The Conquest of Esplandia

[Syrixia]

In the year 1695, Henry, the former Crown Prince of Esplandia, arrived in Syrixia after fleeing Esplandia and found his way to the court of Maharaja Rajesh I. He petitioned the Maharaja to raise an army and help him claim the throne that was rightfully his. Rajesh listened to Henry's pleas and flattered and soothed the prince with vague promises of aid. In the meantime he welcomed Henry into his palace as a guest, setting him up with servants and rooms befitting a king. Rajesh was intrigued with Henry's tales of the Kingdom of Esplandia.

For three years Rajesh kept Henry in Syrixia with his vague promises while he met with his generals as they discussed a possible invasion of Esplandia. It would take many ships and many soldiers to conquer the Kingdom so far away, but the Empire was very strong and could do it. Plus, Rajiv believed it would be worth the expenditure. Rajiv planned to take Esplandia and add it to his empire. He would even put Henry on the throne, but only as a puppet king. In 1698 he called Henry before his throne and swore a vow to raise an army and take Esplandia in his name. He phrased the vow in such a way that Henry would not suspect the Emperor's ulterior motives.

Henry went along with Rajesh's plan, and a great army was raised, numbering two hundred and fifty thousand men. Rajesh christened his army as a new Syrixian Legion, Legion CXVII, or the 117th Legion. Seven hundred ships were needed to carry the army, supplies, and siege equipment it would need for the campaign. In mid-April of 1699 the great Syrixian fleet set sail for far off Esplandia. On May 5, 1699, Rajesh's army caught sight of Genova, one of Esplandia's premier port cities.

"Langa samrajya rahate haim!" they chanted, as they prepared for war. The massive 117th Legion prepared their cannons. "Taiyara ho ja'o... Uddesya..." said Rajesh, who had traveled to Esplandia with the Legion himself, with Henry by his side. As the cannons got within firing range of the walls, Rajesh brought down his arm. "AGA!" he thundered as the cannons pounded the walls, which fell within minutes as the Legion poured into the city.

 

[Esplandia]

The year is 1699. Seeking to claim his crown by force, Prince Henry of Esplandia fled to the court of Rajesh I, Emperor of Syrixia seeking an army. Rajesh, looking to expand his realm, agreed to Henry’s request and sailed with the 117th legion to the shores of Esplandia.

The Syrixians sacked and burned the capital of Karthied, killing the King and the royal family. The lords of Esplandia now vie with each other over who should lead the kingdom and how to turn back the invaders. A gathering of the Landesgrad has been called in the city of Jorvik and the nobles of the kingdom march to the meeting with their armies.

Meanwhile, the Duke of Lamarinthia rides north to the Abbey of Auguston. There he hopes to find a young man who has been raised his whole life by the resident priests.​

Auguston, Acadia Province, 1699
The bells of the Abbey tolled seven times, the traditional number when a king has died. Edwin looked up from his studies for a moment, listening to the bells as they came through the small window of his cell. There were times he wondered at the world outside the abbey grounds. He had lived within the walls all his life.

As the last toll echoed away, he returned to his reading of The Book of Chaos. The bishop wanted Edwin to take his vows, and so he must be able to recite all thirteen of the Canticles of the Dragon. There was still days, however, where Edwin wondered if he truly wished to be a priest. It was all he knew, so why not? But then again, it was all he knew, so why should he? There was no answer for him in the Canticles.

He was distracted again as he heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Someone in heavy boots was walking through. Odd since the priests all wore soft leather shoes. He was surprised when the footsteps approaching stopped at his door. He heard the voice of the bishop say, “He is here. Knock if you wish to speak with him.” Then the soft footsteps of the bishop receded. Edwin stood and waited for whoever was outside. After a moment a loud knock came as a gauntleted fist struck the door. Edwin unfastened the door and pulled it open.

A knight stood without. He was dressed in armor from shoulder to foot, a dirty traveling cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The man had a fierce auburn beard, and long hair coiled in locks that ended evenly with his jaw. Upon his cloak was emblazoned a sigil with a falcon tearing into a rabbit with its beak.

“You are Edwin?” the man asked, his voice booming in the quiet of the abbey. His was a voice of command, not used to quiet and contemplation. Edwin nodded an answer.

“Have you taken a vow of silence, boy? Speak! The knight commanded. “Are you Edwin?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Edwin answered as firmly as he could. Edwin thought the knight rude and arrogant. This was a holy place. The lords of the realm had no authority within.

“The king is dead,” the knight said. He waited for a response, but Edwin had none. It was a strange thing for a knight to personally inform a priest of such news. The knight coughed impatiently. “Surely you know who your parents were.”

“My mother was Verona de Halcón, Countess of Lyorne,” Edwin answered. “I do not know my father’s name. Who are you and why are you here?”

