Skirmish at Espian Wood (9th IL Cav)

[Gauls]

Brgthng 10, Cycle 1, Month of Kalendryas, in the Season of Winter,
Era I of the Celestine Mandate,

Era XV Post Fractum

On the 8th brightening, the orcs at the field works northest of Hiems first spotted the 9th Imperial Legion Cavalry along with the 10th IL Cavalry as well. It was obvious that the cavalry would preceed a larger force and the cavalry would try to select the most favorable ground they could find in which to establish a line. The orcs were not sitting idle waiting for the larger forces to arrive. They were counting enemy forces and measuring up the strength of their opponent as they arrived. There were other eyes upon the 9th IL Cav as well. When the 9th made their ride eastward, they were the ones being hunted, not the other way around.

The orcs at the Hiems works knew something was amiss when the number of troops they had been monitoring thinned out considerably. They were cavalry units and so the gothmog of the 6th Ushtar knew he had to watch his flanks and rear for surprises. They made preparations as best they could from their own position but others took a more direct approach to meeting the threat that the 9th imposed.

By the 10th brightening, the 9th was well situated as they were directed in a position several candlemarks east of Espian Tower on the orc 6th Ushtar's far left flank. This seemed to be a fine position save one thing, it was a well observed position. For two brightenings (from the 8th), the 9th Cav was allowed to establish a camp and grow into a false sense of security in their wooded position overlooking the Hiem Front. The sun had just set on the 10th brightening causing the sky to fill with an orange hew. The few scattered clouds added blotches of white and pink to the sky.

It was at this instance when all seemed calm that they were unleashed upon the unsuspecting rear of the 9th's line. The 3rd Tarbam (Fury), all 875 of the worg riders came crashing into the 9th's line from end-to-end. Any horses encountered that were tied up riderless, were hacked upon by the axe-wielding riders as the worgs lept past them en route to engage the cavalrymen. Whooping cries rose from the orc riders and howls grew louder from the worgs as they drove headlong into combat. The orcs swung their axes on alternating sides of their mounts as they encountered men on foot or horse. The light armor they wore hopefully enabled them to quickly duck, dodge, and parry the incoming swings of enemy blades. The lightning speed of the limber worgs would be counted on to get the orc riders within striking distance of the 9th's ranged weapons.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The Cohorti of the 9th Imperial Legion had made it into Orc territory without being attacked so far. Obviously it wasn't something the Cencoris leading the unit liked as he was almost sure that the Orcs would have seen them coming to this very position and would soon engage them, in the moment they would expect the least.

The camp was prepared and tents were set along with chaff for the horses and campfires for the men. Foot sentries were assigned and some holes around the camp filling with spikes were dug, but nothing too elaborated. Only the minimum required for a temporary base camp. Time passed and the men grew restless, this position was impossible to sustain. Things were prepared and orders carried out.

At midday of the 10th Brightening of Winter, when the Suns were at their peak, the cavalry left its camp leaving their parade uniforms filled with chaff and their tents behind. A handful of men were left behind, right outside of the woods, hidden in a curve of terrain. They carried bows and torches ready to be lightened.

The moment the Worg riders entered the camp, and some unfortunatelly happened to fall in the holes filling with spikes (poor greenskins), they found the camp silent, no horses to be seen and no response from the sentries. Soon enough they would notice they weren't really living men but before that happened something started falling from the sky. Arrows, fire arrows. And these arrows started hitting the chaff spread on the floor and inside the dummies and the flames started spreading into the tents. Too late did the Orcs notice what was inside the tents, barrels filled with blackpounder. The 6th Ushtar had fell in a trap, an explosive trap.

By dawn of the 11th Brightening the 9th Cavalry had circled around Espian Tower and reached safety.

[Adder]

oocOrcs can see even at midday, they aren't vyssie, so if the troops had moved out they would have been seen, in which case the described attack would have been upon the ambush position. Therefore I'm going to ignore the last part of your post Eyvind.

Even had the Imperials plan come to fruition, winter was a bad time to try and get things alight, especially tent fabric which was damp. But in any case their plan was never put into practice. Some worgs were lost as they penetrated the defensive line, but the intelligent worgs quickly realised the nature of the danger and bypassed the remaining pits.

Soon they were into the camp, and then it was down to the Imperials as to how they reacted.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

A battle horn sounded in the woods, the sound came from south of the camp and more arrows fell from the sky trying to hit the barrels. It was an impressive sight, if not a deadly one. The 9th's Cavalry had formed up in the plains south of their camp, turned to the woods and waited for the 6th Ushtar to come out. Their horses were eager and some jumped and kicked in the air before their riders managed to calm them down, the smell of the Worgs had made them not nervous, but bold. These specially trained warsteeds knew how to avoid entering in panic by turning it in eagerness to join battle.

