[RS2.1 AAR] The Kingdom of Ionia - A Roman Reinterpretation of the Crusades

[Yeepeep]

Good to see you back in the fray, Chaplain! And with a great update too! I must say I'm a bit surprised by the sudden change in attitude of our stuttering friend, but hey, who am I to judge a man freshly wedded and bedded Keep it up, looking forward for more!

[chaplain118]

I must say I'm a bit surprised by the sudden change in attitude of our stuttering friend

Glad you liked this update.

Can you provide me with details on how this change could be brought about? Would I need more development of the interim period?

[Yeepeep]

Glad you liked this update.

Can you provide me with details on how this change could be brought about? Would I need more development of the interim period?

Didn't mean its not good, quite on the contrary! I mean common, the poor guy was treated badly by his own father, then tossed to the other side of the world only to be almost mortally wounded! It was about time for a payback time! No idea what do you plan for him but I would certainly enjoy seeing him joining the dark side

[chaplain118]

Chapter XLII

A Lull in the Siege

-----

Despite the pessimism Quintus expressed, the siege efforts of the Greeks had been severely compromised from the Roman's previous sally. Gaps sprouted up throughout the entirety of the Greek line as they spread themselves further apart in an attempt to keep Ephesos under siege.

At first, it was a few enterprising shepherds who ventured out far enough to see that their old grazing grounds are empty once again. Though initial rumors were met with skepticism, the attitude within Ephesos soon turned hopeful as more men ventured further from the gates and were able to return unmolested.

Soon enough, less scrupulous men started offering services that will bring people away from the besieged city and either to Smyrna or to the ships sailing west from Ephesos. Most were scams. A few even sold their patrons into slavery at pre-appointed locations. It didn't take long before people stopped trusting those services altogether.

At the same time, Sulpicius Camerinus recognized the issue that his city was slowly dwindling in population while the enemy continued to amass a force. A declaration was made. No able-bodied men were allowed to leave the city under penalty of death.

Needless to say, the exodus went on unabated. Some might even say that on the day of the declaration, more people snuck out of the city. Several men were found posing as women in an attempt to escape.

A row of crosses later sprang up outside the walls of Ephesos.

For Atia, however, the exploits of those men had little significance to her. She had been silently gathering information from across the city. Merchants and shepherds who've managed to sneak out for long enough to bring supplies back to the city told her of a beaten path in the mountains. When she asked more about it, they laughed and said that it was a difficult path that even seasoned men of the mountain would not attempt.

But she continued on her quest, pestering each and every person that returned from the distant plains and hills. After several days, she finally pieced together a crude knowledge of the surrounding countryside. At night, she pored over a piece of thin papyrus and traced lines with a dipped stylus. The contours left behind by the ink etched into Atia's memory and she grew familiar with the path though she had never set foot upon it.

She did this only when her husband's snores filled their bedchamber. She often waited for the moon to come out from behind the clouds before starting her work. There was no telling if her husband took note of the height of each different candle. It was safer to use the moonlight.

She set out with Merricus on the sixtieth day of the siege, when a sea of Greek spears could be seen undulating in the distant plains amidst the rotten black wheat.

The information had been correct, however, and Atia soon found herself traveling through the hills east of Colophon that by-passed the main roads. A scraggly tree, devoid of leaves and life, waved at her near the top of the pass.

“Is that it, Merricus? The tree?”

“I don’t know, domina.” Merricus whispered. It had taken Atia days to convince the old slave that his loyalty still remained with her rather than her husband. But there was fear in the slave’s voice each time he spoke.

They traveled on and soon the tree bid them farewell as it disappeared into the crags.

On the second day of traveling, storm clouds swirled overhead. When the rain came, it was slow and gentle at first. But the raindrops grew larger by the second, and soon sheets of water poured from the heavens.

With her vision obscured by the rain, Atia had little choice but to seek shelter. As the sky grew darker by the hour, she finally chanced upon a small cave. Wringing the water from her hair, Atia sat down and rummaged through her small bag for a flint.

“Domina, we have no kindling.” Merricus said with a sour expression on his face. “The fire won’t catch.”

Atia threw her bag down in frustration, spilling its content on the cavern floor. “What would you suggest?”

“We wait.” Merricus sat down. “Wait for the storm to abate, and then continue on our journey.”

