Children of Terra

~Few weeks since Castle-fall~ ~Pelagia, Triton Capitol~ ~Within Hall of Kings~ ~Thaumas, Wondrous First-Born~ The divine Triton-King sat upon his throne, casting a powerful brow upon his retinue. They brought tidings from the frontier: Telkhine made a move finally! Scouts have been since probing the front and found strange happenstance. The front was un-gods-ly reinforced, as though their armies hold for no other purpose than to. The only push was a corridor opened by the frontier castle -- which supplied a steady army of slave-mercenaries -- by the reports. This line would push to a new hold, conquer it, wait, send out raid parties, and push forward again.       While cutting armies were sent to choke the supply line, the veteran core of Telkhine stayed behind to stave these bands. Why do they insist on sending only the slaves? A hippocampoi charge could in theory break the back line -- in practice the effort would see slaves wash on favored Pelagia. The Tritons had to focus instead on slowing the advance, preparing defenses. It was thought these mad slaves were brainwashed -- no magic threat, no grand army, and no merciless slaughter -- abated their march.       Thaumas beat his throne rest, causing many in the hall to jump. "Why now?! I am so close to an epiphany! Just one more shipment of magic crystals and I can commune with the Great Ones!" He slammed the sauroter of his trident into the floor, hard enough it stood alone. "Summon the Coral and Pearl Clans. As many as they must. Gather the best mages, the finest mounts. Begin entrenching around Pelagia, save only the funnel-point. I would wager these fools to charge straight through."       A lone retainer took his prostration. "My lord, oh divine one, do not fall for such base trappings! The Telkhine are a devious bunch . . . "       Thaumas looked him over. "Alternatives. You would do well to voice them before I festoon your entrails upon my banners."       The mer-man shivered. "We send a hippocampoi army to break through a line to Arcoscephale. Even the Telkhine cannot suffer such a blow to their heart. They will draw forces back, weakening the frontier supply enough for ambush troops to bleed them. These mad slaves fight without abandon; no replenishment force, and they wither under mage-fire, under hippocampoi charge."       "Such a thing requires expediency. If you cannot gather a sufficient force in three days, I shall cut your phallus from its sheath and run you upon a splitting crane. Dismissed." With a whirl, Thaumas sat back, wresting his trident from the floor.       From where did these heathens get such a force? Their own slaves were so feeble by comparison. And the speed of the blitz; these tactics were so unlike the self-righteous Telkhine. They fought without honor. Without aggrandizing their cultured superiority. No, these ones fought like starved dogs.       Thaumas put a finger on his temple, a vein pulsing. If only he could commune with the Great Ones, tear foul Telkhine veil from its priests; then the rivers' blessings would be Triton. Gods abound! ~Forts and Outposts later~ ~Deep in Pelagian land~ ~Army march of the Korybante~ ~Vykan, Korybant~ His stomach still faintly ached from the sinuous recovery his abdominal cavity made weeks ago; it felt too taut, too little meat for too much area. He also suffered cut tendons and thigh gashes in the battles since. The soul-recovery was being pushed to its limits on him, but the battle experience gained far outweighed such contrivances. Every day, he could feel stronger yet. The positives of death really brought out the worst in him, and even he could see madness in the other korybant. His once 13-core numbered scant 5 now, but all the more fervent they were. Rumors began that fortune followed his path, that he was favored of Tyche.       It didn't help when he charged with the first in every battle he could. He was quickly becoming lauded as a death-korybant, among the best of them. There were always those that were better in skill, in talent, but few could match the insanity, especially after being mauled almost every battle. Vykan fought with abandon, his only concern not taking a lethal blow about his most critical parts. And it shifted the tone among the korybante. No longer did they listlessly march and train. They clamored for battle, eager in fact to be first, to be martyr-fuel for the subsequent wave.       How many months had passed since the first battle in those rolling plains? How many had fallen to his own blade since? The korybant had taken multiple castles now, sundered outposts, and survived ambushes.       