The Cencoris leading the Cohort sounded the horn again and the soldiers formed up in three groups, each separated by a distance of ten metres. Each group with three lines deep. The middle group was the largest, with three hundred mounted warriors while the ones in their flanks had one one hundred soldiers each. The scalemail armor of the Legionnaires clambed in the Darkening's breeze and saliva fell from their mounts' mouths. The entire Cohort eyed the woods with hate and revenge in mind, weapons held tight and feet ready to order their warsteeds onsward.

From where they stood they could see the woods west of Espian Tower and where they knew their camp was located and the enemy was attacking. They wouldn't run away, they would stay and face the enemy, but they would do it on their own terms. They had been ambushed, their escape route had been cut down but now they would fight like true warriors, they would fight like Legionnaires.

Toulan, the leader of the Cavalry, a large man by normal standards (some say he was a Vagaran with some Giant's blood running on his veins) didn't want to present himself before Eyvind Redbeard, the leader of Manjet at this time, covered in shame and blood from his men, he wanted to bring him the heads of Orcs and Worgs alike with said heads showing panic and fear from the ones who had mercilessly slaughtered them, his men, the 2nd Cohorti of the 1st Daos of the 9th Imperial Legion, the Manjet.

"Men! This is our trial of blood! Here we will show the Greenskins what we are made of and they will fear us for it! They will fear us so badly they will give up on fighting and retreat to their mountain holds to find some hiding! But we will hunt them down! We will hunt them down like the animals they are and slay and smash them like we smash a worm under our boot! Shoot them to death!"

And as one the five hundred men pulled the strings of their recurved bows and shot their burning arrows to the camp. Once more an impressive show of light and fire rose in the air and vanished in the forest ahead. The sound of the enemy drew near but still they kept shooting to their camp (and the enemy) until the first Worg rider appeared in the middle of the trees, then they would shoot their hatred enemy at point blank, grab their weapons and prepare for battle under the orders of their leader, Toulan Ulfsson, Cencoris of the Manjet, Hammer of the Legion.

[Gauls]

The surprise that the 9th had set for the orcs took the momentum out of their charge but the quick thinking worg riders with their thoroughly drilled tactics knew how to get out of traps. Being on worgs just made it much faster to do. Hearing the horns blow, it signaled where the enemy actually was. The 3rd Tarbam sprang from the camp site southward toward the horns trying to dodge the arrows that made it through the canopy of the woods they were in. Dodging arrows, dodging trees, leaping over brush, the worgs were weaving through the woods as fast as they could. When they finally reached the outer treeline south of the Espian Woods, they halted briefly instead of charging forth. It appeared as though they were reforming before heading out.

The 9th's horns were not the only one sounding. The 3rd tarbam blew its own horn. An odd sounding horn twisted into a curling shape. As the sound of the horn's echo tapered off, the worg riders stood in the treeline facing the direction of the 9th cavalry finishing up their reforming action. They stood there growling and worgs snarling at their foe daring them to fire another salvo of arrows.

They were waiting for another salvo from the horsemen but if none came, they would sound the charge and rush full speed at the waiting foes. Upon making contact, the axe-wielding orcs would slash and smash their blades down upon any that came within striking range. This would be paired with the snapping bites and swiping claws of the worgs as they attempt to separate flesh from bones. They were a dangerous duo that only needed to close the distance to wreak their havoc.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The Worg Riders halted their advance in the edge of the forest, right in front of the 9th's Cavalry, but still far ahead. The sound of an Orcish horn echoed in the air, the sound filled with barbarism and brutality, at least to the Legionnaires, and they strengthned their resolve.

"The savage brutes stopped! They are afraid of us! Send them another salvo to force them to come out!"

Toulan's mighty voice echoed silencing the remains of the Orcish horn's sound. As one the five hundred mounted Legionnaires aimed at the enemy and pulled the strings of their recurve bows. The Cencoris himself held a bow and aimed at the Orc carrying the twisted horn. His eyes had found his target and now his fingers and arm made sure the deadly arrow would hit home. The air was filled with arrows the moment he released the string. Five hundred arrows flew in the direction of the Worg Riders of the 3rd Tarbam.

"Weapons! Third line with pilaii! It's time to kill these beasts! Charge!"

The commander of men shouted. The three hundred riders of the center group started marching and then they started gaining speed as they approached the Worg Riders. The Orcs had allowed them a brief moment of rest and carnage before charging and Toulan was relieved by that fact, less Orcs to fight, less Worgs to kill. The center group kept riding towards the advancing Horde. The first two lines, one hundred men large, were in a tight formation creating a wall of horses and men and spears and shields. This was a charge like Telath had seen many, this was a cavalry charge! The third line, knowing that whatever spears they could carry wouldn't affect the moment of the impact, but knowing that the strength made by their horses on the front ones would allow the riders in the front to run over the Worg Riders, carried pilaii, the throwing spears of the Imperial Legion, while still carrying their spear crossed over their laps.

