The Khan of the Unicorn Clan stood in the saddle with ease as his great steed pounded away at the earth beneath him. He rode with his scouts, seeking to get an understanding of the bandits who “ruled” these lands. He saw nothing but huts and small stockades, men clutching makeshift weapons, and not a single good horse to be found. This used to be prime grazing land for the Unicorn herds. It would be so again.
The ronin Ronso blinked sleepily as he sat up in bed. The peasant girl groaned and he casually backhanded her. By the Pit of Fu Leng, his head was pounding! He didn’t remember drinking that much the previous night. As his feet hit the ground he realized it was shaking to the noise that reverberated in his skull. An earthquake? Here? He grabbed a shirt as he staggered outside. Dozens of other bandits were doing the same, and thus were treated to the majesty of thousands of Unicorn horsemen in full change as they descended upon the camp.
As Tetsuko trampled yet another pathetic worm, he looked around and saw nothing but petty bandits and thugs, screaming like women as they died. There was no challenge here.
It was over in minutes. The Unicorn steeds did most of the work. The bandit camp was a shambles. Only a few survivors were found. Ronzo himself, with two crushed legs, blubbered for release. He said that Shodokai ruled from a crumbling kyuden in Shisame province. Tetsuko leveled his steely gaze to the north.
Showing posts with label Battle Report. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Battle Report. Show all posts
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The Battle for Mori Province
Yasukaza rode at the head of the shugenja cavalry. The banners and pinions of the Phoenix fluttered in the breeze as they crested the hill. Below, along the harbor, was the pirate town. A collection of shacks, shanties, and tents. Several boats floated in the harbor.
He saw the gathering force of ruffians outside the gates. “Ah, it seems we are expected,” he muttered.
Ronzo the Foul was an immensely fat man, dressed in black leathers and brown fur. He gripped a long, curved, Gaijin blade and glared at Yasukaza from a distance as the Phoenix approached. Then he disappeared back into the mass of pirates, thugs, and frightened peasants.
Yasukaza halted the troops, and began to order the cavalry to the flanks to strengthen their position. A roar from behind caused him to spin around. The pirate mass surged forward, not waiting for strategy or tactics. “Very well,” he thought grimly, griping his hammer, as he called upon the spirits of Earth for strength.
The pirates were vicious and aggressive. They slammed into the central mass of the Phoenix troops, and bushi holding the line were bowled over. Men were pinned to the ground screaming as a half dozen brigands stabbed downward repeatedly with their knives. A force of pirates sought to change the Shugenja before they could ready their magics, but the Shiba did the job they have done for centuries. Ronzo and his retainers broke through the Yojimbo briefly, but the shugenja summoned spirits of water to turn the ground before him to mud, stopping his attack as he floundered and roared in anger.
Aggressive, but undisciplined, poorly armored, and like children before the trained Phoenix forces. Yasukaza channeled the power of a dozen shugenja to cause the Earth itself to break open and swallow hundreds of pirates. The peasants assisting the brigands were cut down like wheat by the blades of the samurai and Yojimbo.
In the end the rabble broke and ran, and Ronzo lead them, moving surprisingly fast for his bulk. They fled to the ships on the harbor, which set sail for the sunset, leaving the province squarely in Phoenix hands.
He saw the gathering force of ruffians outside the gates. “Ah, it seems we are expected,” he muttered.
Ronzo the Foul was an immensely fat man, dressed in black leathers and brown fur. He gripped a long, curved, Gaijin blade and glared at Yasukaza from a distance as the Phoenix approached. Then he disappeared back into the mass of pirates, thugs, and frightened peasants.
Yasukaza halted the troops, and began to order the cavalry to the flanks to strengthen their position. A roar from behind caused him to spin around. The pirate mass surged forward, not waiting for strategy or tactics. “Very well,” he thought grimly, griping his hammer, as he called upon the spirits of Earth for strength.