“I am sorry for my rudeness. My name is Alistair Montgomerey. I am the Duke of Lamaranthia. I am here because Sherwin de Halcón is dead, and you are his only living heir. You see, son, your father was the king.”

Jorvik, Morratagne Province, 1699/
Thadius Skywing, Duke of Idjo and Count of Idjo, watched his fellow lords of Esplandia as they acted like asses. They screamed and bellowed, insulted and jibed. An enemy who had slaughtered the royal family and sacked their capital was preparing to march against them and still the fools argued like they had unlimited time. All their armies were camped outside the city, more likely to fight each other than the invaders.

And what did they know of the invaders. Syrixians. The 117th legion under their emperor Rajesh I. Henry the Butcher was also with them. The Syrixians were little known in Terra Aquilinem, but the tales of their empire, even if half true, meant destruction for Esplandia. Know was a time for unity but the Landesgrad bickered like old women at a quilting.

Too many of the old lords had died at Karthied. The Duke of Gothelif, of Lamaranthia, and of Anatolia. Any one of them would have been able to unite the Landesgrad. All of them were dead and none of their sons were even half the men their father’s had been. Except perhaps Alistair Montgomerey. But where was he? He was not at the gathering yet his armies awaited outside.

Thadius suspected the young duke was on some errand to save the kingdom. He liked the boy, all important ass that he was. Hopefully the boy was having success wherever he was. This gathering was becoming a mess. The Duke of Tiberius, fat old Baldwin Dawson was arguing for himself to be appointed Warden General, while Alfred Rosewood called for his own appointment. Neither of them were fit to hold the position. The Archbishop of Tiberus, a genial old man named Patrick Valeon voiced his own choice. “Alistair Montgomerey should be appointed. He has the most experience of us all.”

Thadius bellowed his support. He did not know the Archbishop well, but he might just have a good head on his shoulders.

“And where is Alistair?” asked the Duke of Tiberus. “Not here where he is needed.” A couple voices echoed his sentiments.

“And where were we when the king needed us?” Thadius asked, rising to his full six feet of height. “My armies where in the High Pass, marching to the King’s aid, the good it did. Wherever Alistair is, at least he is not wasting all our times with this farce.” He waved his arm around the room. “Fools we are if we think this small gathering of forces will beat back the Syrixians dogs.”

“You call me a fool?” the Duke of Tiberus bellowed, his hand went to his sword.

“I call you a fool and an old women. Draw your sword if you dare. Spill Esplandian blood while foreigners hold our city. Prove your worth to lead our armies by committing murder.” Thadius’s voice rang out in the hall. He saw many lords nod their heads in agreement with his words, more than those who looked outraged.

The Duke of Tiberus removed his hand from his sword, but his fists remained clenched after. Thadius sighed. Perhaps there wouldn’t be violence today. He needed to find something the lords could agree on. Common ground that could unify them all. What issue could he bring up that they could all accept?

“I move,” he said, “that this council vote to declare former Prince Henry a traitor and condemn him to immediate death when, and he will, falls into our hands.”

Karthied, Valdonia Province, 1699
The city was still burning. It had been three days since the walls had fallen and still clouds of black smoke rose into the air. Henry surveyed the destruction from the balcony of his father’s old bedchamber. Everything had been looted from the room except the bed. The silk curtains were gone, the feather mattress, the paintings and tapestries from the walls.

Below somewhere he heard Syrixians singing and laughing as they ate what was left of the royal food stores. Their language sounded harsh to his ears. They spoke so fast like birds. He had once thought Syrixians to be noble and civilized. The taking of the city had proved otherwise. They were barbarians and savages, and now they squatted in the halls of the Royal Palace, his father’s palace.

He had expected to ride into Karthied as a triumphant prince returning to claim his rightful throne. Now he was nothing more than a prisoner of a foreign despot. Rajesh I had betrayed him. He knew now that he even should he be crowned king it would be as the Emperor’s puppet. He wondered if that would be enough. His country and his crown, but his fealty to a far off ruler?

A Syrixian entered the bedchamber. He did not recognize the man but he was dressed in the robes of the Emperor’s court. “His Greatness demands the presence of the Little Prince,” the man said in Syrixian.

Henry wanted to kill the man for the insult, and he wanted to kill the Emperor for demanding his presence. The truth was, he had no choice. “Lead on, dog.” Henry commanded.

In a blur the Syrixian pulled a knife, placing it at Henry’s throat. “The Little Prince forgets his tongue. Perhaps it was taken by this dog.” The knife moved up to Henry’s lips. The Syrixian cocked his head. Henry glared back. He would not be cowed, that he swore. The Syrixian returned his knife to his robes. “Follow!” Henry did.