The rain continued throughout the day and soon Atia could no longer tell whether the darkness was from the bruised clouds or the time of day. She started shivering from the cold.

Even in the darkness, her movements did not go unnoticed by Merricus. The old slave took off his traveling cloak and draped it over Atia’s shoulder. She smiled at him in the darkness and leaned against his arm.

Outside, rustling sounds bounced over the crags and rocks.

“Do you hear that?” Atia looked up to Merricus.

The old slave held her shivering frame closer to him and said nothing. Instead, he started to sing—a song from Atia’s childhood that calmed her and made her feel safe. Her eyelids grew heavy with the soft notes of the song and soon she left the physical realm for the world of dreams.

Merricus continued to sing, even as the howl of wolves grew louder.

A Promise to Remain

-----

The word was passed to all the soldiers in Aebutius Drusus’ army: they would march to Pergamon within five days. An air of excitement buzzed throughout the city. While some of the citizenry looked forward to the departure of the soldiers, others whispered of Greek retaliation. Even among the soldiers—many of whom had been citizens not two months ago—there was much hesitation about the direction the army marched toward. Aebutius Drusus had made his intentions clear: he sought vengeance against Pictor and Bubulcus in Pergamon. The drive for vengeance had made many soldiers uneasy about the looming campaign. Nonetheless, they polished their armor and sharpened their swords. The forges of the blacksmiths burned endlessly as white-hot metal hissed in the waters.

As the sun drew orange flames across the purpling sky, Titus Rufus walked down a broken street, retracing the path that he had taken the last time he set foot in the city. The graves of the men he buried still lined the road. Flowers dotted some of them while others remained empty and forgotten. Among the old graves were fresh ones whose soil still smelled of harvest and rain.

At the sight of the recently piled earth, Titus felt a twinge stinging his nose. So many dead, and all for what? What salvation remained in this horrid land of death? The men who still lived carried no humanity in their eyes, their souls had long since died. There was nothing left to cleanse, no salvation to be sought.

A holy kingdom of lies and death, that's what he had fought for.

By his side was Rufilla. She had finally started to speak more openly. Titus found that her opinions sometimes even bested those of learned men.

Titus knelt down at a grave. Only a wooden plank decorated the top of each mound. There was no name inscribed on the plank.

“Titus, you're wasting your time. These graves are all nameless.” Rufilla knelt by him and whispered.

“No.” Titus shook his head. “Their parents had given them names. How can their graves remain nameless.”

“The gods have a cruel sense of humor.”

“No, this is our work and our work alone. The gods didn't forge the steel that ended these men's lives. The gods didn't send men to their deaths. We did. We've sown the seeds of our suffering, and now we've returned for the harvest.”

“What can you do?”

“I don't know.”

They stood up and continued along down the path of nameless graves. The wall here grew familiar to Titus. He looked up at the tower and remembered the images that still haunt him in his nightmares. As he approached closer to the tower, he heard the distinct sound of sobbing. It was an old woman. He paid no attention to her and pressed on. There were many people mourning in the city still.

But she turned around and grasped his arm. Titus felt drops of her tears against his skin and turned to face her.

When he saw her face, he gasped.

The eyes of the dead boy in the tower stared back at him.

“Please, please, end my life. I have nothing left in this world. My husband and sons have all been taken away. Please, end my life so that I may re-join them.” The old woman wailed and clawed for Titus' sword.

He pushed her grasping hand away but held her close. He was at a loss of what to do. He could not bare to look her in the eyes lest the face of the boy return to haunt him again. Reaching to his side, Titus took his near-empty money pouch and pressed it into the woman's hand.

“May the gods bless you with fortune, for you have suffered far more in life than you deserve.”

The money seemed to have calmed the old woman somewhat and she let Titus go. But she did not leave. Instead, she sat down by the mound and continued to weep. Titus watched her for a while before he turned away and continued walking.

“You don't belong in the army, Titus Rufus.” Rufilla said.

“But it is my duty.”

“Your heart is too pure for this army, for the war. The path that Aebutius Drusus pursues is one that will twist what's left of your soul into unrecognizable ribbons. You cannot follow him blindly down this path of vengeance, no matter where your duty may lay.”

“But I must, I cannot spurn my duty as a soldier.”

