Following the rather unpleasant exchange with the businesswoman, Korkud had spent most of his time sitting down on an admittedly very comfortable and large couch by a small pool, trying to focus on the rippling sounds of the ornate well feeding water into the pool. The marble structure was pleasant on the eyes – more curvaceous and detailed than the ones he was familiar with, but these lacked the simple aesthetic of Sarifen carving. Nonetheless, it was enjoyable to lay eyes on the marble cherubim. It had been a long time since he had been able to just sit down and… enjoy.
As he waited for D’Aubigne to arrive, he could hear shots in the distance. What had startled him at first was revealed to be a simple form of entertainment when he turned his head to see, with mere fireworks flying around the courtyard. ‘What a waste of good material,’ he thought to himself as he watched the nobility dance around as the streamers flew above them. It seemed no different than your average party of debauchery. He’d been a part of these, as a child. Although they were nowhere as extravagant as this – back then, it was just wine, opium macun, and music. Perhaps it was the Ivalian customs that made the differences.
‘‘I see that you aren’t very satisfied with the party,’’ said a young, fair haired Ivalian nobleman as he sat down by Korkud, alongside with his similarly fair haired female partner. Korkud wasn’t entirely sure whether that was his sister, or lover, or both. Indeed, they looked quite alike. ‘’Not used to this sort of thing,’’ Korkud blurted out as he turned his head back at the pool. ‘’I assume you don’t see this sort of party back in Sarife,’’ the young lady next to the man said. ‘’Yes, you don’t,’’ Korkud quietly said.
‘’Fine work of art, is it not?’’ The young man said somewhat enthusiastically, perhaps in an attempt to continue the conversation, while pointing at the well with the back of his hand. ‘’I myself like simpler, more geometric pieces, but it would be wrong to dismiss this beauty just because of a mere matter of taste.’’ Korkud finally turned his head towards the duo, and smiled – ‘’I agree. Sometimes, less can be more.’’ The nobleman seemed happy about the fact that Korkud shared his opinion, although was now somewhat taken aback by Korkud’s scarred face, now that it had come into open view. ‘’I assume you’re a martial sort,’’ the young man said, leaning back against the couch. The lady, on the other hand, seemed much more enthusiastic – ‘’I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell!’’ She said excitedly. ‘’I can’t say I do,’’ Korkud lied, but the girl went through anyway. ‘’Please, a man with such a face! Please, do tell!’’ The nobleman was also cheering for Korkud to tell his stories, perhaps thanks to the lady.
‘’Alright, alright,’’ Korkud said, which made them somewhat quiet and expectant for a story of chivalry. ‘’I was the head of cavalry once. We made the foolish mistake of charging against a line of cannons and muskets. I survived, most of my men were not so lucky. The barrage tore straight through them.’’ The lady was somewhat unsettled by the images the story brought her, while the young man was intrigued. ‘’Is that where you got your scar, sir?’’ Korkud stopped. ‘’No, that was my brother.’’ The young man stopped. ‘’Oh, I didn’t know. Was it a training accident?’’ Korkud grinned for a second. ‘’You could say that.’’
The young lady turned back at the fireworks commotion. ‘’These things are getting quite louder, no? They’re scaring the people!’’ Korkud stopped. The sound was indeed much louder, and one much familiar. ‘’I believe we should head inside,’’ Korkud said as he looked around and saw a guest fall. ‘Not good. Not good.’ The young man looked like he wanted to obey his advice, whereas the young lady was oblivious to the situation. The screaming increased, and some of the guests were covered with blood – at this point, the nobleman started pulling the lady’s arm, who seemed to be in shock, or denial of what’s happening. ‘’This is an odd joke, isn’t it, Michel?’’ The young man was getting angry. ‘’For Athirat’s sake, Marie, we have to-‘’
Korkud opened his eyes lying flat on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, unable to hear anything but an overwhelming tinnitus. He could feel something warm on his face, and between his clenched teeth.
‘Am I dead?’ He moved his arm slightly, trying to get a grip on the ground.
‘Not yet.’ His hand seemed to slip off the ground, and it was only when he turned his head to face his hand did he see that it was covered with blood.
‘No.’ He managed to get up on a knee, and somewhat disoriented, finally stood up, trying to find something to lean on, dizzied from whatever had just happened. The tinnitus was slowly fading, making way for sounds of battle instead. He managed to lean himself against a pillar and pulled out one of his pistols, looking around. At that moment, he realized that the blood on him was the young nobleman’s. Whatever remained of him was splattered on the floor, and partially on the young girl, who seemed to have pieces of marble and couch stuck on her body as well, with her arm torn off from the elbow. The man’s hand was still wrapped around the girl’s remaining arm.
Korkud raised his pistol and started looking around from behind his makeshift cover, seeing a large group of Nezamis firing from inside the courtyard at targets he could not yet make out. As the smoke of their salvo cleared, he saw that the courtyard was turned into a shallow grave, with bodies of fallen soldiers on the grass, and probably beyond. As the well-drilled Nezamis retreated, Korkud decided to do so as well, grabbing the noble lady by her shoulder and trying to pull her to safety. As they slowly moved back, Korkud heard another discharge, and saw the contents of the young lady’s ample bosom gush out from her chest. Letting her go, Korkud turned and fired his pistol in the general direction of the shot.