The pirates were vicious and aggressive. They slammed into the central mass of the Phoenix troops, and bushi holding the line were bowled over. Men were pinned to the ground screaming as a half dozen brigands stabbed downward repeatedly with their knives. A force of pirates sought to change the Shugenja before they could ready their magics, but the Shiba did the job they have done for centuries. Ronzo and his retainers broke through the Yojimbo briefly, but the shugenja summoned spirits of water to turn the ground before him to mud, stopping his attack as he floundered and roared in anger.
Aggressive, but undisciplined, poorly armored, and like children before the trained Phoenix forces. Yasukaza channeled the power of a dozen shugenja to cause the Earth itself to break open and swallow hundreds of pirates. The peasants assisting the brigands were cut down like wheat by the blades of the samurai and Yojimbo.
In the end the rabble broke and ran, and Ronzo lead them, moving surprisingly fast for his bulk. They fled to the ships on the harbor, which set sail for the sunset, leaving the province squarely in Phoenix hands.
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Battle for the Isle of Winds
The peasants had long forgotten the Celestial Order. The ragged skeletons of the magistrates still hung from the wharfs. They quarreled amongst themselves over petty slights, while the rice fields law fallow the and merchants docks were silent.
“C’mon, lets go for a glass of Sake. It’s colder than Fu Leng’s heart this morning!” said the ragged man holding the spear.
“But what about our post? The signal fires?” asked his fellow guard.
“No man could sail through this fog. Only a fool who would want to meet the rocks,” laughed the first. As they walked down the docks, the wavering shapes of ships began to fade in from the mist.
By the time the alarm bells were ringing, the shores were full of Mantis soldiers. Yoritomo Toyotomi looked around at the ragged men running pell-mell to meet them, holding spears, slings, staffs, and farming equipment. “There is no leadership here. No one worth challenging,” he rumbled as he raised his kama.
The peasants did not know what was happening. Even though most of the Mantis were still disembarking from their craft, they cut into the irregular ranks of their enemy. Ashigaru screamed and died at each other’s hands, impaled on spears or just beaten to death by the bare hands of a dozen others. Toyotomi leapt into the fray, his Kama trailing a haze of blood that seemed to turn the mist about him crimson.
With a few bellowed orders from atop a dock post, the Mantis troops demonstrated their experience by flanking the faltering peasant force.
It was over in less than half a hour. The peasant rebels had no chance. Those who were not fleeing to the hills were either food for the worms or swearing loyalty on their knees.
“A good battle,” said Yakuni, unstringing his bow.
“A good beginning,” agree Toyotomi, who looked through the thinning fog to the horizon, and the outline of Yoritomo island.
“C’mon, lets go for a glass of Sake. It’s colder than Fu Leng’s heart this morning!” said the ragged man holding the spear.
“But what about our post? The signal fires?” asked his fellow guard.
“No man could sail through this fog. Only a fool who would want to meet the rocks,” laughed the first. As they walked down the docks, the wavering shapes of ships began to fade in from the mist.
By the time the alarm bells were ringing, the shores were full of Mantis soldiers. Yoritomo Toyotomi looked around at the ragged men running pell-mell to meet them, holding spears, slings, staffs, and farming equipment. “There is no leadership here. No one worth challenging,” he rumbled as he raised his kama.
The peasants did not know what was happening. Even though most of the Mantis were still disembarking from their craft, they cut into the irregular ranks of their enemy. Ashigaru screamed and died at each other’s hands, impaled on spears or just beaten to death by the bare hands of a dozen others. Toyotomi leapt into the fray, his Kama trailing a haze of blood that seemed to turn the mist about him crimson.
With a few bellowed orders from atop a dock post, the Mantis troops demonstrated their experience by flanking the faltering peasant force.
It was over in less than half a hour. The peasant rebels had no chance. Those who were not fleeing to the hills were either food for the worms or swearing loyalty on their knees.
“A good battle,” said Yakuni, unstringing his bow.
“A good beginning,” agree Toyotomi, who looked through the thinning fog to the horizon, and the outline of Yoritomo island.