“I promise you, Titus Rufus, if you follow Aebutius Drusus to Pergamon, you will lose that last strand of humanity in you. You'll become like the rest of the men: merely walking corpses waiting to fall. Please, I beg you, remain here in Sardeis. Your touch offers people comfort and your words calm them. You'll do much more distancing yourself from the army than remaining with it.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“Yes. Please, don't march with Aebutius Drusus.”

Titus looked up at the darkening sky. “Perhaps. I will let you know soon enough.”

A Flip of the Coin

-----

Bubulcus grew more cautious in the days following Pictor's stern condemnation. Security to the citadel was tightened and not a single man was allowed in or out. Food and messages were brought in via a dedicated courier who was searched thoroughly as he came in. The violence in the city became more frequent by the day. Only a skeleton crew of men remained on the walls. Scarecrows were outfitted with leather helmets and wicker shields in an attempt to present a more intimidating presence to the Greeks on the other side of the walls. But the defenders knew it was only a matter of time before the ruse is exposed.

Meanwhile, Pictor had been busy. He knew that the city teetered on the edge of anarchy, that there was no way for the city to continue holding out. The endless Greek barrages had reduced much of the city to a smoldering mess. Burnt husks of houses were draped with straw and linen to provide temporary shelter. Soldiers dared not venture through streets alone in fear of the people.

As such, Pictor sought out a few centurions who still dared to voice their own opinion about the siege. But any time whispers arose, so followed the Praetorians with their smoke-blackened shields.

Nevertheless, he gathered several with him in secret.

“I know you have taken great risk in meeting with me privately.” Pictor said.

“We haven't sided with you yet, so don't be so certain we won't turn you over.” One of the centurions said.

Pictor smiled. “Of course.” He turned to the rest of them. “Amici, you must recognize that the city is lost. Bubulcus' purge has drained this army of experienced officers—officers whom the enlisted men look up to. There is no organization now. The defense of this city has been relegated to the hands of a mob, not an army. Daily our numbers dwindle from desertion, death, and Greek bombardment.”

“And whose fault is that, Legate?” Another centurion said. “Most of my cohort was murdered by Praetorians that YOU had dispatched.”

“I understand, but you must know that times have changed.”

“Have they? I remember when we entered this city, the people hated us all the same. Preach your needs for men to someone else, I will have none of this.” With that, the centurion turned around and left.

Pictor looked at the men remaining. “Anyone else?”

An uncomfortable silence settled. A few men shuffled nervously in their seats. Another man stood up and left. Then another, and another.

“Fine! Walk away! But this city will turn against us in due time! Bubulcus sits atop smoldering embers that will burst aflame in due time! Turn away from me now and you'll face the wrath of the city soon enough!”

“Threats are more effective, Legate, when they have substance behind them.” Another centurion stood up and walked away.

Murmuring their agreement, the rest of the centurions left as well.

Staring at their backs, Pictor shouted. “Leave, then, all of you! Go back to your master Bubulcus and die with this city!”

The centurions did not return and Pictor found himself alone. Roaring, Pictor ripped his helmet from his head and threw it against the floor.

With anger clouding his judgment, Pictor lumbered through the streets with sword in hand. His worn armor drew the venomous looks of many citizens as he stalked through Pergamon. When he had finally reached the citadel, a crowd had gathered around him. They recognized him as a Legate and dared not attack him.

Pictor ascended the steps toward the citadel and turned around at the throng of people. Something guided his voice and the words came pouring out in a stream that he barely had time to think about.

“People of Pergamon, I stand before you—a war criminal. I stand before you responsible for the endless deaths and suffering that you have received at the hands of Roman steel and Greek flames.” He threw his sword to the ground as well.

The crowd murmured and agreed. Pictor felt their seething anger rising above the steps.

“But I ask you now to cast aside your doubts in me, to recognize that I stand with you now. I ask you to recognize the true face of your suffering.”

He pointed at the citadel.

“There, behind those sealed walls and the shields of his Praetorians is the man responsible for your suffering. Publius Iunius Bubulcus, Usurper King of Ionia. He forced my hand to the wanton destruction he waged across this city. He is the one who decreed death to those whose hunger led them to pick at the rotten grains. He is the one who ordered the soldiers to burn down your homes. He is the one who sit atop his throne of gold and ivory while you—the lifeblood of the city—continue to suffer.”

A sea of hiss and boo's rose up toward Pictor. The people didn't believe him. And why should they? They had all seen him at the head of the army. They had seen him order his troops to murder and pillage. His words were hollow and fell on deaf ears.