As for the two side groups they promptly rode to the sides trying to remain away from the Orcish advance and still using their deadly recurved bows to shoot the enemy from afar. They would remain in both sides of the battle, away from the impact zone and away from the trees, where their horses and their formations would lose the famous organization of the Legion.

What an impressive sight they made, the charge of the Manjet's Cavalry, a true cavalry charge like those of the chronicles. This was something that would happen once in a lifetime for some of them, but they didn't care as they knew they would run over the Orcs. Toulan intended to relentlessly charge in the Orcish formation without losing momentum, his men were ordered to form up and never left the formation and to keep riding forward while fighting the Orcs. The hooves of the warsteeds would deal with those who would survive the spears and the simple impact of the mighty stallions.

[Adder]

The two forces engaged with each other at last. Now was done the tricks and traps, the devious strategies. Now it was time for the forces of light to engage those forces of darkness who had blighted the Province for to long. No innocent civilians or farmers this time, now they would face the might of the Empire, now would vengeance begin!

The arrows arced across the distance between them, an onslaught that was met as it started out by derision from the orcs as it confirmed the Empires lack of nerve, the tactics of cowards. It was an impressive display even so as the river of arrows slid across the sky. It if had been as effective as it was impressive then it would have been deadly, but shooting from horseback at moving targets was an exercise more of hope than accuracy. It's greatest effect was to boost the morale of the Imperials, it did little to dampen the morale of the orcs since it was only a brief shower and not the continued barrage that foot archers would have created.

The orcs with the horn grunted and then swore at the Imperial forces a curse which darkened the grass around him. An arrow now stuck right through his horn and he waved it angrily. A few orcs now sprouted arrows but few were on the ground and most shrugged off the wounds.

The cavalry charge of the Manjet was impressive, the sort of thing of which tales are told in later times. There was a thunder from the hooves as the horses picked up speed, and a roar of voices accompanied it as the Legion went forth to prove just who were the masters.

But the orcs were not idle and the worgs moved as well, a different sort of movement. No thunder of hooves, instead a furred wave washed over the ground and the space between the two closed rapidly. Weird calls came from the orc lines, sounds that chilled the spines of the Legionnaires. The worgs were not silent either and howls came from them as they slavered and anticipated the feast ahead of them.

Anger and pride were the emotions that filled the hearts of the Legion, discipline and training kept them in formation and what doubts did erupt deep in their hearts at the sight that confronted them were quashed with a ruthlessness that soon would be targeted on the orcs.

There was only one fact that the Legion had overlooked. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it had simply never occurred to the Commander, though the latter should never have happened to someone in his position. While the hearts and minds of the riders were filled with righteous indignation, the horses had only their training, their herd instincts and their loyalty to the herd leaders.

Unfortunately horses have a herd instinct that includes wolves. And worgs were wolves out of a horses deepest and darkest nightmares. Horses are not stupid, not by a long way, and loyalty stretches only so far. As the howls came to their ears and the realisation penetrated as to the nature of what they charged, panic set in. The front ranks of the charge faltered as riders tried to regain control. The rank behind slammed into them unable to check in time at the unexpected happening causing further chaos. Horses reared, throwing off their riders and now it was the riders who were underneath those deadly hooves. The charge dissolved into a mass of struggling riders and horse. From the edges horses stampeded outwards and as they ran they infected the already nervous horses from the flanking units.

The archers who had started to be more effective as they closed the distance, though the rough country offered little chance of aimed shots, now lost that advantage as their own mounts started to react. The orcs spread out their charge and units peeled off towards the archers.

In the centre the orcs hit what was left of the Manjets and while some of them had retained control, nothing in their training or experience had prepared them for cavalry whose mounts were actually more deadly than the riders. One of the riders who had remained in his saddle was ripped out it as he attempted to fend off the worg whose teeth closed with a crunch and a spray of blood. The remaining horses screamed with fear and forced their way out caring nothing for who or what they trampled. Some riders who had remained on their horses were carried free of the press, but control would not be regained until they were far enough away that the horses were exhausted.

Combat was brief but it was an unbalanced contest and in a short period the Manjets centre ceased to exist as a unit. The archers fared a little better where their commanders realised what was happening and peeled them away from the conflict. Others were not so fortunate and suffered the same fate, but how many would survive would depend on their reactions. Would anger make them stand their ground or would they run and add a further stain to the reputation of the Empires forces?