The Battle for Agasha Province
Murimoto Yama buckled his mempo into place, the snarling face of a dragon replacing his own. He looked down upon the damaged outpost that housed the Ronin and their peasant rebels. The forces of the Dragon stole down the mountainside, moving quietly into formation. The time of unenlightened barbarism in this province was over. The Dragon had come.
Yama sent his cavalry in a wide circle of the outpost. The foolish peasants massed up to follow the force, exposing the rear of their line. He crossed his blades over his head and roared “For Yokuni!” as his troops swarmed forward, the sunrise cresting the mountains behind them.
As the Ronin, clad in dirty robes and scavenged armor, kicked and screamed at the peasants to bring them around, Yama shook his head. There were no honorable opponents here.
With the cavalry leading in a wedge, the Dragon troops cleaved through the peasant lines, breaking them into two groups. As they struggled, suddenly separated from leaders, the Dragon seamlessly split from one force to two.
The rebels were outnumbered, outtrained, and outequiped. They stood no chance, and the might of the Dragon military rolled over them like a wave of emerald. The Ronin used the peasants as shields, but that bought them perhaps 5 more minutes of life.
It was over before the sun had cleared the Dragon’s Teeth peaks. A new day was dawning in Agasha.
Yama sent his cavalry in a wide circle of the outpost. The foolish peasants massed up to follow the force, exposing the rear of their line. He crossed his blades over his head and roared “For Yokuni!” as his troops swarmed forward, the sunrise cresting the mountains behind them.
As the Ronin, clad in dirty robes and scavenged armor, kicked and screamed at the peasants to bring them around, Yama shook his head. There were no honorable opponents here.
With the cavalry leading in a wedge, the Dragon troops cleaved through the peasant lines, breaking them into two groups. As they struggled, suddenly separated from leaders, the Dragon seamlessly split from one force to two.
The rebels were outnumbered, outtrained, and outequiped. They stood no chance, and the might of the Dragon military rolled over them like a wave of emerald. The Ronin used the peasants as shields, but that bought them perhaps 5 more minutes of life.
It was over before the sun had cleared the Dragon’s Teeth peaks. A new day was dawning in Agasha.
The Battle for Togashi Province
Togashi Yodin started from the trance he had been walking in during the past several miles. This area of the mountains was dark. Too dark. Shadows clung like spider webs, were draped like silk from the rocks and the trees. The men murmured in alarm. Suddenly, a figure peeled itself from the shadow, revealing a muscled man covered with tattoos. Even the normally stoic Yodin felt a shock of fear as he saw the featureless face of smooth flesh. And yet, a voice still whispered “Join us…”
Suddenly, men were stepping from the shadows all around the Dragon troops. The sky darkened. Hundreds of peasants with pale, empty faces, and dozens of dark tattooed men. Yodin raged to see his brethren corrupted so, caught that rage, formed it into an arrow, and launched it with clear purpose at his foes. With a roar, his men followed.
Though Yodin could sense the sightless gaze of the Kikage Zume upon him, he could not see through the haze of shadows that infested the battlefield like a thick fog.
With the obscuring shadows came a dimming of sound. Orders became jumbled. Yodin called upon the Tattoo of the Sun not once, but twice, but each time this brilliant burst of light could only push back the shadow a small way.
The men with the dark tattoos fought brutally, but in utter silence. Their mastery of Shinsei’s path was impressive. With a two quick blows they could disarm a bushi, and a third would break his neck. All in silence.
But Yodin’s men were Dragon men, used to the strange and the unknown. They fought back, trying to restore rank and order even in the unnatural twilight that had fallen at midday. Some of the kikage zume could fade into shadows just before the final strike, but the lost Ashigaru could not, and their grayish blood stained the ground.
Yodin called his men to form up in a wedge, looking to fight their way out of the center, but half of the figures in the gloom turned out to be enemies. As he blocked the kick of another monk, Yodin knew that his brother Yama would be laughing at him.
