Having had time to settle into the mountains, defense of the gray peaks has become a rather familiar task for the troops stationed there. Our control of the mists, already the most trivial of spells for our mages, has grown. With our apprentices trained in a more formal setting, the spell sees some use in melee rather than being restricted to skirmishes. The peaks are utterly obscured in clouds, and Moskurg troops are picked off one-by-one as arrows cascade through the cover. They hide behind boulders and trees as they approach, but ultimately the cowards are forced to turn and flee back to their deserts. Their horses, at home in the desert sands, can't find purchase on the rocky terrain. Even their storms seem more inclined to strike the lofty peaks than they are to bite at our troops. We manage to capture a few of them as they flee, but the battle is short and uninspiring. We will hold the mountains another year, and likely for many years to come so long as the Moskurgs fail to gain a foothold.
Arstotzka easily maintains control of the Mountains.The plains...however.
The plains are a different story.
Calvary, the heavy artillery of the medieval era, were once limited to minor nobles and knights. Restricted to critical battles and the relatively less-risky skirmishes that preceded them, most combats have consisted of boots on the ground slugging it out. This does not seem to be the case for Moskurg, however; their horses, seemingly only fit for travel and not combat, are...everywhere. Though lightly armored, entire divisions of the troops have crashed into our battle lines over and over again, snapping their shoddily made lances and lashing out with sword and spear. We fail to win a single battle here, let alone gain a territory. Those who aren't run down quickly surrender, and once relieved of their armor and weapons are immediately returned to us. Our own cavalry are much stronger than any Moskurg horseman, but even they can't win against a seething ocean of these overgrown rats. Fireballs blast holes in their ranks, but they're filled as soon as they appear. Horses leap through walls of flames, and though a few tumble from their saddles wreathed in fire the rest charge through our ranks like demons. If we do not do something to counter these new horsemen, we may very well see their hoof prints on Arstotzkan home soil.
Moskurg has maintained control of the plains.Something unusual happens in the jungle. Warm rain typically falls year-round, but the air has grown chill. Rain varies from freezing cold to a modest lukewarm - even briefly snowing for a time. Far to the north, an ominous tower rises above the treetops, overlooking the sea of green around it. Chanting can be heard from miles around, and a light shines from the top like a glorious beacon.
Naturally, the Moskurgs attack it.
The assault is preluded by a roiling, thundering storm. Arstotzkan soldiers grip their swords tightly, having learned by now that the dark skies mean trouble. All eyes are turned south, peering through the chill rain towards the suspiciously dry swath of land, ears straining for the inevitable whistle of a Moskurg arrow.
Lightning strikes the tower, and the attack commences in earnest.
Black figures pour out from under the trees. Rain mixes with arrows, some pelting off the tower and others sinking into the eye slits of helmets with alarming frequency. Another crack of thunder lights up the field for a brief second, illuminating a disorganized swarm of horsemen and infantry rushing through the undergrowth. Just as quickly the world is plunged back into the dim light of the storm. Arstotzkan longbowmen make good use of the height advantage of the tower and the momentary illumination to sink their arrows into the shadows below. Screams and the sound of rending metal fill the ears of every man in the area, but over it all the fury of Myark can be heard.
"AL-MUTRIQA!"
Standing atop the tower, singed and glowing with an eerie light, stands the fabled Mage of the North. A blast of fire leaps from the tip of his wand, blowing a crater into the foliage below. In the illuminated glow of magical fire the legendary red, gold, and purple cape of al-Mutriqa flashes with sheer insolence. His horse stumbles, throwing him from his saddle. He lands hard, his black scale mail clattering as he bounces through the greenery. Immediately walls of fire leap up around him, hemming him in. In the chaos of battle, no other Moskurg soldier notices their hero trapped like the rat he is.
"This is where it ends." Only the mages closest to Myark heard him say this, for it was little more than a whisper over the maelstrom of noise that surrounds the tower. His hand raises, wand clasped in his grasp. On the ground al-Mutriqa does the same. The world stills for this brief second, as though the Gods themselves were holding their breath. But before either could strike the weather beat them both to the punch.
