Post by Duke Gaston de Val Chevin on May 26, 2013 10:15:53 GMT -5
The Duke of Val Chevin, Gaston, stretched out his arms to let his squire strap on his beautifully ornamented breastplate.
It had been three years since Gaston had seen any real battle.
All of those three years, he yearned to return to the field, he thirsted for the thrill, the blood and the glory.
He had been yearning to invade Nevarra for years now, as he saw first hand the extreme wealth coming out of Cumberland.
As the young boy tightened the last of the expensive leather straps, Gaston strode out of his tent and stood on the cliff hanging that overlooked the encampment of Val Chevin soldiers.
Being the nobleman with the second largest holdings in Orlais, Gaston had always had a large personal army, it was important to have one, since he controlled a vast portion of the heartlands and the North Army was often miles away.
His advising Chevaliers approached him from the sides and overlooked the army he had mustered, 3000 men, nothing compared to the Imperial army, but large compared to most other personal armies.
"Ser Francois, the battle has already begun." The Duke murmured to the Chevalier beside him. "We march now, perhaps we might still be able to catch the climax."
"Indeed, your grace."
The army marched from the Fort a few miles outside Val Chevin to the bridge that sat on the border of Orlais and Nevarra. Sanglante Pont.
It was a blood bath on the bridge, Orlesians and Nevarrans clashed into each other with no form of tactics or plans, just pure rage and chaos.
Men fell off the bridge into the water below, men on horses crushed the infantry that stood before them, injured soldiers wept and were overlooked by their friends.
Gaston had truly missed the beautiful nightmare that was the battlefield.
It had been three years since Gaston had seen any real battle.
All of those three years, he yearned to return to the field, he thirsted for the thrill, the blood and the glory.
He had been yearning to invade Nevarra for years now, as he saw first hand the extreme wealth coming out of Cumberland.
As the young boy tightened the last of the expensive leather straps, Gaston strode out of his tent and stood on the cliff hanging that overlooked the encampment of Val Chevin soldiers.
Being the nobleman with the second largest holdings in Orlais, Gaston had always had a large personal army, it was important to have one, since he controlled a vast portion of the heartlands and the North Army was often miles away.
His advising Chevaliers approached him from the sides and overlooked the army he had mustered, 3000 men, nothing compared to the Imperial army, but large compared to most other personal armies.
"Ser Francois, the battle has already begun." The Duke murmured to the Chevalier beside him. "We march now, perhaps we might still be able to catch the climax."
"Indeed, your grace."
The army marched from the Fort a few miles outside Val Chevin to the bridge that sat on the border of Orlais and Nevarra. Sanglante Pont.
It was a blood bath on the bridge, Orlesians and Nevarrans clashed into each other with no form of tactics or plans, just pure rage and chaos.
Men fell off the bridge into the water below, men on horses crushed the infantry that stood before them, injured soldiers wept and were overlooked by their friends.
Gaston had truly missed the beautiful nightmare that was the battlefield.