“I understand your hatred towards me, your animosity, but that does not mean you can ignore my warning. Listen to me! This city will fall, there is no doubting that. It is only a matter of time. There is no food left to sustain us, no able bodied men remaining who can still fight, and neither steel nor wood to continue fashioning arms for us. Those of us who survive the bombardments of the Greeks will succumb to starvation and the vengeance of the invaders.

“Citizens! Band yourselves together as one with us. Band yourselves together as one with me.”

“Never!” The crowd roared.

“Will you not listen? Will you not give me a moment to speak the truth to you? I have the names of all the men who have committed crimes within this city. I know precisely what transgressions they have inflicted upon you and what punishments are apt for them. Yet you will continue to drown my voice out with your anger!”

“Name them! Then we decide!” A voice cried out. A thousand other voices shouted in agreement.

“In due time, citizens, in due time. But know only this: Bubulcus and his Legates care not for the defense of this city. Ephesos is the true prize that they seek. Those men will let the Greeks batter themselves against the wall before departing south. They will leave you to the wrath of the Greeks while they seek out their glories.

“I will not!

“Band with me, and I will pledge the final defense of this city against the Greeks. Band with me, and I will return you your freedom, your rights, and your homes!”

“The names! The names!” The crowd continued to shout. Pictor saw flashes of torches in the rear. The flames were being passed closer and closer to the front. He heard the sounds of the Praetorians moving behind him.

“Look! Behold the Praetorians behind me! See how they come to silence me and you! People of Pergamon, rise up! Rise up with me and take back your city! Take back your freedom! Take back your homes!”

He stepped towards them with extended arms. The Praetorians descending from the citadel looked uncertain as they approached him. But they dared not strike. There was no word given from Bubulcus or any of the other Legates. And as Pictor held the main responsibility for defending the city, there could be hell to pay for his murder.

“Look about you, citizens. This is what your precious city has become. This, great Pergamon, once the seat of ancient Troy and the pride of Asia, reduced to mere rubble and ashes. No more! I say! No more! Band with me, citizens! Band with me!”

The presence of the Praetorians pressing down upon the crowd had an impact on the people. The words that Pictor spoke to them started to make sense. There were still disagreements, but here and there, people started to mutter that perhaps this Roman was right about something. They moved forward cautiously.

The Praetorians, already spooked by the effect Pictor's words had on the people, reacted violently. Some of them charged into the crowd, only to be dragged down and beaten.

That had been enough. The catalyst was provided and the people rushed forward to engage in combat with the Praetorians. All the while, Pictor's voice shouted above the din:

“Push on, citizens of Pergamon! Push on with me! To the tops of the citadel! There, you will find the men responsible for the horrors of these miserable days! Band with me and Pergamon shall endure! Down with Bubulcus! Down with his Legates!”

“Down with Bubulcus! Down with his Legates!”

“In the name of Numerius Fabius Pictor and the banners of Pergamon! Forward! To the citadel!”

The crowd, whipped into a frenzy, charged forward with Pictor. The citadel of Pergamon trembled under the thunderous footstep of her own citizens. The Praetorians were pulled from their posts and swallowed by the crowd. The anger of the people, having finally found a target to be expended upon, released itself in full fury. Weapons were snatched up and raised as the people continued their assault on the citadel. Tables and benches were brought up. Again and again, these makeshift battering rams smashed against the solid oak doors of the Pergamon citadel. And all the while, Pictor continued his speech, inflaming the people towards further violence.

Pictor glanced up and saw the fearful face of Bubulcus looking down at the mass gathering before the citadel doors. A snarl of a smile grew on Pictor's face.

[Darth_Revan]

hot damn that was an epic update!! looking forward to the next one!!

[Rex Anglorvm]

Well its taken me quite a while, but I have just read this from the beginning, its original, entertaining and very well written.

Rep+

[seleucid empire]

This is the best writing i have ever seen on any of the tw forums + rep

[heavy953]

I just finished reading this whole thing through. Simply fantastic!

[Darth_Revan]

WHY YOU NO UPDATE?

[Stingray970]

I saw the post and got excited...

[chaplain118]

Chapter XLIII

Capitulation

-----

To everyone's surprise, the Greeks came that afternoon. They marched in silence but it did not hide the sound of their machines. Two siege towers wobbled in the breeze as the ponderous army lurched ever closer to the walls.

