by Max Barry

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Region: CISB

1682, Northern Bank of the Ohio River

On a wooded hilltop on the northern bank, a raiding party that had been harassing Alsesian farmers for weeks finally met its end. “Damn those Cathennan bastards, don’t they ever think about just giving up?” Private Krestok shouted, firing his musket and drawing his sword to cut down the last raider. The Cathennan, wounded, found himself unable to parry Krestok’s savage blows, and soon enough, he lay dead alongside seven of his fellow warriors while the Alses troops looked over their bodies with pity.

“I pray that one day there will be peace between our nations. There’s no point to this bloodshed when we live apart in fertile lands and follow no barbaric traditions,” the company captain sighed, motioning to the chaplain to administer the last rites for the Cathennans. The chaplain, a descendant of natives who had assimilated into the Alsesian territories, was a soft-spoken man whose quiet prayers were almost drowned out by the roaring of the river.

“And unto a rest among the stars, go their mighty souls,” they finished, closing a book of prayers.

“How many of these f*ckers are we going to deal with, sir?” a sergeant asked, exasperated at the amount of times the local guards had been dispatched. “At this point, why don’t we build a damned wall on the riverbank? If it cuts down the manpower needs and buys us time so they don’t cross over and slaughter a dozen farmers before we’re armed, isn’t it worth the cost?”

“It’s not my decision, it’s the provincial government’s,” the captain replied. “And from the looks of it, they have no plans of doing so.”

“Well f*ck those pompous bastards, I say. If they want to tell us what we should do with our land, they can settle here and live on the banks to see how we have it. Raiders every other week, cross-river cannon exchanges, cattle dragged out of barns on a rope and yanked across the river, what could those clerks and bankers possibly have worse than us?”

“You’d be surprised at the nasties you find up north.”

“What? Imported liquor? Cigars from Kuba Island?”

“Worse, far worse. Trust me when I say you’re lucky you’re down by the river.”

As they company bantered musket fire erupted from the trees, cutting down two men where they stood. Though it was never revealed, the eight warriors were merely a diversion, keeping the Alsesian troops complacent about their capabilities and disguising the true determination of Cathenna’s forces. Over a hundred men who had disguised themselves in the woods the previous night shot their guns for their fallen brothers and the pride of their people.

“F*ck! Form ranks! Form ranks!” The captain yelled before he was shot twice in the chest. Over the course of seven minutes, the company’s junior and non-commissioned officers frantically tried to keep order as militiamen were cut down by the half-dozen. By the end of the fighting, the entire company of eighty two had fallen. In the annals of history, the Massacre at Fovi’s Wood would go down as the most one-sided defeat ever suffered by Alsesian troops prior to the First Nogod Civil War.

Mathorn, Pamia, and Cathenna

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