The enemy struck again, disrupting the least trained of the Dragon troops. Yodin glimpsed the faceless monk who had spoken to him weaving threads of night from his fingers that drifted through the air, freezing all they touched.
Though confused, the Dragon still outnumbered their enemy. And they could recover their balance, while the kikage could not generate more numbers. As a tattooed monk faded in front of him, Yodin focused and called upon the Dragon tattoo. A rolling cloud of fire burst from his mouth, burning even the darkness to ash. But the lost Ashigaru seemed remarkably resilient.
The Dragon men faltered, lost in the darkness, fighting an alien enemy. Yodin grabbed the Dragon standard and leaped up to a rocky outcropping. “FOR THE DRAGON” he roared, and his voice cut through the silence that had choked the battlefield as it was magnified by a thousand other throats.
The darkness was fading. The fire of the Dragon was burning it away, and the kikage seemed suddenly unsure.
The faceless monk found himself caught by the steel of the Dragon’s finest samurai. Though he could dance past the blades of a single warrior, a dozen pinned him against a cliff. As his head was taken from his shoulders, his body melted to shadow and the unnatural darkness lifted. Heartened, the men cut through the remaining enemies. Yodin, tired, cold, hoarse, and cut by the spears of the Ashigaru, returned to his meditative trance.
Suddenly, men were stepping from the shadows all around the Dragon troops. The sky darkened. Hundreds of peasants with pale, empty faces, and dozens of dark tattooed men. Yodin raged to see his brethren corrupted so, caught that rage, formed it into an arrow, and launched it with clear purpose at his foes. With a roar, his men followed.
Though Yodin could sense the sightless gaze of the Kikage Zume upon him, he could not see through the haze of shadows that infested the battlefield like a thick fog.
With the obscuring shadows came a dimming of sound. Orders became jumbled. Yodin called upon the Tattoo of the Sun not once, but twice, but each time this brilliant burst of light could only push back the shadow a small way.
The men with the dark tattoos fought brutally, but in utter silence. Their mastery of Shinsei’s path was impressive. With a two quick blows they could disarm a bushi, and a third would break his neck. All in silence.
But Yodin’s men were Dragon men, used to the strange and the unknown. They fought back, trying to restore rank and order even in the unnatural twilight that had fallen at midday. Some of the kikage zume could fade into shadows just before the final strike, but the lost Ashigaru could not, and their grayish blood stained the ground.
Yodin called his men to form up in a wedge, looking to fight their way out of the center, but half of the figures in the gloom turned out to be enemies. As he blocked the kick of another monk, Yodin knew that his brother Yama would be laughing at him.
The enemy struck again, disrupting the least trained of the Dragon troops. Yodin glimpsed the faceless monk who had spoken to him weaving threads of night from his fingers that drifted through the air, freezing all they touched.
Though confused, the Dragon still outnumbered their enemy. And they could recover their balance, while the kikage could not generate more numbers. As a tattooed monk faded in front of him, Yodin focused and called upon the Dragon tattoo. A rolling cloud of fire burst from his mouth, burning even the darkness to ash. But the lost Ashigaru seemed remarkably resilient.
The Dragon men faltered, lost in the darkness, fighting an alien enemy. Yodin grabbed the Dragon standard and leaped up to a rocky outcropping. “FOR THE DRAGON” he roared, and his voice cut through the silence that had choked the battlefield as it was magnified by a thousand other throats.
The darkness was fading. The fire of the Dragon was burning it away, and the kikage seemed suddenly unsure.
The faceless monk found himself caught by the steel of the Dragon’s finest samurai. Though he could dance past the blades of a single warrior, a dozen pinned him against a cliff. As his head was taken from his shoulders, his body melted to shadow and the unnatural darkness lifted. Heartened, the men cut through the remaining enemies. Yodin, tired, cold, hoarse, and cut by the spears of the Ashigaru, returned to his meditative trance.
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