A New Dawn

The Battle of Carsis

For at least two decades now the Ghoerian occupation has bled the lands of Coeranys. Only one man can lead the rebels of the east against the oppressors of the West. Raenwe ibn Daouta, the sole survivor of the Daouta royal family of Elinie has retreated for ten years to the plains of Coeranys and met the forces of Gavin Tael and his eastern campaing General Lord Loren Copperhead various times. The skirmishes the last years have escalated and the rebels are massing an army with some help from the still free Southern Kingdoms of Anuire. Captain Mourde Velar, of the Iron Guard is the leader of the Ghoerian repulsion forces. The Battle is crucial for both sides since it will mean either the destruction of the rebel forces and even the capture of their leader or his death, or on the other side, it can be a head start of victories against the better mobilized army of Ghoere on behalf of the rebels. 

Carsis is a border city to Elinie and its liberation can mean that the rebels of Coeranys can have a solid foothold on all the south of the domain and a major blow to Lord Copperhead.

 Deismir 1582 HC...Eastern Ghoere, former Duchy of Coeranys

As the night gave its place to the spring morning, the soothing rays of the sun were cast upon the land. As the Goddess slowly took Her place in the sky, the ranger lifted his head, his eyes meeting Her luminous, yet welcome gaze. His body bathed in the light, his eyes closed for a second, his lips whispered a prayer, perhaps the only thing he remembers of his fine mother, perhaps more of a prayer to her, than to Avanalae, the Goddess she worshipped all her life.

Raenwe lowered his head, bringing it close to the head of his faithful mount, as his fingers moved along the creature’s long, brown mane. “Are you ready my friend? Cherish this moment, who knows when we see again the life-bringing sun?” The white, brown spotted stallion nodded his head and with a loud neigh acknowledged. “Ride, then like you have never ridden before”, he shouted as his head rose, his body lined to meet the horse’s back, his hands firmly now grasping the mane, “RIDE like the Wind you are!”

Wind crossed the field in mere seconds, leaving behind a trail of devil’s dust and the ranger was quickly followed by his most trusted warriors, mounted also in the finest Coeranyan horses bred in this land. His “cavalry companions”, he named them, and they have been fighting in his side for years now. None of them would have believed back then what their eyes see now, spread across the large field in the outskirts of Carsis.

Hundreds of men with sun burned bodies scattered across the valley, buzzing and filling with a thousand sounds the otherwise, quiet morning. An army! Ten years now their skirmishes never surpassed twenty or maybe thirty men, in the good days their whole battle-ready encampments didn’t manned more than a hundred men. And now this. Sure, most of them have seen too many winters, or too few and they are armed just with pitchforks and sickles, but you can see, they didn’t come here today to harvest crops…. They have, too, waited for too long.

In a few moments, he alone, circled the entire army. Maybe he has yet to believe this. Then he first came to this land, hunted, he also brought war with him. He knew back then than in order to hope to see Elinie free, Coeranys needed to be freed first. So he planned, and pledged himself into carefully striking Ghoere where it would mostly hurt: the unorthodox guerrilla warfare was strange to the disciplined and trained Goerean units. He was patient, perhaps too patient some would say, for with each year, his people continued to suffer under the iron boot of Tael’s lackeys. He always knew that in order to strike a decisive blow, he must defeat the infamous Goerean Army in open field. Even the blind holy man that retired to his side, agreed to this. But it was not this that changed the tide, there were the words of a man, a cursed warrior, that although his words were fuelled by his hatred to anything Ghoerean, the ranger knew in his heart that he indeed had a point. “The time will never be right for War, until you make it the right time.”

The eyes of the men are set upon him as his circling around them continues and chatter rises as he quickly moves at the front. With a sudden move he pulls back his hand and the horse stops. As the noise also settles, his long raven black hair rest on his shoulders. A slight breeze moves both his hair and the horse’s for a moment. In that moment with a swift move the rider removes his riding mask, revealing his full facial characteristics, his long brownish face full in corner, both from age and battle, the deep lips, the slightly crooked nose, betraying the man’s mixed lineage. He stares upon the fruits of the past two and a half year’s labor. The riders he trained, mostly boys from the plains of Coeranys, attuned with horses, like a singer is with music. The allied forces from the still free (or almost free) eastern kingdoms, their rulers knowing that the defeat of the Baron in open field may well mean the start of his downfall in the East. But mostly the sons of Coeranys and Elinie stood before him waiting for his command. Most of them have never seen the man that calls himself Raenwe, but stories have spread far and wide about him, and in truth it is hard to distinguish in many of them fact from fantasy. But now here he stands before them in flesh and blood, their minds and hearts starving to listen to his voice.

Wind takes a few steps, galloping like a true knight's horse would do, raising his head as its master does with his voice: “People of the East, we have been waiting for too long. Today is the day we claim back our lives, our homes, our land, our freedom! I left this land hunted, deprived of my heritage, of my duty. Today I reclaim my right to offer my people the ruler they deserve! Rise your weapons my friends, this is the time of the free people, this is our time!” And so the sword of the East was unsheathed up to the free sky of the two lands.