Battle Report

[Ivarenna]

[ooc - great middle fire battle/turn report from Puckohue which I wanted to share]

You stand at the crest of the hill, the weight of your armor pressing against you, yet you hardly notice it. The smell of blood and the acrid scent of burning wood linger in the air, but all you can focus on is the task at hand: the enemy in front of you, scattered and on the verge of breaking. Your battalion, the 2nd Battalion of Mularik’s Company, stands ready at your command, and you feel the fire of leadership burning within you. Baroness Ivarenna, they call you. And today, you will lead them to victory.

The battle has been long, the enemy relentless in their attempts to push back the Sartarite forces. You had been holding the line with your seasoned cataphracts, your iron-clad warriors standing strong against the Lunar assault. The 3rd Army has been fighting tooth and nail to defend Kordros Island, and now, with your moment at hand, it’s time for the counterattack.

You turn your gaze to your men, their faces hardened by the violence of the day, their resolve unwavering. They are your family, your comrades in arms, each one loyal beyond measure. You’ve trained them, led them through countless battles, and now, under the banner of Mularik’s Company, you will make your mark upon this island.

The signal comes. The moment is upon you.

"Forward!" you command, your voice cutting through the chaos like a clarion call. Without hesitation, your battalion surges forward, a tide of iron and fury crashing into the enemy’s rear. Your horse, a massive beast of war, carries you forward, its hooves pounding the earth like the beating of a war drum. The enemy, taken by surprise, falters in the face of your charge. They are unprepared for the sudden onslaught, and it shows as your heavy cavalry crushes their lines, the sound of clashing bronze ringing through the air.

You cut through them with ruthless efficiency, your blade flashing in the sunlight as it meets the soft flesh of your enemies. Their ranks are torn apart by your iron-clad warriors and the arcane fury of your armored wizards, who send bolts of magic arcing through the air. The Lunars are no match for the precision and deadly coordination of your battalion.

You are a force of nature, a storm unleashed upon the battlefield. The enemy scatters before you, their morale broken, their ranks in disarray. The Lunars, who had once thought themselves unassailable, are now nothing more than prey to the teeth of your battalion. You are unstoppable.

As the last of the enemy soldiers flee in panic, the victory is yours. The battlefield falls silent, save for the distant cries of those who remain. You survey the field, the spoils of war now laid bare before you. There, glinting in the sun, are the 450 Lunars you’ve looted from the bodies of the fallen. A modest prize, perhaps, but one well-earned. Your men cheer, their voices ringing with triumph.

You place a hand on your swollen belly, feeling the life growing inside you. A quiet ache spreads through your body, and you know that the time has come for you to return to Boldhome.