The Birth Of A Legend

[Detroix]

Roughly 20 years ago

It was already sundown when Karol and his army reached the mountain pass. The Gorlogs were already awaiting them. Hundreds of large, hairy creatures, humanoid in posture with elongated faces, similar to those of dogs. They wielded an array of primitive weapons, such as clubs, hammers, axes, slingshots and javelins. They wore barely any armor or clothes. But Karol’s troops weren’t in a better state, except a small core of mercenaries and men at arms. He was hoping for some of the nobles to join, but they prefered to either stay loyal to their elven overlords or rally their own armies. Useless, spoiled buffoons.

As Karol came nearer and nearer the creatures, his horse started acting up. It was going on reluctantly, often stopping, rocking to the sides or just made noise. Horses were afraid of Gorlogs, which greatly added to the safety provided by the mountains. Karol raised his fist, signalling the army to stop. He got off his horse and started walking towards the Gorlogs. Piotr, his second in command followed behind. From the Gorlog mass three creatures stepped out. The central one was wearing what looked like reforged elven armor. The two other ones were holding long staffs and had patterns painted all over their bodies. They also wore a number of ornamental chains, necklaces and bracelets.

Karol took of his helmet and begun to speak. “I’m glad to finally meet you in person Chief. Are you ready to cement our agreement?”

The Chief also took of his helmet and approach Karol. The human was quite tall and muscular, he couldn’t compare to the Gorlog. The creature spoke, making a series of roars and barks. Though he could not speak the Gorlog tongue, Karol somehow understood what he spoke. “May the spirits be kind to you, human. My shamans are ready to bind us in the pact.”

The two other Gorlogs now stood to their sides and begun speaking in unison. “Oh spirits of the mountains and the sky. Oh spirits of the forests and the rivers. Spirits of our ancestors. Bear witness to this agreement between General Karol and Chief Karakal and hold them in it until it is completed or their death. If any of them deceives another and refuses to fullfill the promise, punish them with all your wrath.”

“I, Chief Karakal, will pay tribute to Karol and aid him in his war against the Aurelian Emperor and his armies.”

“I, Karol, will elevate Karakal to High Chief, after my victory over the Emperor.”

Karol felt a presence around him, as if hundreds of eyes were watching him. The feeling lasted mere seconds, but he still felt as if something watched him from behind, just at the edge of his vision. It took a lot of effort not to turn around.

“The pact is now sealed, human. When will the elves arrive?” The Chief asked, as if nothing happened.

"A day, maybe longer. I’m still waiting for my scouts to return. " Karol replied, trying to maintain a steady tone.

“Yesterday group of humans arrived. Cossacks from the east, led by a man calling himself Avarov. He said he was waiting for you.” The Chief said as they were walking towards the valley. “As soon as he learned of your arrival, he wanted to meet with you.”

Karol looked at Piotr. The shorter, slightly overweight man with greying blonde hair wasn’t much of a warrior. But he was an excellent administrator and organizer. “I will take care of the camp. You go meet with that Avarov. Any additional ally will be useful.” He said.

“Where can I find this Avarov?”

[Detroix]

Karol walked through the Gorlog camp and the area where his own soldiers started to set up camp. Beyond them there was another camp, with thousands of people. But there were even more horses, at least three times the amount of people. After asking around a bit, he was led to larger central tent where a group of men where sitting around a campfire.

Usually his impressive height, around 1.80 meters, full plate armor and muscles he gained through the years of war intimidated many people. But not only they didn’t seem bothered, they just ignored him.

“Is any of you Avarov?” Karol asked loudly, to get through the noise of their talk.

“I am.” One of them said. He was shorter than Karol, with dark hair and brown eyes, which were a bit unsettling. He was in his early twenties, about Karol’s age. His posture was rather frail compared to Karol’s, but that didn’t stop him from carrying a sabre and an impressive longbow. “Ataman Vasily Pavlovich Avarov. And you must be Karol, the peasant turned general. You should think about getting a surname with that sort of position.” His tone and general manerism was very nonshalant. He behaved like a young noble’s son on his father’s estate talking to his servants.

What Avarov said was true. Karol was just another peasant a couple years ago. But after the Aurelian Emperor started to revoke privilages of human cities and they banded together everything changed. He joined his citie’s garrison and after leading a sally that relieved its siege and organizing a successfull partizan group he made a name for himself. After a series of humiliating defeats the cities decided that there needed to be a change of leadership and, with the help of Piotr’s money and connections he made as a wealthy merchant, Karol got an army. Now, he marched east after receiving an alliance offer from one of the Gorlog chiefs pillaging every village he encountered to deny the pursuing elves supply and recruiting any human villagers he met.