The Emperor had set up court in the great hall of the palace. Now he sat on the throne as his lords and generals came before him each placing a portion of the wealth they had looted from the city. The emperor only waved his hand when they had finished. He watched with bored eyes, barely deigning a glance at the treasure being piled at his feet.

Henry’s Syrixian escort lead him across the great hall to the foot of the throne. The emperor only gave the prince a cursory glance. The Syrixian bowed before the king, spreading himself across the floor. The emperor waved him away. Henry stood, head straight, looking directly at the emperor.

“I had expected…” the emperor waved his hand lazily, “more from Esplandia. Such little wealth compared to the lands of the east.” He straightened in his seat and looked at the treasures. “So much iron and tin, yet little bronze and gold for a royal residence, yes? Your people value war and little else I think.”

Henry said nothing. What could this savage know of honor and chivalry. This man who ruled over a vast empire but knew little of the world outside it.

“Has the little prince lost his tongue?” The emperor asked. He looked towards the man who had escorted Henry to the throne room. “Agnimukha, did I not tell you to leave him unharmed.” Agnimukha laughed, prostrating himself again. “Speak little prince. What do you think now that you have your kingdom?”

“You mock me,” Henry answered. “You have no intention of crowning me as king.”

The emperor laughed. “Oh, little prince, I am a man of my word. I am Syrixian.” He motioned for another man to come forward. This man carried something wrapped in a silk cloth and handed it to the emperor. The emperor took the thing and unwrapped it.

Henry clenched his fists. The emperor held the crown of Esplandia, raised it to the light and studied it. “A simple Iron circlet. This is what you were willing to sell your own people for. Such a pity.” For the first time the emperor looked at Henry. “Come forward and receive your crown. Have you not earned it?”

Henry didn’t move. The emperor sighed and two guards came forward, grabbed the prince and dragged him to the foot of the throne. The emperor stood and forcefully pushed the crown down on henry’s head. He gritted his teeth. He would not cry out. “All hail King Little Prince.” The emperor bowed mockingly. The emperor then strode form the hall, his court following. Agnimukha passed Henry and stuck out his tongue then mocked a cutting motion across it, before departing all the while laughing. Henry took the crown from his head and tossed it across the room. The sound of iron against stone could be heard as the crown rolled away. Henry strode forcefully form the room.

 

[Wolfsea]

Far to the east the Khan of Wolfsea stood at her balcony overseeing the bay, to her right one of the Ravens, the khanate's elite warriors, appeared "My Khan... we have word of a war... perhaps we shall fill our coffers?" "Aye, you have the right of it... ensure the 5th are ready... we merely need await word..." she smiled.

 

[Esplandia]

For the moment it seemed like the divided lords of Esplandia were United. How long that could last was anybody's guess. Their armies gathered at Jorvik, awaiting the next move of the Syrixians.

Scouts had been dispatched towards Karthied. Whatever their move was, the Esplandians wanted to know.

Duke Alistair Montgomery's location remained unknown still. In the meantime the lords were being lead by Duke Thadius Skywing and the Archbishop of Tiberus.

 

[Syrixia]

(OOC: I'll post tomorrow afternoon, when I get home from school.)

 

[Esplandia]

(OOC:Still interested in this role play?)

 

[Wolfsea]

(I am)

 

[Syrixia]

(I am, I'm just busy right now. What with the Flying Circus and such. Don't worry.)

 

[Syrixia]

Rajesh exited his "court" with his men. One of them, a man named Salman Khartana, was the Emperor's Hand, and the Maharaja's confidant on this expedition to the cursed pig-hole that was Esplandia. The two walked together to the war room, followed by the other guards and Rajesh's generals. "Hamane henari ko marane ke li'e ki jarurata hai." (We need to kill Henry.) the Maharaja said angrily to Salman. "Unhonne kaha ki eka bilkula upadrava aura eka aksama kamine hai." (He is an utter nuisance and an incompetent bastard.)

"Maim, apani bhavyata sahamata haim. Hamare bica mem hai ki murkha hone ke li'e eka apamana hai. Yaha eka koloni hai. Kanuna ke anusara, eka jatiya sihaina gavarnara janarala apane nama mem, aropa mem hona cahi'e." (I agree, your Magnificence. Having that fool in our midst is a disgrace. This is a colony. By law, an ethnic Syrixian governor-general should be in charge, in your name.) Salman replied agreeingly. The Maharaja hatched a plot in the war room on how to kill Henry. Three Imperial Envoys would ride straight to Jorvik with a small battalion of guards.

And Henry. If the Esplandians wanted to kill the bastard prince, the Empire would make it happen. The envoys would literally throw a chain-bounded Henry before the city gates and leave. This would not bring the Esplandians to their side, but it would make them think that Syrixia was at least honorable, and not blatantly evil. So, during the nighttime, a unit of guards carrying chains and bearing swords incase Henry tried to escape quickly entered Henry's room in the palace. They snatched him off his bed, woke him up, threw him on the floor, and bound him in chains.

