Varsa was a small, though wealthy city. It boasted an army that, while outnumbered by Nymeasha’s forces, was quite renowned for its exceptional training. Her spies had reported a significant contingent of minotaurs among their ranks too, formidable warriors who could turn the tide of any battle. What bothered Nym most were the rumours surrounding Varsa's Sultan, Leonidis. It was said that he coveted her wealth and power, and that he had even considered marriage as a means to unite their realms.
As expected, days later, the Sultan's vizier, accompanied by a retinue of his household guard, arrived on the steps of the Salitran palace to formally present the marriage proposal. They were granted an audience, but it was a short-lived affair. Within an hour, their bodies lay lifeless on the marble floors, a clear message to Leonidis, that her answer was no.
Nymeasha sat languidly on her throne, picking at her sharp nails as her general, Rasmus, knelt before her in a puddle of their blood. "I want Varsa taken by the new moon," she commanded, her voice cool and unwavering. Three days.
She rose, her presence commanding and unyielding. "Be ready to leave at dusk," she added, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Nymeasha was determined to lead her forces personally, despite the protests of her council. They argued that a Sultana had no place on a battlefield, especially one without an heir. But by fuck was she tired of being treated with fragility. She was and always had been, skilled in the art of killing. She had reclaimed her throne, and she intended to tear down any who'd seek to take it from her. Something she was quickly developing a penchant for. She would fight for what was hers, and she would ensure that all who opposed her would live to regret it.
The dawn's first light spilled over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a blood-red hue that seemed fitting for the march of the Sultana of Salitra and her army. The city of Varsa lay ahead, a formidable silhouette against the skyline. Its towering walls and spires spoke of wealth and power, but Nym's heart burned with the resolve to bring it under her dominion.
Her army, a vast sea of steel and leather, moved with disciplined purpose. At the forefront, Nymeasha rode the great, winged lamassu, her emerald eyes fixed on the city ahead. Her fine armor gleamed, intricately wrought with gold serpents. The new sigil of Salitra, a fierce viper coiled around a blazing sun, which was emblazoned across their banners and breastplates, and the skins of the drums that now heralded their arrival.
As they drew closer, the reality of Varsa’s defenses became clear. The city’s soldiers were indeed fewer in number, but their formation and readiness spoke volumes of their training. Lines of minotaurs, no longer a rumour, their hulking forms armored and armed with massive axes, stood ready at the gates. Among them were human soldiers, their stances unwavering and their eyes set with determination.
Nymeasha’s General rode up beside her, his scarred face showing no fear, only a readiness for the task ahead.
“Your orders, Sultana?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of the moment.
Nym’s gaze never wavered from the city. “We give them a chance to surrender. Let Leonidis know that he can spare his people - soldier and civilian - or their blood is on his hands. Ensure his people know that. We can't afford to be wasteful, every one of those soldiers is an asset - They will be given the chance to stand down and join our ranks, or they will die. They know they're outnumbered... The question is, are they willing to die for him?" she quirked a brow. She had not heard good things about the Sultan's treatment of his people. Unlike her own father, Nym had learned the importance of treating the common folk well.
Rasmus nodded and rode ahead to relay the message and minutes later, he returned, his expression grim. “He refuses to surrender, my Sultana. Leonidis himself stands at the gate.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then we proceed. Archers to the front."
The air grew tense as her army moved into position. The archers, their bows strung and ready, stepped forward, their eyes trained on the city's defenders. Behind them, the massive siege engines, towering constructs of wood and iron, were readied. The sound of creaking wood and the clank of metal filled the air.
Nym raised her hand, and for a moment, there was silence. She could see Leonidis now, a tall figure clad in regal armor, standing resolute at the gate. The man who'd had the audacity to think himself worthy of her hand in marriage.
“Loose."
A volley of arrows darkened the sky, descending with perfect precision at the feet of their front line. The defenders raised their shields, the sound of arrows striking into the dirt echoing across the field. The siege engines followed, loaded with boulders that would destroy the city’s fortifications.