A bolt of lightning crashes down into the tower not a few feet from where Myark was standing. The explosion of super-heated plasma sends him and the stone bricks he was standing on off the side, and they all come crashing down into the foliage below. The sudden disruption of the delicate, carefully-drawn spell circles on the roof of the tower resulted in a second, much slower explosion. Were Myark still standing atop the tower he might have been able to prevent the cook-off of magical power slowly growing out of control, but without him there was little the wizards left could do. The top of the tower flashes briefly.
The explosion sends mortar, brick, and bodies sailing into everyone standing around the tower with an indiscriminate violence. Unfortunately, it was mostly Arstotzkan troops standing nearby. Plate armor absorbs a good portion of the debris, but with their hero wounded and most of their mages dead the troops have no option other than to retreat. Myark is hauled off the battlefield by one of the surviving squads, and they manage to abscond with him. He will live.
Myark has been gravely wounded and will not fight next year.
Moskurgs gain ground in the jungle.
The oceans are locked in stalemate, as usual. Though we turn the cowardly Moskurgs away more often than not, we can't press our advantage. Their ships flee too quickly, remaining frustratingly out of range. Both sides have some minor success, but no progress is made one way or anther.
The Seas remain deadlocked.It is 917, the Design Phase.Northern Taiga: 4/4 Arstotzka
Central Mountains: 4/4 Arstotzka
Western Jungle: 1/4 Arstotzka, 3/4 Moskurg
Eastern Plains: 4/4 Moskurg
Southern Desert: 4/4 Moskurg
Northern Sea: Arstotzkan
Western Sea: Disputed
Eastern Sea: Disputed
Southern Sea: Moskurger
Mundane Equipment
Broadsword: Officer weapon. An iron age classic. A double-edged blade designed for speed, flexibility and force. Requires training to wield, can be used one or two handed. Expensive.
War Axe: General infantry weapon. Can be used as a tool in a pinch, this is a single-handed weapon that does well against heavily armoured foes. Can be used with minimal training.
Wooden Shield: General infantry equipment. Couples well with an axe, cheap, easy to replace. Works best in heavy melee. Can be used with minimal training. Cheap.
Hide Armour: General infantry armour. Cheap, thanks to the plentiful sheep in the taiga. Turns aside weak blows. Cheap.
Chain Mail: Officer armour. Expensive, due to the steel required. Very effective against most weapons. Expensive.
Plate Mail: General infantry and officer armour. So well designed it costs surprisingly little to make. Normal cost.
Longbow: General infantry weapon. Difficult to find wood and requires a lot of training, but long ranged and powerful. Expensive.
Shire Horse: A heavy riding horse. Survives and rides well in cold weather. Powerful charge. Expensive.
Longship: Oar-rowed wooden ship. Slow, but sturdy, and can carry large numbers of landing troops. Very Expensive.
Magical Equipment
Wand of Fireballs - Hurls fireballs at a distance, able to destroy whole squads at a time. A National Effort.
Tower of Forever Frost: An astoundingly expensive tower that has to be assembled in place and requires the skill of a master wizard to operate, as well as countless other skilled wizards. Creates a very powerful cold evocation and then channels it directly into the air, consistently lowering temperatures within a radius of about fifty miles. A National Effort.
Anti-Wizard Guard: Guard thanes against mind-readers and other threats by shooting them. Also partially negate spell support of other units.
Conjuration Spellbook
Obscuring Mist: Cloaks a squad in a fog cloud, hiding their numbers and equipment, and making them harder to hit at range.
Variant (Channeled Fog): A denser form of Obscuring mist, continuously generated.
Summon Swarm: Conjures a swarm of stinging wasps to harrass foes. Expensive.
Variant (Fire Wasps): Conjures stinging wasps that can start small fires. Expensive.
Magic Lance: Conjures a set of lances for a cavalry squad. Thick enough not to break on use, and lasts long enough to be useful in combat. Expensive.
Webs: Conjures a sticky web, immobilising an entire squad and preventing them from moving. Very Expensive.
Fireball: Hurls fireballs at a distance, able to destroy whole squads at a time. Damaging side effects harm morale. Very Expensive.
Minor Fireball: Hurls small balls of fire that explode on impact, not as devastating as full fireballs but much easier to cast. Expensive.
Firewall: Creates static walls of fire. Long casting time, concentration sustain. Very Expensive.
Author
Topic: Wands Race - [Arstotzka] {COMPLETED} (Read 393644 times)