire, but it was just lightning and thunder. Just lightning. And thunder. The ringing sounds of screams, desperate pleas and commands in your ears are slowly drowned in the clutching sounds of mud under your boots.
1 hour later, the landscape open up into a flat valley and small patches of forests, and in the middle of the fields lay Wiss, the heavily defended town in the northwest. The City of Freedom. Its almost completely dark now, but the black silhouette of the castle is still visible against the somewhat lighter night sky. Hundreds of small spots of light makes you long for the warm comfort of a inn. Warm food and racily ale. And maybe even the warm comfort of a maiden?
2 hours later, soaking wet, cold and muddy, you approach the gates of the city. 4 guards have taken refuge inside the gatehouse, protected from the rain and warmed by torches. They get in the way for you, everyone carrying more or less the same equipment as you do; scalemail armor, small shield, halberd and longsword. Arms at the ready, they observe you for a bit with suspicious looks, until they crack open a smile and instead of simply standing in your way, give you a handshake, welcoming a brother in arms. They let you into the city without further questions. "Whelps." you think about them. Young hotbloods who havent even seen war yet, yet still seem to think they are the biggest and the best. Didnt even ask questions about you or your unit. For all they know, you could be a enemy spy. They had not met the imperial legions - their shield walls, their almost perfect lines and deadly discipline. While the sescessionists were good fighters and proud men, they lacked experience of fighting together in large groups, different from the Empire who specialized in working as 1 big unit. And they had the numbers as well. First they marched across the fields toward their enemy, all in perfect lines and in pace to battledrums, carrying the banners of their chapters and the Legion to demonstrate their strength. If this wasnt enough for the enemy to flee, first would the Imperial Fire and giant boulders thrown from giant machines rain down constantly as the legioneers slowly moved across the fields in tight formations and shield walls, almost impervious to arrows. And as they drew close, they would throw their spears and then pull their swords and charge. As the lines clashed and the enemy protection opening up, they would move archers up behind the infantry, shooting over their own legioneers and hitting the enemy from the back, annihilating their reserves. If they had cavalry, it would be even worse. This had forced the sescessionists to apply guerilla tactics against their enemy, or fortify themselves in fortresses, castles and trenches.
Just a few steps outside the gatehouse back in the constant rain, something suddenly brush against your side, looking down, you see a little halfling run off with your coinpurse. Wohoo, this day is really great isnt it? You set off after the little thief, shouting curses his way. Your training and size favors you in this situation, and a few blocks up the main street you are really close to catch him. The you suddenly slip on a bit of fabric in the mud and fall forward, but manage to grab one of his legs. The halfling too falling forward, and you try to pull him back towards you. The dextrous halfling have the favour over your heaviness on the slippery muddy ground, and you both struggle around and wrestle for a bit before he takes off, heading for a nearby tavern. You leap after and just as the halfling turns the handle you slam into him, grabbing him and pushing him up against the door. You've got the bastard.
Suddenly, you realize that the door did swing open in the action, and a bunch of bargoers are now curiously observing you. Mostly humans, but one stand out. It's a dark skinned fair maiden with blond hair. You dont know their race, but its certainly not human, more like some odd kind of elf. You have however seen a couple of similar creatures before in a Empire camp, but those had been mutilated and tortured beyond recognition, so it was hard to tell...
So this is another excerpt from my RP "A Night in Gargul". Please check out my other writings as well. If you like them, I am always open for comissions.