Quintus looked down at them from atop the towers. They seemed so small. His mind still hung on Atia. She had been more withdrawn to him than usual. When he awoke this morning, she had already left with Merricus to the market. He wondered if he should have posted someone there to make sure she would be safe. But there was no time to think of that now.

"Looks like our king is ready to parley with them." One of the other commanders said.

"Parley?" Quintus raised an eyebrow. "He won't parley. He wants glory."

"Glory he'll have. That's a big army."

"Only if he wins the day."

********

Aulus Sulpicius Camerinus licked his lips in anticipation. His brother had been called the Coward King but after today, no one would dare make that connection.

I've ridden to more battles than my brother has seen! He thought savagely as he fingered the pommel of his sword. The horse beneath him, a fine black horse from the steppes, snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. He wants blood, Aulus thought, as do I, brave mound, as do I.

"Dominus, we are ready." One of his riders said.

"Good. Open the gates. Let the Greeks know that they face not the Coward King, but a King with a Lion's Heart!" He raised his sword and motioned for the men to proceed out.



In the distance, the towers of the enemy plodded forward, ignorant of the clanking gate that now opened.



"Those towers will be a problem for us, dominus." Strythio, one of his trusted riders, approached Aulus.

"Well, how do you propose we handle those?"

"We ride for them along with a detachment of infantry. The men guarding them will no doubt be tired from their journey. It will be a simple charge to rout them."

"You're certain of this?"

"Surely you're not afraid?"

The words cut into Aulus and he snarled. "Of course not, you impudent fool! On me! Ride with me!"

And so, he whirled a wing of cavalry along with several hundred infantry towards the enemy towers.

********

"What are those?" Quintus raised his arm and pointed. A seasoned veteran commander Modestus squinted at the distance.

"Can't tell, dominus. My eyes aren't what they used to be."

"I don't like the looks of those things. Do they look familiar to you?"

"Not in the slightest."

Quintus bit his nails nervously. Whatever those things were in the distance, he had a feeling that he was not going to like them.

********

I should've stayed behind. Aulus thought bitterly as he wheeled back around. He'll have Strythio's head for this if the Greeks hadn't taken it already. As soon as his small detachment came up against the siege tower, the enemy peppered them with a hail of missiles so thick that it briefly dotted out the sun.



Aulus had made it out barely alive with a few of his own riders remaining. He galloped quickly through the field ahead of the enemy and through the gates, shouting all the while for it to be shut.

And as he rode towards the city center with his few raggard riders, he couldn't help but hear jeers of "the Coward King! the Coward King!" rising in the distance.

********

Quintus Fabius Pictor hated it when he was right. The unknown shapes in the distance had begun flailing burning pitch and mighty boulders at the walls. At first he laughed with the rest of the men at the feeble attempts each stone made on the sturdy wall, but his laughs were gone when he saw the facade crumbling away to reveal a network of criss-crossed cells and empty rooms.

The Greeks had known which part of the walls to hit.

Of course they would know, he cursed to himself. They had to know! Their fathers built this city! Their bones and blood filled it.

He felt the ground beneath him shaking slightly. The wall was starting to give. Bits of plaster shook loose with each projectile thudding away on the exposed innards.

"Off the walls!" He bellowed. There was no way to return fire, no way to counter the enemy's barrage with their own. To stay here would mean suicide.

As he filed man after man from the wall and pushed them into formation, a sense of dread rose up in him as he looked at the smoking walls.

The fight will come to them soon.

********

When the wall first came crumbling down, men stared at it in disbelief. These were fresh men, they had not known when the Coward King first ruled. They did not remember when the last time those walls had crumbled.

The few horsemen abandoned by Aulus the Coward saw their one chance at absolution. Spurring their horses, they rode forth for the walls.



Only to find that the enemy had already swarmed there to greet them.



Blades sang, shields splintered, and men shouted amongst the blood and melee. The Greeks had brought along their eastern lords and lordlings, each with soldiers clad in solid steel and iron. The Romans, in contrast, had no iron left in Ephesos to arm the rest of the men. Only those fortunate few, favored by Aulus the Coward, had the opportunity to wear the heavy irons.

But those men were not at the breach, they had fallen back to the square of the city, and so the fighting by the breach grew bitter and a dark pall settled over Ephesos that made men whisper the gods had cursed the city.