“Why did you want to speak with me?”

“I want to join you. These elves need to be tought a lesson. And they’ve got a bunch of money. Life hasn’t been easiest after the Great Khan expelled us.” Karol looked suspiciously at Avarov. The Great Khan wasn’t an enemy you’d like to anger.

“One of his lapdogs wanted to collect tribute from us. We showed him his place, thanks to Avarov, but his master wasn’t happy. So he banished us and forbid to ever cross these mountains.” One of the cossacks explained.

“So, you in or not?” Avarov asked.

“I’m in. But remember I’m the general. You follow my orders.” Cossacks were known to be very unruly, often disregarding any authority that wasn’t their own.

“As long as we get our share of plunder, we are loyal to you.”

[Detroix]

As the sun set the scouts arrived. The Aurelian army was less than a day away, numbering between 20 and 25 thousand. Leading it was prince Sallel, second in line to the Imperial throne. At least 5 thousand were light cavalry, the rest mostly light infantry. There was a small contingent of heavy knights, but they mist likely served as the prince’s guard.

Karol’s army was smaller, numbering 14 thousand after the most recent additions. 8 thousand were peasants conscripted along the way from burnt down villages. Another 2 thousand were better equipped mercenaries or men-at-arms. Mostly heavy infantry and 500 heavy cavalry. Now he had also 3 thousand of Cossack light cavalry and a thousand Gorlog warriors. And most importantly, Gorlog shamans, perfect counter for the elven mages.

He watched as the soldiers, under Piotr’s leadership, dug ditches filled with wooden spikes and constructed a tabor. It was a type of makeshift fortifications made from reinforced carts chained together. They would usually be put in a square on an elevated position, serving as a mobile castle that traveled with an army.

This time the fortification would be composed of just one line, as the steep walls of the narrow valley shielded their flanks. It would be positioned right where the valley was curving upwards, so the enemies would have to advance uphill, exposed to fire. On the cliffs above the valley would be positioned additional archers, crossbowmen and 4 cannons, Karol’s secret weapon. He also considered putting the handcannons there too, but they would be much more effective on a closer range. All these preparations and a highly defensive position hopefully would even out the odds.

---

Prince Sallel was furious. What was supposed to be a quick punitive expedition, just like many others, turned into a wild goosechase to the furthest edges of the Empire. A third of his army died along they way from starvation, diseases and ambushes, leaving him with just 20 thousand men. And the Gorlog High Chief, tribute to the Empire, refused to provide troops, saying that “He already did supply them to another army”. After the rebels were crushed, he would remind that oversized monkey where is his place.

The undersupplied and tired army reached the mountains and sunrise and set up camp on one of the hills at the valley’s entrance.

“My lord, shall we send an envoy to offer them surrender?” One of his advisors asked.

“No.”

“But my lord…”

“Silence!” He yelled out. He wasn’t in a mood for pointless conversations like this one. “This rabble of insubordinate human peasants had their chance to surrender before they defied me so many times. Tomorrow, I will crush their puny rebellion once and for all.”

[Detroix]

On the next day, as the sun begun to rise, Aurelian cavalrymen begun preparations. Blinded by his anger and arrogance, the Prince decided to send out a cavalry charge, against the reluctant advice from other commanders. The riders were dressed in white and gold light armor, the colors of the Aurelian Empire. Their horses were tall and sleek, very beautiful but without any meaningful protection. The riders themselves were equipped with lances, sabres and shortbows. Many experts drew similarities between Aurelian, Cossack and Tiefling, those being nomadic peoples of the eastern steppes, cavalry formations. They all relied on their superior speed and maneuverability exceeding in flat, open terrain, often crushing Veletian and Gorlog infantry formations. But not this time.

At the opposing camp preparations have begun too. Mercenary sargeants were hurrying up the peasants onto the tabor, Cossacks and their heavier Veletian counterparts were preparing to ride out when a signal was given. Veletian priests made sacrifices and prayed to the gods, in such a way that the soldiers could hear them. Gorlog shamans were calling on their spirits, mostly to counter any Aurelian magic. They were far away from other forces, not to scare the horses and prevent clashes with human troops. Use of magic was shunned, both among Veletians and Cossacks, perceived to be the working of the traitor-god, Weles. The rest of the Gorlogs were guarding the camp. They were most useful in chaotic melee brawls, not organized defensive formations.

