The Northern Wars

DUNKIRK, LEGION

Summer, 1E78

Entering the Imperial Arms, Jean and Pierre took a moment to look around the pub from where they stood upon its threshold. Three imperial knights of the King's Legion sat around a squat round table, designed to seat four. Each man sipped at their pint, engaged in what seemed like a casual conversation between friends. Nearby a mercenary sat at the tavern's bar beside a travelling merchant where they spoke together amongst themselves of the troubles in Aenor. The mercenary was preparing to depart from Dunkirk to accept an expedition contract in Aenor to scout out the Eastern Shore from what they could overhear as they approached the bar. The pay was decent- just the typical exploration voyage, the mercenary explained.

"Apparently the poor bastards sent out an expedition party, they didn't make it and now they're calling out for mercenaries and adventurers to form a search party. It's no big deal- we're just being tasked with exploring the land and investigating what happened to their scouts. They're paying up front and any loot acquired along the adventure is finder's keeper's. It'll be a gold rush for mercenaries across the land- they're even coming up north from Rome." the mercenary took a sip from his pint of cheap Legion beer whilst the merchant trader listened attentively over a glass of Gilan Wildberry Wine, aged ten years.

"I'd be wary of accepting this contract from the elves; those are dead lands shrouded in mysterious mists that rise from the country itself. Ill words are spoken of those lands in the South where I travel from." the merchant shifted uncomfortably on the bar stool he sat upon and took a swig of his expensive wine.

"I'd never have guessed in all my years of life that a merchant would be the one to lecture me about risk!" the mercenary burst out, garnering some laughter from his fellow patrons.

The mercenary and merchant continued their conversation at the bar as the merriment subsided whilst the brothers navigated their way around the three soldiers who continued oblivious in their own mirth- laughing and joking amongst themselves. They hadn't even noticed the door open as Pierre walked into the tavern with his brother just moments ago. Looking over as the brothers approached the bar, the merchant ignored them whilst the mercenary sneered in their direction upon seeing that they were both members of the Legionary Infantry. Unlike the shiny silver-armoured knights of the Imperial Legion, the soldiers of the Legionary Infantry were garbed in boiled leather armour to provide lighter protection for greater mobility. The infantry paid less than the king's guard and the war-time risk was greater, but the Legion had never before fought in a war and joining the army was just a glorified means of freeloading in that country.

Jean and Pierre approached the bar together and spent two of their "hard-earned" silver pieces each on a pint of Legion Dark Ale. The pair took a seat outside in the cafe overlooking the high street as Pierre lit himself a cigarette. Jean sipped on his pint and the two relaxed after a long day of watch duty. The sun was setting and the streets of Dunkirk were empty. The town sat on the western shore of River Amstrel. Pierre was young- being only 19 years old, though he’d turn 20 in the Winter. His brother Jean was eighteen. Together they joined the army two years ago after running away from their family home in Lyons. They had lived on a farm with their parents for the entirety of lives in an overwhelming debt to the King, but two years ago the brothers made the joint decision to leave their lives behind and join the King's Army so that they would never again live their lives in debt and fear again.

"If father could see us now, what do you reckon he'd say?" Jean asked as he sipped on his pint.

"In my honest opinion brother; it's not what he would say, but what he would do!" Pierre laughed lightheartedly in response before continuing more somberly, "Alas, we're guards now and there isn't much he could do to us, though we've become servants of his most bitter enemy."

"I wonder if the money we send back truly makes up for our transgressions." Jean remarked thoughtfully, somewhat to himself.

"If it is enough to pay for the transgressions of the church people to their god then surely it is enough to beg the forgiveness of our father." Pierre rebutted.

The brothers' family farm was to the South and East a ways, just outside the farming town of Lyons. Their family had built their home in the fertile fields upon the bank of Lake Aeron; further south it separated the Legion farmlands from the strip mines and oil fields of the Augen Valley in the dwarfish lands of Arken. The boys had run away from home in the middle of the night one day and travelled for nearly a week to join the King’s Army in Dunkirk where they became city guardsmen- Reserve Legionaries in the King's army. Jean finished his pint and took the glass back to the bar.

Pierre drained what was left of his and put his cigarette out before following his brother back in to replace the empty glass. Across from them, the Imperial Legionaries were smoking Svanean hash pipes and cigarettes whilst a great cloud of smoke hung around their table in sickly wreaths. They continued to laugh amongst themselves as they downed their pints together. The Roman merchant got up to leave as the mercenary withdrew from the pub alongside him. The barkeep took their glasses from them as the brothers approached and filled two new glasses with fresh ale from the tap.

Taking their pints outside once again, the pair took a deep breath of the fresh evening breeze that greeted them. The air was humid, warm and refreshing in the cool of the night and the sky was a deep purple, but there was a peachy pink swathe of colour in the clouds around the sunset on the horizon. It was the onset of a beautiful summer night in Dunkirk. Pierre lit another cigarette and appreciated the beauty of it all enveloping him. He sipped on his last pint between drags on his cigarette and enjoyed the peaceful serenity with his younger brother in the café overlooking the tavern they drank in front of. Pierre knew he couldn't afford another pint; he had two gold coins and three silver pieces left of his fortnightly wage and he needed that to pay for the groceries in that time.