Archer-scouts became more frequent as they reported to the Ephoroi, about pincer-ing attempts, breakthrough attempts, and counter-attacks on the supply line fortresses. None worked, as all had been reinforced by fully-Kourete with army support. The most shocking part was the rumor that Meliai, even Hekateride were commanding the logistic-lines. It showed an absolute concerted effort by Telkhine to see this through.       The korybante mistook this as acceptance. Vykan wondered how it would end. He even mulled the idea that perhaps they would be upgraded from miscreant to some kind of naturalized half-citizen. Whenever he looked to his Ephoroi, he knew that would likely never be.       All that mattered was getting to Stygia, bathing in Styx. He hoped this endeavor would at least shed light on where to start on that aspect. ~Thinning about the Crag-forests~ ~Within the Heart of Pelagian Land~ ~Forward Camp before Siege~ ~Command Ephoroi~ The march halted as the archer-scout reports came in: Pelagia had been stripping their forests to build massive sections of pike-wall and ditch. Multi-layered defenses erected of crag-plank arrow shields. The Tritons had learned of the ranged strength of Telkhine, and built a makeshift death warren in the plain about the capitol, leaving only one unobstructed land ingress. Walls also had been fettered with spikes to prevent essentially anything save a frontal grind. It probably wouldn't work if Telkhine used the full array of its war machine, but the pariah korybant were more than ready for this challenge. The Ephoroi suspected at this point they likely wouldn't even need to suggest anything.       Camp was made within safety of the crag-trees, at the periphery of the plain. Scout armies would tighten formation to just within the siege lines, all along the back line; widening the myrmidon corridor as ants that chanced upon carrion.       It had come in a report that the Tritons attempted a breach of the border-frontier to gambit an attack on Arcoscephale. They misjudged the command lines of elephant riders and gigantes, whom utterly crushed the advance. Such resources had been put into this that Pelagia opted for a full defensive formation; recalling all saboteurs and out-units, risking no more to this battle. It seemed for the mer-men, this would be existential.       Now, this was no traditional siege. There would be no waiting out the defenders, starving them, or lobbing plague-corpses to wither their defense. No, this would be the sundering of Pelagia. In the weeks since the first detachments from the city-states, a further 5000 korybante had arrived to throng the camp grounds. Such a sight struck small terror in the Ephoroi, such a force enough to cause discord if it went rouge. Of course, much of it was un-blooded, the paths from Telkhine-to-here long scoured by the previous pariah-martyrs.       It worked out to not have executed the messianic veterans, then. The korybant seemed convinced of the purity of their service-reward.       After enough scouts had determined enough the nature of the defense of Pelagia, a final rally of the Korybante would take place on the eve of battle. They were told of the death warren ahead, they were told of the stalwart defenders in the capital, they were told of the might of the finest Triton to meet korybant threat. All this, and then again the promise of rewards, citizenship, blessings, and opportunities.       The korybante shouted and merry-made one last night, before a day of fast. Next would bring a decisive battle. ~Before the Battle of Pelagia~ ~Triton-Capitol~ ~Within the lines of Korybante~ ~Vykan, Korybant~ The death warren stretched out in the plain like the worst of things. Makeshift buildings could hide all manner of troop, flags and fabrics interspersed so as to obfuscate observance. All ringed about maws of ditch and pike, trice-layered to ward off any approach save one: a land bridge straight ahead.       Vykan knew his future lay here, and beyond. He eyed the castle-towers deep in the city, knowing that even making it past the death warren would be a trifle to what was beyond. Here, the mer-men would be fiercest, they would be packed into a corner with only one escape: through his dead corpse. But, he was steeple-d in combat, the intensity impossible for a living-bearing to withstand. He had shed all his energy stores, his scars faded back into taut flesh. He was a true Korybant now.       The Ephoroi walked to designated positions in front of the Korybante, elevating themselves to be seen by the mass of misthophoroi. They spoke briefly, their messages simple: 'out there is glory, out there is freedom! They had only but to race out and grasp it.'       