It was around midday when the charge commenced. The Auralian riders charged across the hills and into the valley. The sound of the rampaging horses echoed from the walls and carried deep into the valley. The riders sped up and and lowered their lances. But when they saw their enemies, it wasn’t what they expected. Instead of a rag-tag group of puny human peasants they witnessed a wooded wall, filled with spears and halberds. But it was too late to turn back. Some of the first horses tripped on thr ditches falling to the ground and leaving their riders to be trampled by the next in line. The riders finally reached the tabor, killing many with their lances. But equally many died to Veletain polearms. And that’s when the carnage begun.

The riders threw away their broken lances and drew sabers, but soon found out that now the spearmen had the range advantage. Aurelian mages were dumbfounded once they noticed that their magical runes, symbols and patterns did nothing. The Gorlog shamans pleased the spirits and created an anti-magic field across the entire battlefield. Arrows started flying from both sides. And then a series of loud explosions from the handcanons rang all throughout the valley, filling the air with smoke and the sulfuric smell of gunpowder. Though not very accurate, these new weapons fired lead projectiles faster than any bow or crossbow could. Their sound, smoke and smell spread fear and confusion among enemy ranks. And shortly afterwards four more explosions rang out, with power so great the handcanons seemed nothing more than toys. The four canons, positioned high on the cliffs, fired buckshot into the horde down below. Hundreds of metal granules and shrapnel descended almost like rain, killing and wounding many.

After multiple unsuccessful attempts to regroup for another charge, the Aurelian cavalrymen begun their chaotic retreat. Many would die to Veletian volleys or were trampled by their own comrades. When they vanished into the valley, the tabor was opened and the signal, which was the blow of a horn, was given. The Cossacks and Veletian heavy riders rushed after the Aurelians, catching them at the mouth of the valley. Many elves would be either shot or cut down before they reached the relative safety of their camp.

Out of the 5 thousand horsemen that made the arrogant charge, only a thousand returned. Meanwhile, Karol’s force lost less than 500 men. If Sallel was furious before, now he was angry beyond description. It seemed as if he was going to murder every single one of his advisors just by looking at them.

“Incompetent fools.” He thought. “Tomorrow, I will deal with these rebels myself. They will know my wrath. And once I’m done here, every single one of their pathetic and ugly cities will burn.”

[Detroix]

The black smoke was still visible on the morning sky. Avarov and his Cossacks raided the enemy camp last night, easely breaking through the makeshift perimeter Aurelians tried to set up at the mouth of the valley. But now, as the forward scouts reported an enemy infantry formation approaching, the entire camp was readying for battle. Thanks to Piotr, the last night’s celebrations didn’t involve too much alcohol, so everyone was more or less ready to fight.

The formation was identical to the last one. Peasant conscripts on the tabor, mercenaries and Gorlogs behind them as reinforcements and sargeants. The cavalry waited for enemies to begin retreating.

The enemy force, composed of purely infantry, entered sight. Those in front were lightly armored with spears and halberds, most likely peasants, judging by their lack of uniforms. But behind them was the sparkling white of the Aurelian army. Most of them were lightly armored with either bows or spears and shields. But some were in heavier armor and wielding sabers. In total, they numbered around 15 thousand. Unlike the last time, only Aurelian banners were raised. Elven nobles often resented fighting on foot.

And so they begun advancing, most arrowes stopping on their shields. The archers in the back returned fire, but overnight the carts were additonally reinforced, adding roofs and makeshift shields which cod be raised to stop enemy fire. When the first line got closer, barely ten meters away, the handcannons fired, tearing through shields and making gaps in the line. Despite at first spreading panic, sargeants and the more disciplined troops at the back managed to keep the first rows from fleeing. After one more salvo, the Aurelians reached the Tabor.

What followed was a bloody melee. Spears and halberds were coming from both sides, while the defenders fired point blank shots while trying to defend against incoming arrows. Any fallen soldier was replaced by a new one with no end in sight. Cannons were firing into the crowd, claiming many Aurelian lives. And then the regular troops reached the first row. They were much more effective, causing serious losses. Especially the heavy infantry, the elite Mubazirun. They seemed unstopabble. Some were even bold enough to start getting onto the carts.