Jean paid the monthly rent with his one of his fortnightly wages and Pierre paid for everything else with his- they sent their second bi-monthly wage to their parents in the family farm in Lyon’s. It was always sent anonymously by Imperial Post; that was the arrangement they had come to when they first joined the army and they lived by it. Jean drank his pint in silence, enjoying the moment and bathing in the Legion sunset; the air was warm and moist and there was a cool breeze in the air. Pierre loved his country, and if he was ever called to take arms for her he would, but to the two brothers it seemed that the day would never come. They comfortably lived their lives in luxury without fear or debt, and they were happy.

Jean wondered how his parents fared away in the Southern farmlands of the Legion countryside, though Pierre brushed those thoughts aside whenever they were brought up. Pierre was content to think that his parents were happily living their lives free of debt thanks to the wages the brothers mailed every month to the farm. Both brothers missed their parents, though both knew they may never see them again. They were beginning realise that they were independent adults- they were still young, though they were quickly gaining life experience serving in the imperial forces of the King. The soldiers trained heavily and vigorously in hand-to-hand combat and sparred with pikes, spears, and longswords. They kept watch over the city- arresting criminals and debtors alike- though many a time they were often one in the same. Most of the crimes occurred in the poorer areas of the city where the people were poverty-stricken and starving away, in an inescapable debt to the King’s tax collectors. That day they’d arrested a young lad of fourteen whom they caught stealing fruit from one of the stalls in the high street; they took the boy into custody where he would be tried and sentenced. The punishment for theft was usually decapitation.

The brothers finished their pints and left them on one of the tables of the outdoor café. Having enjoyed their stay, they departed from the pub back towards their small Legion townhouse on the east side of the city, situated on a road off the grandiose Bridge Street that connected the cities of Dunkirk and France along the opposing banks of the River Amstrel. They made their way home from the small shabby tavern, though the walk was uneventful as they drunkenly trudged along in contented silence. The eastern half of Dunkirk was the lower income housing and the south west was the upper-class aristocratic garden district just south of Dunkirk Castle that occupied the Northwest quarter of the capitol city.

The High Street was the main road that Bridge Street went off to form- it was lined with the most magnificent shops and it was the most expensive part of Dunkirk outside the King’s castle. They reached their quaint little house in the row of single floor townhouses that lined the narrow streets branching off of the main road. It was roughly a five minute walk to their street past where the high street served as a class divide between the eastern and western halves of Dunkirk where it ran parallel to the River Amstrel. Pierre unlocked and opened the door and the brothers went each to their respective bedroom where they undressed and went to sleep for the night.

The Legion economy only worsened with time as the imperial kingdom comtinued to fuel its own recession. The Lion Hornets had been growing increasingly in numbers over the passing years and they continued to ravage the farmlands- devouring cattle, swine, and horses alike- occasionally even swarming humans who attempted to disturb their nests or swarms as they roamed the imperial countryside on their hunt for food. The farmers were steadily losing livestock to that most abominable of pests, annually invading their lands in the warm seasons for its unholy feasts. Many farmers had already been forced to abandon their trade to take up work in the paper mills in the east or in the western factories where they would work for minimal wage. The King’s only response to the situation was to raise the taxes, much to the anguish of his citizens.

In the Spring just passed King Louis IV had declared the taxes raised another four percent- this increase of the yearly harvest tax of Legion farmers was a tax upon their networth prior to their journey to the market to sell their wares, not including sales taxes, revenue fees or the yearly income and revenue tax. The King had even appointed a Mayor of Avon in the North to maintain order and ensure the execution of the King’s law in the midst of the Pagan lawlessness of the Ahglorian border-town. Over the passing weeks the Legionnaire city watch was overwhelmed by rioting and looting amongst the tribal natives of the town who refused the King’s new law and increased tax. The rioting in Avon persisted for a couple of weeks and so King Louis ordered a host of Imperial soldiers North to restore peace to the northern border-town in response. Pierre’s troop was called to duty, along with many other companies within the city. He recieved the orders one morning from his commanding officer and their orders for departure were immediate.

Jean was to remain behind however, uncalled by their King and left to the duties of regular city watch in the capitol as a city watchmen and reserve. Pierre had been noticed for his natural talent and abilities, having been assigned to a better troop as he departed in rank with them after being informed of the orders by his captain. The captain was a young man in his late twenties, Francis van Dyke- the son of a proud Legionnaire woman and a civilised Ahglorian hunter. He had dirty blonde hair and green eyes, and he was of average build. The half-blood captain turned his horse around to dismiss his troops as he rode upon the mount towards the main street where he disappeared into the crowds. Jean watched his brother's battalion disappear in the distsnfe as he went about the day's duties.

The host made for the bridge checkpoint where Pierre's company had just been ordered to rendezvous in twenty minutes to depart from their fair capitol post-haste with the entirety of the imperial forces summoned for deployment. Having recieved his orders, Pierre first found his brother Jean and told him of the news before making their way to the meeting point together. Pierre waved his brother goodbye as he ran ahead to march alongside his company in the ranks of the Legion battalion, crossing the bridge over the River Amstrel whilst his brother lingered behind to return to his watch duties for the day. He watched Pierre's as company filed into the greater host before marching onwards north to Avon town, where they would go on to enact martial law upon the residents and restore the peace that was broken by the pagan rebels. Jean watched his brother’s back as the host steadily disappeared around a corner turning North out of France across the River and away from their southern homeland.