And with that, they were loosed. ~Battle in the Plains~ ~At the feet of Pelagia~ Vykan raced down from the crag-tree-line toward his fate, the korybante beginning a shouting charge. They were un-accosted past the land bridge and made into the first lines of death warren. It was here the first of traps revealed: the entire warren appeared to be mud-laden. Perfect grounds for the mer-men, and slow work for korybant. The first Triton skirmishers began to emerge from warren buildings to meet their foe.       These were cunning scale-men, they wielded catch-nets paired with short spear to harry korybant in one. While the korybant was laden with net, his arms disabled, the Tritons would run the spear through him, often leaving the net and spear behind. Even if it failed, many of the Triton would simply abandon the net and flee before being caught. In short, great use of their preferred terrain.       It would be slow going to make it even a quarter through the warren. The battle had the pace of an ambush, mer-men gliding on the mud to harry one group and off to another before retaliation. Still, the numbers of korybant surely made for progress. Around 4/10ths into the warren came the next great encounter; hippocampoi barreled through false walls, the inner warren mockery made to allow hippocampoi reign once loosed. The abrupt shift caused a great many korybant to fall mangled under the great beasts, before counter tactics began.       The battle was indeed slow going, korybant strength sapped in the mud, wary of ambushes from nearly any direction, and the perils of needing to matador a frenzied hippocampus always in mind. But, their numbers a strength, a balm on the mind. Progress was made, undoubtedly.       As the korybant made advance near the end of the warren, it was seen that many of the surviving mer-men were fleeing into the walled city proper, intentionally leaving the grand gates open. The path into the city was a great slope; good for mer-men, not for human. What stairs existed for emissaries or visitation had been thoroughly ground down, forcing the korybant to climb up slopes steep.       Vykan looked back and down at the plain, the death warren now laden with bodies. Weaponry jutted from them at cruel angles, buildings toppled from the fervent activity. And then back to the city. ~The Ascent to Pelagia~ ~City Proper~ As korybant neared the top of the slope, within sight of the crest; a rain began. Slight, flecked. It grew steadily worse, leaving no doubt of mage-origin. The sky carried the cloud burden darkly, great peals of thunder heralding torrents soon after. Many of the korybant slipped, bringing others down. Vykan crawled to all fours, using blade as a peg. He and others crested the slope finally and beheld into the city.       The rains fell over all Pelagia, streets laden with puddles already, growing worse. Shit. They first had no choice but to wait for a sufficient raid party, it would be madness to charge in singly. Almost as concerning was the fact they were left alone. The mer-men played a game of psychology, now that they're in home territory. Vykan took the chance, and sat at the foot of a wall, letting the rain batten down on him. Nothing now but to wait for a force.       Cautiously, korybant gathered at the base of the grand entrance, seeing the others, curious as to the hold. "We need at least two hundred before a charge," was the most common of conversations, if any. The storm came down thickly now, occluding much in the way of hearing; sight would also be impaired. Vykan would rather risk a drop in his eye than restrict his periphery with a cloth hood. Too much psychological burden otherwise.       Enough korybant had gathered now for a first push into the city. Vykan got up from his repose, fighting to shout over the storm: "We have to go slow, friends! Stay in sight of at least one other at all times! Come, we march to take fate itself inside!" He raised his sword, nodding to as many as he could, before turning.       The city was nautical, smoothed walls and soft terrain to permit easier slippage when wet. Very poor architecture for a human invasion force. Vykan could hear slips behind him, but refused to turn his attention from the darkened windows, the corners that hid further view.       At once, a Triton had glided around the corner, momentum carrying his short spear to pike him through. Vykan slammed himself into the right wall, shield and sword at his torso. He punched his buckler out, but caught the shoulder of the Triton, who held the spear in quarterstaff, swinging the sauroter around to bash Vykan about the head. He held his blade at around a 45-degree angle to glance the blow up, using the friction as a steady base to thrust a jab into the Triton's throat. The fish-man fell back, dropping the spear, hands clutching his sieving jugular. Vykan plunged his blade into the heart of the thing.       