Karol watched with worry as some soldiers tried to flee, only to be brought back in line by the mercenary sargeants or had to resort to knives and axes when enemies climbed onto the Tabor. He contemplated whether he should send the mercenaries onto the Tabor, when one of the carts was toppled over and Aurelians begun to poor in, pushing back the small group of mercenaries defending the breach.

[Detroix]

This situation was bad. The breach could allow the Aurelians to encircle the formation. But Karol could not afford to transfer any more of his forces or he could risk another breach. He looked behind and saw his cavalry standing behind him. They were patiently waiting for the order to charge. The cossacks were also providing additional archer fire.

“Get off your horses and after me!” He yelled out to the nearest light cavalrymen in between cannon salvos. He himself got off his horse and drew his sword.

He led the small group men of men towards the breach. When those already fighting there saw their general charging in with reinforcements, they started fighting twice as hard. Karol, in his plate armor, threw himself onto the elven lines. Using his momentum, he took a slash with his greatsword, slashing right across the chest of one man and throwing another to the ground with the force of his impact. His armor was virtually impenetrable to regular weapons except for a few weak points. Once a warrior got close, but an arrow shot by Avarov pierced his throat.

The breach was contained. The elven warriors were pushed back and the breached sealed with a shield wall. With half an hour more of intense fighting the Aurelian soldiers started losing their momentum. Even the more experienced and disciplined soldiers were losing their will to fight. The enemy begun an organized retreat, marching backwards while keeping formation and keeping their shields raised.

“We are ready to ride. Just tell them to open the tabor.” Avarov said. He and his men were longing for a fight.

“Not this time. You will just ride into a wall of spears and swords. You will get your action later.” Karol replied.

“I hope so. I did not come here to sit behind a wall and shoot arrows like a common archer.” With those words Avarov sent a one last arrow into the retreating army.

[Detroix]

That night the Cossacks would attack again, joined by the Veletian cavalry. But this time it wasn’t just a simple raid.

The entire Aurelian camp thoroughly pillaged and burnt to the ground. All soldiers there were either cut down or captured, some in a very brutal way. Those who tried to escape were killed by the reinforcing infantry. Prince Sallel was delivered before Karol in chains and a rope in his mouth, with a missing eye and severly wounded leg.

“I lost many good man because of this little fucker.” Said Avarov, neither taller nor younger than the prince. “How about we hang him by the legs from dome tree, get a very weak bow and see how many arrows we can pack into him before he bleeds out. My money is on twenty.” The once arrogant and overconfident prince’s eyes now widened in horror as he tried to scream and desperately free himself from his chains. An ominous grin appeared on Avarov’s blood - covered face. Karol noticed the same ferocious glint in his eyes he saw the last time the Cossack was sent out with a raid.

“Or we could just send him back with a demand for ransom. The Emperor should be willing to pay at least a thousand ducats for his son.” Piotr said, clearly worried about the increasingly bold and crazy Cossack.

“He will be ransomed to the Emperor in exchage for… Two thousand ducats.” Karol decided. This was a significant sum, worth a lot of equipment, wages and mercenary bands. “Avarov, keep watch over him. Make sure he arrives to the Emperor with the same amount of limbs he has now.”

---

And so, prince Sallel and many other nobles would be ransomed back for significant heaps of money. These were used to fund an even larger and significantly better quality army.

Karol’s victory would go down in fame with the revolutionaries and infamy with the Aurelians. After a string of three more decisive victories and countless smaller skirmishes he became something a living legend. Eventually he would launch a successful coup against the unpopular and incompetent Revolutionary Council.

Within a year of him taking command the revolutionaries would see a lot more successes. Within a year Karol’s armies would march on Arandell, the Aurelian capital. The city would be sieged, stormed, pillaged, levelled and the ground salted. The High Priesthood would proclaim Karol as Tsar and Champion of the Gods. What was a simple rebellion caused by a dispute over city rights now estabilished human dominance over the region for the first time in centuries.

The Eastern Steppes would be conquered with the help of the local Cossack population and the Great Khan slain. Karol’s pact with Karakal was fulfilled, making him the High Chief and incorporating the Gorlog mountains into the Tsardom.

20 years after the battle of now named Karol’s Pass, the Tsar rules with an iron fist, his mighty armies and loyal friends in highest positions of government. His rule is, truly, questioned by none.