And it was now that Aulus Sulpicius Camerinus rode at the head of his few black horses alongside the Romans clad in iron. His steps carried him on the same cobblestone streets that his brother took those many months and years ago. He stared up at the great temple and wondered where he had gone wrong.



Fires broke out across the city. The sound of screams rose up and struck the heavycast clouds. Aulus did not even react when a Greek hoplite yanked him from his horse and demanded his surrender.

Departure

-----

The battle raged all around him but even Quintus could see that all was lost. He grabbed a man and bellowed.

"Get to your posts in the city, fight to keep this place safe! Open the gates and let out as many people as you can!"

"Sire, my family..." The man trembled.

"Your family, my family, everyone's family is in danger. But you swore a vow in face of men and gods when you enlisted. You must fulfill your vow now! Go!"

The man scrambled away. Quintus had no doubt he was already on his way to his home. He looked around and saw the horsemen still struggling against the onslaught of Greeks and Eastern men.

He heard that the Eastern men were particularly savage in the pillagings. But it didn't matter. A conquered city was a conquered city. Also, the Romans had shown no mercy to Greeks either during the conquest of Crassus. Vengeance is only to be expected.

His men melted away from him, some throwing down their arms and ripping their helms from their heads.

Cowards! He wanted to shout at all of them. You're all cowards! But he couldn't because his own feet were carrying him away from the fight.

A tongue of flame leaped up onto a roof and caught alight. A girl rushed from her home and was brought low by a group of soldiers. Her slender fingers clung to the frame of the door as she was dragged back into the house, screaming for her mother.

Brave men tried to save their homes but met with points of swords and spear. Quintus saw a large Persian sitting atop an ironed horse, swinging a large club around. Blood and bone and brains spurted in the air, landing in soft plunks on the ground.

Atia! The thought flashed through Quintus' head. Righting his helmet, he drew his sword and lifted his shield.

A pair of horses came charging at him. Their riders lowered their spears. Quintus ducked down and swung his shield out. The first horse was thrown off balance and its rider came screaming to the ground. A quick slash to the tendons took care of the horse and the man's voice went silent when the beast collapsed on him.

The other rider wheeled around and drew a longsword. Quintus spun and parried it away with his shield in time. The wood splintered and cracked but hold. With a quick motion, he wrung the sword out of his attacker's hand.

The horse reared up and kicked out, catching the shield by the splinters and knocking Quintus to the ground. He rolled to avoid the hooves that came crashing down and slashed wildly. Twice his blade connected with the horse but only on the second time did the beast finally rear up in pain, throwing the rider down.

Getting up, Quintus buried his sword to the hilt in the rider's throat. He quickly withdrew it, wet with bits of brain and bone, and hurried back towards the city.

All around him, chaos and pandemonium reigned. The flames were spreading and he spied the gardens where the beautiful and rare white kerkis flowers were blooming.



In peace time, the princess and her attendants would play in those white flowers. Petals trailing in their hair, they would run and laugh and sing.

Songs and laughter still rose up between those flowers but the princesses and her attendants were no longer playing. They still ran but the exists were barred. Swords cut away their clothes and the white petals were stained with red.

A wind blew and threw up a veil of red and white petals. But there was no hiding the sobs, the screams, and the pleas for mercy behind the veil.

By the time Quintus had made it to where his home was. The house was empty. Bodies lined the streets. The sword fell away from his hand as his knees bent.

Everything was gone. She was gone.

The world seemed to go black. When he came out of it, he was being helped by Modestus and a few other men. They said something about rallying around him though he doesn't remember it. They said something about fleeing from the city and heading for Sardis.

He nodded but said nothing. He feared that if he tried to speak, the words would come stuttering out once more.

That night, they chanced near a pass. On the top, a scraggly tree, devoid of leaves and life, waved at them, as if beckoning them forward.

[Darth_Revan]

awesome update!

[SELEUKID EMPIRE]

This has always been my favourite AAR. In terms of sheer emotional impact, it is second to none.

I have never rooted for any characters as much as I do when I read this AAR. Something about the crusade atmosphere creates a sense of hopelessness. Yet the characters fight on because they believe in their righteous cause. Well Done Chaplain. I hope one day you continue.

[Nulgath 911]

Quite the interesting starting position you chose!