Battle Of The Somerdell Fork
Introduction
The Battle of the Somerdell Fork was a turning point in the war, and the first time the destructive power of gunpowder had truly been unleashed. House Orsinian would go on to win the war largely due to their advantage in firepower shown below.
Course of the Battle
The Summer heat cracked down upon the souls unfortunate enough to be found on the battlefield that day, a field positioned near the fortified castle of Somerdell, next to the end of the Grapevine river that passes by Vextoi. Lord Morton Blount, known for his many triumphs at Castellazi, now stood atop his walls in Somerdell, looking out upon the field where blood would once again be spilled. Beside him, his heir and son, and beside him the Lord who held the seat. Of the same commanders who fought at Castellazi, many joined the retinues for a second exchange. Laurent Crevier had been promoted to Bessarion’s personal commander, leading the contingent of cavalry in his stead. Today, Crevier would bear the lion’s helm for the injured Prince.
New figures joined the retinue, that would alter the tide. Captain Pavellus stood beside a long, proud line of cannon artillery, each manned by men who wore strange but practical new uniforms. Each handpicked and recruited from Arandous’ stock of Blacktower guard and trained for a new purpose. In front of their cannon lines, the brave fusiliers prepared their gunpowder stores for another successful volley on their foes. Unbeknownst to either side, another host marched southward behind them, the horns and purple flags bearing salvation for one, and death to the other.
Prince Bessarion stood amongst the cannon crews, forgoing armor for traditional royal garb. At his side rested a sabre, and he was guarded by Raynar Visegrad. The vanguard for the Orsinian Army saw Sir Constantius of Philippoi leading its retinue. Surrounded by bold knights and vanguard troops, they were reinforced in vigor by the knight’s appearance, knowing the Emperor was not far behind. The core territories mustered their captains and knights for the battle. Sirs Tremir of Ageira, Armand Haillet, and Principius of Virtus joined the flanks on either side.
The foe did not leave its ranks bereft of command. Terrifying names of high repute during Castellazi’s bloody scrap reappeared for a second attempt at crushing the Orsinian line. Chalcon would not let his brother take the glory, taking the front alongside Thalion of Delios who was charged with command of the vanguard. Lamochus rode amongst his horse archers, his quiver well endowed and his bowstring fresh. He had a single target in his sights. Phylacus and the other Avesarian heroes joined in the overwhelming mass of Primean might, and several new men of note would make their name today.
No mention is made of the Emperor himself, who stood among his men with a single bodyguard to keep him company. It mattered not to him the danger of his position. The battle would begin on his terms.
And so it did. Twenty-four cannons, sounding off in stratified blasts, dispatched their ammunition in impressive fashion across the green fields that would come to taste blood and power. The Primeans certainly knew of this possibility, but the sight and sounds rattled many even under the protection of shield and formation. Flesh ripped from bone and smoke filled the air as the Primean battle lines took their first casualties. Many heroes who survived a bout of steel in Castellazi died unceremoniously and without any foreknowledge save the sound of pierced air and explosion. Young conscripts from Valedorion, Triav, and Cheradon who would know the embrace of their old gods.
Bessarion stood unwavering beside his emplacements, arms folded across his chest. Cannonballs continued to scream across the field as the lines drew closer. Meanwhile, Thalion commanded and drew the loyalty of his men to him, as he reached for his weapon. The aforementioned Orsinian Prince removed his own sabre, but for a different purpose. As he raised his sword high above his shoulder, point directed at the sky, a shout emanated,
“Line, open fire!”
In a disorganized but admirable procession, the fusiliers opened their first volley. Musket lead streaked across the muggy air, and dealt death wherever they struck. Legionnaires fell from their horses, and men were slain where they stood. An entirely different war, an entirely different opening strategy. Primeans looked aside as Phylacus lay dead in a pool of his own blood, caught by a stray bullet.
Momentum favored the lion, yet the Avesarian black sun would have its day. Thalion and his vanguard charged forth with spear and sword, clashing into that of the Reveians. His sword flashed like lightning, and it was said of him in the tales that Tirocles himself blessed his swing. Chalcon stood beside him, slaying many men. Still, the tide of morale favored the lion, and would remain so. The Primeans waited for a trap that never came, a naval salvation that never materialized. To make matters worse, the cannons continued to assail the lines not engaged in battle, and the fusiliers continued their onslaught.
Lamochus rode along the flanks, loosing arrows and inflicting death where he could make progress. Alas, even he and his horse archers could not draw too close before they were met by cataphracts. Cavalry charges and countercharges attempted to sway the course of battle, and Captain Laurent made his fame known. He crossed swords with the Primean rider Cisseus, slaying him upon his black horse and turning back his retinue. The edge of his iron blade lay within the broken skull and broken gold helm of the Primean rider, as the Knight Captain now rode without his weapon back to camp. Cisseus’ sworn sword Cleonus attempted to avenge him, only to be taken by a stray arrow and trampled under foot by a Reveian rider.
Casualties piled for the Primeans, only to be made worse. A force deployed by House d’Orsini, composed of mercenaries and Cumonese troops alike, landed in Coinautum. They marched under mortar fire that announced their entry, mortar fire that would devastate the Primean lines. Still, the Primeans were able to counter at least these reinforcements with calculated harassment from superior cavalry. Prince Bessarion’s aggressive tactics were focused on artillery, and thus he was not there to contest the Primean cavalry who swept into the Orsini troops. Blood would saturate the dirt of Coinautum, as it would Somerdell.
Artillery made king, but the Primean captains wouldn’t let that rule the day without at least attempting to reach their prize. Riding in intense fury, blood of his comrades covering his light armor as he breezed past infantry lines, the horse archer contingent with Lamochus at its head charged the cannon lines to reach Bessarion. Leaping off one of the horses, the champion Ephialtes drew his short sword to take a swipe at the Prince, only for his bodyguard Raynar to meet him with his own. On his backfoot, Bessarion rushed to the safety of his men before an arrow struck one of them, downing him to the grass.
The Prince saw no other option as another Primean leapt from his horse, swinging his blade wildly to take credit for the kill. A man of no repute, no name worthy of the books, from a town near Kelae to challenge the Emperor’s brother. Such is the equality of war. Steel matched steel as the fusiliers reformed to begin firing on the cavalry who attempted their flank, downing horse and rider alike. Bessarion eventually felled his foe, sauntering forward on his wounded leg and finding the neck of another with an adept swing. Filled with rage at the death of his men, he sought out Ephialtes and grabbed him around the throat with his black lion crest gauntlets, interrupting his fight with Raynar. As the horse archers made their retreat in the face of gunpowder, poor Ephialtes felt his windpipes crushed as his life was slowly ripped from him. Lamochus lived to tell the tale, saving his army from more of the same cycle cannon volleys.
In the midst of fighting, the battle turned on the Primeans drastically. While the cannons were briefly interrupted, their volleys proved too much. Soon, the Aversarian army turned back and began to retreat, fleeing in haste for their camp in Castellazi. Only due to the discipline of their generals did the retreat fare well, while the Orsinian army refused to pursue.
In the distance, tens of thousands of soldiers from Dunlow, Visegrad, and Rykov marched. With their arrival, the tide turned as the numbers turned starkly against the rebels.