Taking cover behind an overturned table, Korkud looked around and saw soldiers approaching from all directions, with some slowed down Nezamis, attempting to pull their comrades to safety, trying to hold them off. Korkud holstered his pistol and his hand went to draw another, but he stopped when he saw a hand mortar, with a bandolier wrapped around its stock, lying on the ground. He grabbed the hand mortar's stock and pulled it to himself, checking the powder pan. Seeing it empty, Korkud immediately unloaded the contents of a wooden powder charge, ripped from the bandolier, into the muzzle of the hand cannon. He poured a small amount of fine powder inside the powder pan, and after arming the cannon with a large ball from the pouch with the help of a ramrod, he cocked back the hammer of the snaphaunce and got out of cover, firing into the crowd of Paighans trying to catch a wounded Nezami moving to retreat. With a thump, the ball lodged itself in the thigh of a Paighan, and exploded a second later, ripping apart a bunch of the group. Grinning, he gestured the Nezami to quickly fall back, and drew out his sword the moment after. Slinging the still smoking hand cannon over his shoulder, Korkud got up from cover, pulled another pistol from his large holster, and shot at a Paighan holding a crossbow.
‘’Come! Let me introduce you to the Sirr-i Akbar!’’ Korkud roared as he lodged his sword into the throat of a Paighan trying to rush him. Pulling back the sword through the edge of the man’s neck, Korkud holstered his pistol and moved a step back as more Paighans appeared. ‘’Come, face the Sahib-Qiran!’’ Korkud shouted as he stepped forward to lodge his sword into the eye of a Paighan, pulling it out with a single move, and then swinging the sword in the general direction of the rest to keep them back, cutting through an unwary Paighan's face and forcing the rest to cease their movement to guard against the blow. With that momentary distraction, Korkud immediately hightailed out of the courtyard into the state room with the Nezamis.
Torches, banners, and slow moving steel walls appeared over the Château outer perimeter as hundreds of men arrived to join their retreating comrades. Moments later, the outskirts soon lighted with sporadic muzzle flashes and followed swiftly by whistling, miniature projectiles and flaming arrows. In the near distance, a slow moving aura filled the air as torches began to light the Château grounds, bearing the notions that the entire area had been surrounded on all fronts.
A lone Nezam officer commanding the rear guard furiously bellowed an order to unleash another devastating volley against newly arriving conscripts. The disciplined salvo tore through arriving Paighan conscripts in such deadly fashion that it exacted enough of a crippling blow to force another retreat back towards the outskirts. Without hestitating, the officer wasted no time in barking orders towards his remaining Nezam subordinates, whilst, performing an almost clockwork motion to reload his musket.
His expression turned grave as the sound of thundering hooves, metallic clanks, footsteps, and loud shouts loomed over the horizon. The ranks had already reformed into a cohesive double line where most of the Nezams had reloaded their firearms, whilst the wounded were brought to the rear for attention. Within moments of reaching the noble's location, distant, thundering roars echoed from the surrounding vicinity followed swiftly by resonant whistling, loud crashes, and splintering groans as lead objects began to tear into the Château grounds with remarkable precision and strength.
“Though I know not your name, noble sir, your fighting skills have twice saved myself and my men,” the officer announced whilst ducking to avoid splintering glass and wood shards, “For that I
would commend your services to reach the Emperor's ear, however, given that treachery has brought us out of his favor, that may now prove impossible."
Battle cries suddenly errupted followed by the sound of firearm cracks, provoking the officer to draw his pistol again and turn towards the commotions. In a short time period, a large cadre of heavily plated soldiers bearing various flourished aristocratic insignia burst through the Château's main entrance and charged in unison alongside their complementary conscripted subordinates. Many fell to rippling musket vollies, however, the heavily armored aristocrats remained untouched as they rushed in unison through the entrance.
"Sir," a subordinate voiced, "If we assemble, we may be able to smash their rear to save our brothers and the strength of the entire orta."
The officer cocked the pistol hammer before waving in the remaining warriors to assemble in his stead. His eyes darted back towards the finely dressed, mortar carrying nobleman and voiced, "This madness where brother Sarifens butcher each other is only the beginning and I fear this is a taste of what awaits the Empire. Should you wish to live a while longer you will follow my men and stay behind our lines from within the Château. We cannot continue to defend out in the open and hope to live."
As their leader lead them across the courtyard, the disciplined Nezams gathered in silence. Shortly before reaching the entrance, the officer's eyes strayed towards a stray wine bottle laying near a dismembered corpse. The man quickly retrieved the bottle and set to work emptying its exquisite contents along the garden grounds as the veteran Nezams filed directly into a line without flinching and as ordered, maintained their positions alongside the finely dressed, albeit heavily armed aristocrat of a man. Those that could not stand, but still able to fire their muskets were positioned along locations where they could offer sporadic small-arms whilst the remaining combat capable Nezams. In the distance, men screamed as they lined the outskirts, but maintained their distance as siege weapons periodically battered the Château with debatable accuracy.
Several Paighans spotted the assembled Nezam line and began pointing towards their location. Within moments, a large ballista along the outskirts slowly pointed towards their location as the operating handlers began to load and fire upon their location. Simultaneously, archers and crossbowmen began to assemble into a formidable location to discharge upon the Nezam lines whilst ultimately provoking the Nezam officer's hasty steps. Shortly after completely stuffing the wine bottle with as many munition balls and powders as possibe, the officer immediatey jammed a tightened cloth wad through the bottle opening before offering a nod towards the mortar carrying aristocrat. Several barked orders later, the remaining Nezams levelled their muskets whilst several unveiled, prepared, and ignited small shapened munitionary balls for hurling...
Spoopy Scary,
ButtsnBalls,
Naril
