As Alpheo's counter to the diplomatic maneuvering of the southern princes took shape, it was accompanied by a renewed and merciless push to seize the city that had long held out under siege.
With the Habadian envoy finally leaving the camp, terms were laid out for a future peace conference that Alpheo had every intention of coming to at the very best.
What followed was a week steeped in smoke, steel, and blood.
"Go! Go! Go!" cried the lords, their voices raw as they led their retinues forward. Across the breadth of the siege line. Trenches were hastily filled with wood, rock, and bodies alike, anything to make the ground passable. Assaults came in waves from every angle, ladders raised like crooked spears, rams smashing against ancient oak gates, a furious storm trying to shatter stone with flesh and fire.
Men died by the dozens.
Casualties were dismissed, war had a devilry of tis own and Alpheo had pulled his mask down to the ultimate prize.