[Eyvind Redbeard]

Some strategists say that a plan ceases to exist when combat begins, others say it still exists but has to adapt to the fluxes and refluxes of battle, there are those who don't even think about plans. That is the case of the Orcish race. A simple charge in direction of its enemies, disorganized, spread out, each soldier trying to kill more than the one at his side, a true challange of individuals, each battling his own war under nothing but guidelines of the ones strong enough to be considered leader. The idea of seeing part of the deadliest and most organized army in the face of Telath losing control of a situation during a combat against Orcs was something Toulan had never imagine. The Cencoris had started his career in the Heavy Infantry and had participated in the previous war against the Orcs. His eyes had seen many things, among them creatures made of shadows killing his companions, that time he had ran away for there was no sword that could kill something without flesh. Aside of that episode the soldier had obviously seen Legionnaires faltering, but only a few, not an entire Cohort.

He could accuse his men, or the horse trainers but he would gain nothing with it. What was done, was done and he had to solve the situation, or die trying. Those were his thoughts when his warhorse refused to continue the charge, jumping and standing on its back legs screaming in almost physical pain. The Officer tried to calm it down, but the weight of his armor pushed him back. The impact on the ground made him spit all the air out of his lungs and for a moment he felt dizzy.

Around him his men were having the same problems, some had already shoot off, riding like madmen. Panic had settled in their mind, it was a contagious desease on the battlefield and one few commanders could contain. The sound of stepping hooves too close of his head made him roll, avoiding being crushed under the massive body of a crazed horse. A breaking sound and a scream from the rider that was mounting him told Toulan that the men had just broke a leg or maybe the hip, a nasty wound that would make the man bleed to death if someone didn't stop the bleeding in time. Nearby the smash body of another Legionnaire still moved, no...it was just a leg thinking the body was still alive. The Vagaran had to turn his face away from the bloody show of what was the head of the soldier.

Then the howls came again, echoing inside his helmet like the song of death itself. They were closing, closing too fast! A quick and veteran look around him told the Cencoris that some of his men had decided to dismount and leave the horses, while others who had fallen from the saddles were standing. They were few, but they had an advantage now. There was no way out, they knew they would all die for the Orcs made no prisioners. The greenskins would feast on their flesh and that of their horses or then leave them for the Worgs. Whatever beast would eat him he didn't care, all he knew was that the price to do it would be high enough. A glance of his men had told him the same thing. There was still hope for those in the flanks or for those who had rode back, but not for him, not for the men near him.

Turning to the Worgs' he saw a lonely Orc riding ahead of the others, oh this was better than he thought, if all of them would line he could kill a hundred before getting tired, but he wouldn't be given such a chance, only this lonely foe. Holding his spear tight he thrusted forward into the Worg's open jaw, a mouth filled with deadly teeth the size of dagger, and through the skull and through the rider's body. The strength of the massive Vagaran stopped the duo and when he pulled the spear out, bringing the entrails with it, and before the beast and the greenskin hit the ground, Jalat had already embraced both.

A final effort now, time seemed to slow down as he reached for his horn. The code he blew long memorised in his mind, a code he thought he would never blow. Retreat. The flanking units would understand it. Then a second code, for those left behind. Gather up, to the death! No words were needed, the Skälds and the poets would compose them later. The standing men near him gathered, forming a circle with their shields and their spears. Moments later the band of survivors formed a porcupine. The men still mounted were left to their luck, if they couldn't join the formation and die like heroes with their companions, they would die like heroes alone.

In the flanks the horses were starting to panic, but being away from the fight itself they had managed to control them. A last shower of arrows was shot as the riders turned away from the approaching Worgs. A handful of the beasts fell throwing their riders to death, but more kept coming and staying meant joining the ranks of the ghosts in the Ethereal Plane. The sound to retreat was received by eager ears and promptly the riders on the right and left flank rode into the woods and to safety. The last leaving the plain looked behind, to the standard of his Cohort standing in the middle of a circle of men, Worgs approaching from all sides.

And it was all he saw, for then he rode to meet the survivors of the Skirmish at Espian Wood.

[Steve]

These Orcs were well disciplined, at least by Orc standards. When they saw that victory was their's most of them pursued the retreating Legionnaires. The satisfaction of winning a battle was secondary to the opportunity to kill more Legionnaires. The urge to kill more of the enemy was paramount.

They did not expect to overtake the horses who galloping away in order to survive but they were looking to pick off those that panicked and reared or just stumbled over an obstacle. Some of the Legionnaires might be thrown from their saddles. These were easy pickings for the Worgs.

Once they reached the forest, the Orcs turned back to join their comrades who attacked those unable to retreat. It would be time for both riders and mounts to feast upon those who were defeated. Livers and hearts were favored by the Orcs. The Worg were ravenous and seemed to not have any preference.

The standard of the Cohort standing in the middle of the remains was picked up by one of the Orcs to be added to the trophy collection in Orckon.