99 AC / 54 HA
Octavian
"They are ready for you, Dominus," Grand General Claudius announced, his heavy boots thudding against the dirt as he entered the command tent.
I offered a curt nod, rising from the tactical maps. I swept out into the night air, Claudius a shadow at my back. Generals Rufus and Alexius fell into step beside us as we marched through the sprawling camp. The muddy thoroughfares were eerily empty; the entirety of the siege force had been marshalled into the centre of the encampment, waiting.
We reached the towering wooden staging ground erected before the vanguard. General Titus stood atop the platform. Seeing my approach, he raised a heavy brass warhorn to his lips, blowing a ferocious, sustained blast. The low, rumbling clamour of nearly forty thousand armoured men instantly died to a dead, disciplined silence. I climbed the wooden steps, my black coat whipping in the cold wind.
"ALL HAIL THE SON OF AETERNUS!" Titus roared. "PRESERVER OF ROME! PRINCEPS SENATUS! FIGULUS OCTAVIAN HADRIANUS!"
In perfect unison, forty thousand men dropped to one knee. Forty thousand steel gauntlets slammed against heavy breastplates.
"HAIL OCTAVIAN!" The singular, booming chant shook the earth beneath my boots.
I drew my wand from my ring, space distorted revealing its form. Ashwood, eleven inches, worn smooth from years of war. It slipped into my grip not as a piece of wood, but as a lethal extension of my own arm. I pressed the tip to my throat.
"Sonorous."
"Rise, warriors of Rome!" My voice thundered across the killing fields, amplified into a booming, god-like resonance that easily carried to the furthest ranks. "You have done the Imperium proud these past moons. You have done your families and your future descendants proud. But above all, you have persevered to avenge our martyrs—both the soldiers fallen and the innocents sacrificed within this heathen city. Your brothers and sisters in God look upon you with pride!"
"Yet our work is not complete." I drew my shortsword, pointing the gleaming steel toward the distant, crumbling walls of Qohor. "The city of heathens still stands. They cower before the might of the Imperium. They scurry like rats within their stone cage, terrified of what we represent. We shall not let this travesty stand. We fight to preserve the prosperity and future of our people. Will you fight with me?!"
Forty thousand spears slammed rhythmically against heavy red shields. The deafening, metallic thunder rattled the very timber of the stage.
"You know these goat-worshipping heathens are a race of rabid bastards who will fight us tooth and nail." I bellowed, letting the amplified magic push my voice to a terrifying crescendo. "But they do not comprehend what they stand in defiance of. Rome is Civilisation. Rome is Order. Rome is Power. And out here" I thrust my sword toward the blood-soaked sky. "WE ARE ROME!"
"ROME! ROME! ROME!" The legions chanted, a tidal wave of bloodlust.
"IN THE NAME OF AETERNUS, PREPARE FOR WAR!"
"HAIL DEUS! HAIL AETERNUS! HAIL OCTAVIAN"
I cancelled the charm with a flick of my ashwood wand and descended the steps as the massive Imperial machine lurched into motion. The heavy siege engines groaned, hurling fresh payloads into the dark.
The generals waited at the base of the platform.
"Prepare the vanguard," I commanded Titus. "The hour of the dead approaches. Once the signal is lit, Agrippa's infiltrators will sabotage the gatehouse from within. We need only charge the breach and put the city to the sword."
We mounted our barded warhorses, riding out from the relative safety of the camp toward the front lines. Claudius matched my pace, his scarred face tight with concern.
"Dominus, is it wise for you to ride with the vanguard?" Claudius muttered over the din of the marching troops. "I know we agreed upon this positioning during the planning phase, but I must caution you to remain protected behind the main line."
I offered him a grim, confident smile. "I will not take unnecessary risks, Claudius. I ride at the front only to counter any unforeseen sorcery or circumstance. The tactical victory is still yours to win. I am merely here to ensure the men see their Princeps bleeding the same mud they do."
"By your will, Princeps," Claudius bowed his head, yielding the point.
We took our positions at the head of the heavy cavalry, waiting as the trebuchets continued their relentless, methodical bombardment. Atop the towering stone walls of Qohor, panicked defenders scurried like ants, desperately trying to plug the crumbling gaps in their defences.
I kept a loose grip on my wand. I was prepared to shatter the iron-wrought gates myself if Agrippa failed, but a spell of that magnitude would eat deeply into my magical reserves. I wished to conserve my strength for the slaughter inside. I gazed up into the night. The full moon shone bright and pale, casting a silver glow over the battlefield and the besieged city. In another life, the sight would have been serene. Tonight, the churning sea of mud and the stench of thousands of rotting corpses unmade whatever beauty the moon offered.
We waited for the better part of an hour. The tension in the ranks was palpable. Then, the pale moonlight was suddenly violently contrasted by a blinding, emerald light.
Glowing green runes ignited across the upper masonry of Qohor's walls.
My brow furrowed in sudden confusion. It was not supposed to be triggered until after we had secured the inner districts.
"Dominus the walls are glowing what shall we do?" Claudius asked hurriedly.
"It would seem Agrippa has encountered a complication," I snarled, digging my spurs into my horse's flanks. "We have no alternative. We charge now. I will break the gates!"
The brass horns blared the final command. A deafening, blood-curdling roar ripped from the throats of the vanguard. The earth shook as thousands of heavy Imperial horsemen surged forward, racing toward the city walls under the shadow of flying boulders.
The wind tore at my coat as the distance closed. I raised my ashwood wand, aiming directly for the centre of Qohor's massive, iron-reinforced gates. I waited until we were well within the killing zone, ignoring the scattered arrows hissing past my helm.
I slashed the wand forward in a brutal, heavy arc.
"Bombarda Maxima!"
A blinding flash of volatile yellow light erupted from the tip of the ashwood. The spell shrieked across the open ground and slammed into the gates with the force of a falling meteor.
The explosion was apocalyptic. Thick oak splintered into sawdust. Heavy iron hinges screamed and tore apart as the centre of the gates was violently blown inward, leaving a massive, jagged, smoking crater.
I pulled hard on my reins, halting my mount just inside the breached threshold as the dust and debris rained down. Behind me, the roar of the Imperium grew deafening as hundreds of heavy horsemen flooded through the breach, their lances lowered, ready to put the city to the sword.
I kept my short sword raised, bracing for the inevitable wall of Qohorik pikes and the frantic screams of a desperate defence.
Neither came.