Tyros Approaches - The First Battle

The Ubara could wait no longer.

She stood, her face grim as the Taurentians moved with her past the ornate doors of the central cylinder and down the Viktel Aria to the front gate. She could tell by the sounds that the battle was slowing – the first battle between Ar and Tyros. The messenger had started running towards the central cylinder talking of burning peasant farms, of Tyros's approach in land towards the margin of desolation in vast numbers. Ar had amassed a force quickly – having not seen such an effort since the days of the assault of the Cosians.

This was no small band of raiders from Treve – those surgical strike, insane, middle-of-the-night fliers that would sometimes appear out of thin air. This was one of the largest naval forces in Gor and one of the current superpowers of the entire planet, led by the famed Dread Ubar, Galahad. And after the visit of their entourage the previous passage hand, Ar had prepared to march their forces to the mouth of the Vosk to begin preparing to sail to their enemy, regardless of the 100 pasangs berth Tyros had offered – and had been rejected.

The smoke curled in rings beyond the central cylinder of the camps of physicians and warriors there, as the streets lay silent. The huge gate had been shut, and the inner gate, too. Several heartsick kajirae lay against the walls near the gate with flowers weaved in their hair, jumping with every ballista, listening for any sound of footfalls within the gates for the return of their Masters. As the sounds began to die down, the citizenry quietly made their way towards the Viktel Aria.

It was so quiet.

“Open the gate,” Melisande said, and it was done. Over an ahn had passed with the last of the sword clashing, explosions, and raucous cries of the warriors. When the amber rays of a dying sunset spilled through the doors, she could only make out the hazy figures of men on the Fields of Elysium – whether they were victors or not, she could not tell – reaching under the arms of the fallen, moving their bodies out of the way. She saw one grim-faced rarius with a sword, and occasionally, he would stop and slide his blade in the chest of an enemy combatant who lay on the field dying – yet not finally giving his last breath. Merciful in the end, to a noble foe. As the man stood, she narrowed her eyes, and saw the insignia in his armor, SPQA. He raised his fist in the air as he saw the flash of purple at the gate, and his voice rose in a mixture of grief and victory, “Glory!” shouted he. “To Ar!”

And beyond the rise of the hill they began to come. The Primus Pilus, Brian Julianus, with the standard bearer. The centurions, their men. And then Primus Marleneanus. Macer, victorious in his defense. Tuntura, honoring his fallen brethren, Jimmi with his bloodstained steel... and finally, the last... and the first to battle – Marcus Sarus Flavius.

“Glory be to Ar. The victory is ours, Ubara,” said Brian.

Tyros, in this first battle, was defeated. And the warriors came through the gate and into the streets, the slave girls and free women welcoming them, the many castes thumping their chests in appreciation – all honoring the fallen and the victors with their praise, with celebration, and with a new stirring of the heart of home stone.

And of revenge.

Tyros would learn the penalty for assaulting the walls of Ar. And it would happen soon. This was far from over.

On an OOC note, all sides were thrilled with the way the Terms of Engagement worked, with the cooperation, and planning. Special thanks to Galahad and his team from Tyros and Sarus and our team here in Ar. Such an effort of group combat has excited and inspired us, and we are encouraged, looking towards a great conflict between the two powers in the coming weeks. Let the roleplay continue, and it shall, as (NPC) officers and spies of Tyros are executed in front of the central cylinder Monday evening. Keep watching this blog for the progression of news of the war.