The lamassu's wings stretched out, the beast pulling itself and its rider into the air. "Surrender peacefully, and join my ranks - or make your peace with your Gods." she called down as she swept over them.
It was the last warning, before chaos ensued, and each man made their choice.
As expected, days later, the Sultan's vizier, accompanied by a retinue of his household guard, arrived on the steps of the Salitran palace to formally present the marriage proposal. They were granted an audience, but it was a short-lived affair. Within an hour, their bodies lay lifeless on the marble floors, a clear message to Leonidis, that her answer was no.
Nymeasha sat languidly on her throne, picking at her sharp nails as her general, Rasmus, knelt before her in a puddle of their blood. "I want Varsa taken by the new moon," she commanded, her voice cool and unwavering. Three days.
She rose, her presence commanding and unyielding. "Be ready to leave at dusk," she added, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Nymeasha was determined to lead her forces personally, despite the protests of her council. They argued that a Sultana had no place on a battlefield, especially one without an heir. But by fuck was she tired of being treated with fragility. She was and always had been, skilled in the art of killing. She had reclaimed her throne, and she intended to tear down any who'd seek to take it from her. Something she was quickly developing a penchant for. She would fight for what was hers, and she would ensure that all who opposed her would live to regret it.
________________________________________________
The dawn's first light spilled over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a blood-red hue that seemed fitting for the march of the Sultana of Salitra and her army. The city of Varsa lay ahead, a formidable silhouette against the skyline. Its towering walls and spires spoke of wealth and power, but Nym's heart burned with the resolve to bring it under her dominion.
Her army, a vast sea of steel and leather, moved with disciplined purpose. At the forefront, Nymeasha rode the great, winged lamassu, her emerald eyes fixed on the city ahead. Her fine armor gleamed, intricately wrought with gold serpents. The new sigil of Salitra, a fierce viper coiled around a blazing sun, which was emblazoned across their banners and breastplates, and the skins of the drums that now heralded their arrival.
As they drew closer, the reality of Varsa’s defenses became clear. The city’s soldiers were indeed fewer in number, but their formation and readiness spoke volumes of their training. Lines of minotaurs, no longer a rumour, their hulking forms armored and armed with massive axes, stood ready at the gates. Among them were human soldiers, their stances unwavering and their eyes set with determination.
Nymeasha’s General rode up beside her, his scarred face showing no fear, only a readiness for the task ahead.
“Your orders, Sultana?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of the moment.
Nym’s gaze never wavered from the city. “We give them a chance to surrender. Let Leonidis know that he can spare his people - soldier and civilian - or their blood is on his hands. Ensure his people know that. We can't afford to be wasteful, every one of those soldiers is an asset - They will be given the chance to stand down and join our ranks, or they will die. They know they're outnumbered... The question is, are they willing to die for him?" she quirked a brow. She had not heard good things about the Sultan's treatment of his people. Unlike her own father, Nym had learned the importance of treating the common folk well.
Rasmus nodded and rode ahead to relay the message and minutes later, he returned, his expression grim. “He refuses to surrender, my Sultana. Leonidis himself stands at the gate.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then we proceed. Archers to the front."
The air grew tense as her army moved into position. The archers, their bows strung and ready, stepped forward, their eyes trained on the city's defenders. Behind them, the massive siege engines, towering constructs of wood and iron, were readied. The sound of creaking wood and the clank of metal filled the air.
Nym raised her hand, and for a moment, there was silence. She could see Leonidis now, a tall figure clad in regal armor, standing resolute at the gate. The man who'd had the audacity to think himself worthy of her hand in marriage.
“Loose."
A volley of arrows darkened the sky, descending with perfect precision at the feet of their front line. The defenders raised their shields, the sound of arrows striking into the dirt echoing across the field. The siege engines followed, loaded with boulders that would destroy the city’s fortifications.
The lamassu's wings stretched out, the beast pulling itself and its rider into the air. "Surrender peacefully, and join my ranks - or make your peace with your Gods." she called down as she swept over them.
It was the last warning, before chaos ensued, and each man made their choice.
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