All around the city sounds of violence could be heard. It sounded sure then that the korybant were slaughtering all they came across, even the non-combatants from the shrieking. Paired against the thunder and rain, it sounded of a dream dying that one was party to.       The korybant did not have the overwhelming numbers to do an orderly purge, so they opted for the same push-and-stop tactics they had accustomed to in the battles throughout the land. Plazas became checkpoints as more and more korybant filled the city, bands branching the surrounding blocks to weed the Triton; all towards building a network closer to the guarded halls of the Royal Palace in the deep heart.       As the rain continued to fill and wash Pelagia, the entrance slope began increasingly tinge red, severed parts and cruelties of war washing in the deluges into the warren muck below.       . . . How like ants they truly were! ~Through the warrens and streets~ ~of Pelagia, heart of Triton~ ~Korybante thresh~ They had gathered, they few, at the district line denoting the Royal Palace. Many nestled burns from mages or hook wounds from trapper-nets. Vykan had long used to the Triton style, his only marks now were gashes of his forearms; one on his rib cage. It was the damage of the psyche that lingered on him. How his fellows treated the non-combatants, the stresses taken out in every indulgence of unwilling flesh. Glory didn't seem far from immorality, anymore.       Many of the korybant were spent in the city, many of the living still weeding out the latent opposition. He turned to his confidants, the few veterans that lived from the early battles. "What next? Should we hold here, wait for a host? Or beat the Palace gates down, and end the storm?"       One, holding a wound on his oblique, replied: "We could rest for but a moment. Same as after the warren. The Tritons inside are sure to be saving their strength. We too will need all we have."       Vykan sighed, this way went not much to glory. The rain, the blood, the land itself seeming intent on sapping willpower. The mothers and babes . . .       Heeding council, he took his rest. The fate of Pelagia could wait another moment. ~Ere long the charge~ ~Upon the Grand Palace of Pelagia~ ~The few Korybante~ Around a hundred korybant had gathered in the raid party, shoring their strength for one last battle in these fatiguing lands; the rain hard, the thunder booming, and the sounds of screams alto occasionally heard in the city below.       Vykan suspected they would be enough; many Triton had likely fled to neighboring lands, other cities, shoring alliances while the prideful stayed to die upon ancestral soil. Only the true believers would remain. Only the ones that must be cut down.       He looked up, letting rain patter his face, before standing. The pain of wounds had faded to dullness. It's time. Vykan gathered about his fellows, readying for a final assault. They beat open the grand halls and found Triton arrayed like royal reception. It highlight the savagery of what the korybant had become.       And true to this, the korybant did not wait for a parley or word spar, they rushed into the line, mages whipping staves up and casting magicks. The last of the Triton-hoplite rushed to defend their charge. Vykan held back, eye on the large one on the throne. Probably a good 3 meter, that one. The Neptune-statue of a Triton bore his massive trident in-hand, stood from his throne with an air of disgust, and began his mighty arcs of swings, bashing korybant aside in single-blows.       The King was strong enough to spear a korybant clean off the ground in one arm, and fling the human meters away into others.       Vykan rushed forward, focusing alongside a korybant group to the Triton King. They harried about the beast, wary of the power and reach he could achieve. Like a wolf pack, they attacked in opposing pairs, splitting the attention of the Triton. He was well trained enough to quarter his trident as needed, using either end to visit crippling blows on the rabid korybant.       One of the korybant cast his shield and sword aside to rush the Triton in a tackle; Vykan deciding to leap at the exposed back. Quick at the draw, the Triton planted the trident in the ground at this moment, impaling the korybant through the chest, then levering the trident from the tips to swivel the sauroter up into Vykan's jaw -- carrying the inertial force to beat back the rest in an arc -- blood rivulets in the air from the speed of it. The trident had been swung in an arc about the head, making the impaled korybant fly away in a ragged heap. Afterward, the King flipped the trident back from a reverse hold to the traditional one.       The force caused an immediate blackout.