 

[Esplandia]

Henry chaffed at his bonds. He had come to realize that his life was forfeit, that he would never become king of Esplandia, but he had not thought the Syrixians would move this quickly to get rid of him. Now he was bound and gagged in the back of a wagon enroute to gods knows where. For six days he had been here, bound and gagged. Only twice had they taken the gag out to give him water, then quickly replaced it so he couldn’t ask questions.

He could tell they were climbing into the mountains, but he didn’t know where. The wagon rattled around as it climbed. Darkness descended when he heard a commotion. The Syrixians seemed to be under attack. He heard harsh calls and blades clashing. He didn’t know how long the commotion lasted, but finally it seemed it was over. New voices had replaced the Syrixians. It sounded like Urracan was being spoken. At last the tarp that had been covering the wagon bed where he lay was thrown off and staring in at him was three knights. Their emblems showed the house of Skywing. It was obvious they recognized him. He was dragged roughly from the wagon, tied to the back of a horse, and lead away.

Jorvik, Morratagne Province, 1699
Alistair Montgomerey, Duke of Lamaranthia, burst into the great hall of Jovik Castle startling the men inside. He strode forward to the end of the hall and the Duke of Jorvik’s seat. Edwin followed closely. The young prince, which he had come to terms with being, was dressed now in full armor. No insignia emblazoned his armor. In the week of travel from Auguston he had been instructed by Alistair in how to comport himself as if he was a noble. Edwin felt that he was still making himself look like a fool.

Alistair stopped before the gathered dukes. They all stared at him, some even greeted him with a smile. “Where have you been?” asked one of the dukes, a tall man with long dark hair.

“In Augston, Thadius,” Alistair replied. “I have brought the last living de Halcón with me.” He motioned Edwin forward. “This is the Bastard son of Countess Verona.”

Edwin became aware of all the men in the room looking at him. All were silent as they studied him. “You think to make him king?” asked a fat old man. “The dynasty cannot pass matrilineal through his mother. He is no de Halcón.”

“My lords, look at the boy and tell me you don’t know who his father is. He is the son of…” Alistair was cut off as a group of men entered the hall. The lords rose up in an uproar. Edwin turned and looked. A group of knights had entered the hall dragging a bound man in chains. The lords screamed and yelled. Edwin had never seen such hate spewed at anyone before. He called as loud as he could over the crowd, asking Alistair. “Who is that?”

“That is Prince Henry, the Traitor.”

Henry had been delivered by the Syrixians to the remaining lords of Esplandia. Perhaps Rajesh wanted to keep his hands clean, or he was hoping to appease the Esplandians. Whatever the case, Henry was dragged before the lords of the Kingdom. A trial was held where he was condemned. His tongue was cut out, his eyes removed, and then he was crucified above the gates of Jorvik. Henry lasted three days chained to the castle walls before dying.

In the meantime, Alistair Montgomery began instructing Edwin in the arts of war and martial skill. The lords had not reconvened, so Alistair had not yet been able to inform them all of Edwin’s true parentage.

 

[Esplandia]

For two years the Syrixians continued to decimate the Esplandians. The eastern seaboard of the kingdom fell into the hands of the invaders. Eborum province held out fiercely for over a year before it to fell. The great fortress of Rackham was sacked and seized. The Arzark Mountains became the front lines in the war as the Esplandians used the terrain to their advantage.

Duke Alistair Montgomery was elected the new Warden General, and he took his protégé Erwin with him. It wasn’t until the following year after the execution of former prince Henry that Alistair informed the lords of Erwin’s true parentage. While many lords condemned Alistair’s intention of crowning the young bastard prince, others mostly remained indecisive. After a particularly disastrous defeat at Tiberus, leaving the kingdom’s holy sites in Syrixian hands, it became apparent that the country was in dire need of strong leadership.

After the Battles of Mirror Lake and Vecklenburg in Lorragne, it was shown that halting the Syrixian advance was possible. At Vecklenburg, Erwin lead a detachment of light cavalry and Siriqoium skirmishers in a heroic charge against the Syrixian right flank which was instrumental in eking out the near victory. He charged against the Syrixian’s cannon fire and overran the more experienced Syrixians through his ferocious attack, collapsing the right flank which lead to a retreat and then a route of the invaders. The Esplandians were later forced to retreat to the far side of Mirror Lake ahead of the Syrixians who had regrouped.

In 1701 Erwin was crowned king in the city of Queensport, which had become the de Facto capital of Western Esplandia. Erwin set about purchasing cannons and hiring mercenaries to fight the Syrixians.