The Legionnaires continued their unimpeded march towards the Karingi capital, seven thousand heavily armed infantry remained, alongside the four hundred cavalrymen. Another thousand had been dispatched north, back to the Ociri capital of Nova Ocir with thousands of captives. Perenti, Karingi, Muldori, and many smaller tribes like such as the Ceno, warriors from every tribe of the confederation chained together and forced to march a great distance in the cold and the dark. Beaten and starved, kept weak as to not rebel, but strong enough to survive the journey to the great city, to feed its unending need for blood and sweat.
Built upon the confluence of the Ocenti and Irismor rivers, Nova Ocir was the crown jewel of central Rustika. Surrounded by hills and rivers, the magnificent city was originally constructed from the seven hilltop villages that existed in the beginning. Combining their peoples into one and building their new city to encompass the entire region, with the natural terrain providing exceptional defenses and the river system allowing for establishment of efficient trade routes across Rustika and overseas. Over the centuries the Ociri had thrown down the kings of old, paving way for the rise of the republic which had continued the expansionist policies of its predecessors.
Yet the policies of expansion under the new Republic allowed the professional soldiers citizenship, and in doing so portions of land taken from their conquered neighbors. By enslaving the native populations of the nearby regions, they expanded their power, their backbone the highly motivated citizen population willing to trample others and expand their own wealth in the process. At first the Republic used multiple cassus belli, whether legitimate or not to justify their actions, but as their power and dominance grew, even this was cast away. Now it was they who stood dominant, with little threat to their dominance in central Rustika, even the powerful Etruski alliance had failed to successfully breach their capital.
The greed of the Senate and the cult of Almeira had turned their attentions south, seeking to swallow the remaining portion north and south of the Tarki mountains. They sought to consolidate their hold over half of the Rustikan peninsula, thereby ensuring the safety of their flanks in the event of another Etruski invasion. Now, where they had once failed, the Ociri first army had succeeded, breaching the border, and claiming a decisive victory. While back at Nova Ocir both the second and third armies of the Republic were mobilizing, with an all-out invasion straight into the heart of the Confederation’s territory.
Seeking victory and glory the first army had rushed ahead, even after claiming such a monumental victory against overwhelming odds they sought to gain more with the capture of the Karingi capital. After only a few days rest they continued their march, quickly closing the distance, and choosing the fastest route to their destination, the Sarnesse forest. An area overgrown with verdant life, thick vegetation inhibiting cavalry. While wide and fast-moving rivers winded their way through the land, fed by melting snow from the mountains, and creating deep marshes in their wake.
Insects spread disease; while wild beasts would stalk the column seeking to pick off stragglers. Yet the first army weathered the storm, forded the rivers, built temporary bridges over the marshes, and hunted the beasts. Their march would be unimpeded, they would cut down everything in their path and open the way for the goddess and the Republic, that was their purpose. That was why they single-mindedly charged forward deeper down the forested paths, with the cohesion of their lines growing lax, an effect of exhaustion after days of forced marches, reduced rations, and disease.
However, their dedication and resolve proved fruitful, for by the sixth day after departure from the Penraic plains they were a day’s journey from their destination. Even as the skies darkened and the path grew muddy from the falling rain, the commander pushed his men forward, goaded on by the vision of glory in his minds. Yet that vision turned out to be a mirage, and that false reflection would prove to be his and his men’s undoing.
Their march had been quick, their focus narrow, and thus their plans were easy to discern, Aesarius, Marshal of the remaining confederation forces in the region had seen through this intent. They had not stood idle, their scouts and runners shadowing the massive column, observing their movement and their progression each day. Now, on the sixth day after their defeat, Aesarius would spring his trap.
Just as the front half of the Ociri force forded a shallow river, loud creaking could be heard, followed by the shadow of hundreds of trees being felled at the exact same time. They fell from both sides of the path, smashing the men unfortunate enough to be in their path of descent. This initial part of the plan targeted primarily those at the front and rear of the column, leaving virtually untouched those near or around the river. Most of the first army’s leadership had been reduced to paste in this initial attack, with around half the total force laying dead or severely wounded in the aftermath.
Unfortunately for the legionnaires there battle for survival had only begun. Animalistic howls and vengeful war cries reverberated from every direction, and soon appeared the shadow of a terrible host. Tribal warriors clad in hide and wielding massive war hammers descended upon the remnants of the stranded cavalry. These were none other than the Skull Smasher’s, what remained of them, seeking retribution for their lost friends and comrades. Without their mounts they bounded over the fallen obstacles and fell upon their foes, breaking both man and horse without remorse.
More and more of the tribal remnants descended from the surrounding forest and trees, falling upon the demoralized, exhausted, and shocked legionnaires. Within half an hour whatever soldiers had survived the trap had been cut down, both the rear and front devoid of any Ociri soldiers. Only those cowering in the center, ankle deep within the flowing stream were left alone as the tribal went about their grisly task.
The confederation troops seemed content, quickly gathering what spoils they could before pulling back. What Ociri leadership remained deduced that their tight formation would cost the enemy more than they were willing to give, that in a melee they would come out ahead. Further surmising that the enemy sought to wait them out, to wait for the now surrounded survivors to weaken before picking them off one by one. Although a few supply wagons had escaped destruction, it was unknown how long the scarce supplies would last when distributed to all two thousand remaining survivors.
Their only hope lay in either a breakout attempt which was nearly impossible with the sea of obstacles in their path, or to survive until the arrival of either the second or third army. This would have indeed been the best course of action had they been correct about their enemy’s plan in the first place, however the reality was they were already dead, simply failing to recognize the reality. While they huddled behind their wall of shields, Aesarius played his final card. His men had already cleared the area, pulling back to higher ground, while he along with a contingent of his men looked on from afar. At their feet was the water source that fed into the stream in which the Ociri survivors stood.
Aesarius gave the order, and a team of men pulled the rope attached to the logs at the bottom most portion of the makeshift dam. Once that piece had been removed, the process had begun, a single leak turned into ten which turned into a hundred, until finally it burst from the pressure. Thousands of gallons of water rushed downhill, a surge of power which uprooted all in its path. The Ociri heard the rumble first, trembling at the unknown roar, believing that another wave of attackers would fall upon them.
In less than a minute the true nature of the beast was revealed, the stoic legionnaires having but a single moment to witness the rushing tides before their bodies were swept up along with everything else. Aesarius in this battle had proven his tactical acumen, having successfully destroyed an entire Ociri army with naught but a handful of troops. What men survived the flood had been hunted down and exterminated, only around a hundred managed to successfully return home, battered, bruised, and starving.
Aesarius would continue to prove a thorn in the Republic’s side, as more flocked to his banner, establishing him as the great war chief and marshal of the confederation. What the Ociri had hoped would be a rapid victory followed by a lengthy subjugation of the south had instead become a vicious quagmire. The Sarnesse forest became known to the Ociri as the Serpent’s Maw, and no force of theirs would ever set foot within its borders again during the entirety of the war. While the arms, armor and loot extracted from the deceased helped to outfit the army under Aesarius who soon fielded a force that was both nimble and capable of dealing with the Ociri in the field.
The results of this battle and the long war to come would have ramifications all throughout Erdenia. Plans that had been set in motion by the followers of Almeira were stalled, postponing efforts elsewhere. Unbeknownst to them, the confederation had in their desperation altered the very course of fate.
Aesarius had proven to be a commander seen once a generation, a natural born leader who had in his nation’s time of need answered the call to combat a superior foe. Perhaps being lost within the annals of time had the need for his abilities not risen.
