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POV of a recruit
Brauzeit -26-Kaldezeit-7-2492
"My legs are burning…" I gasped, almost breathless, as the weight of the pack pressed my shoulders down as if I carried stones.
"Don't even say it," Lukas replied, dragging his feet. "I can't believe we have to march this far. One of my uncles served in the state army and he never mentioned marches this long, the kind that tear your legs apart… But look, the sun's going down. Rest must be close."
But rest never came. The march went on endlessly, until, after what felt like another eternity, the order finally came. The men collapsed onto the damp grass like empty sacks. Some didn't even set up their tents: they just lay where they were, breathing heavily, eyes vacant.
That had been our life for over a week. Rise at dawn, eat in haste, march for hours, barely a pause at midday to chew a dry crust, and then walk again until the sun sank behind the forests. A cycle with no end.
We had already crossed into Talabecland. The landscape had changed: endless dark forests, narrow paths, and the constant feeling that something lurked among the trees. Only once did we spot a lone beastman, but the Elector Count's veterans didn't hesitate: they leveled their muskets and shot it down before it could flee. The creature fell among the branches and leaves, and the metallic stench of gunpowder mixed with the damp of the forest.
It was all pain. My whole body burned: legs, arms, back, neck. There was no remedy but to grit teeth and carry on. The dwarfs marching with us seemed to endure better. They moved more slowly on their short legs, often climbing onto wagons to keep pace, but their endurance put many to shame: they could march full days without complaint, with the same stubbornness they showed when drinking ale.
Food was the only thing that kept us sane. With the flour we carried we baked bread in portable ovens hauled on supply wagons. To that was added dried meat rationed each day, eggs when luck allowed, and thick soups where fresh beef from cows bought in the villages was thrown. The hot broth, with the strong taste of meat and spices, was almost divine relief. Many said it was the only thing that let them sleep at all, even with legs burning and bodies trembling with exhaustion.
The weather worsened with each step. Leaving Altdorf behind, snow began to fall in scattered flakes. Rare in Reikland at that season, but in Talabecland it became more common by the day. The white layer grew beneath our feet, covering roads, trees, and fields. We cursed the march, but blessed the thick clothes we had been given. At least they kept the cold from cutting to the bone.
We followed the course of a frozen river, advancing slowly, until we reached the castle of the Elector Count of Talabecland. It was a strange halt: we were made to wait for hours outside while our lord, the Prince of Marienburg, spoke with the local noble. None knew what was being discussed, though rumors spread from mouth to mouth: pacts, routes of march, or simply arrogance between lords.
At last the prince returned without explanation, and the column resumed its path toward Talabheim, where we were allowed two days' rest. It was a necessary reprieve: we could sleep better, wash in the frozen river, repair boots and clothes. But even there we weren't spared training. This time we practiced with spears and short swords, simulating basic defenses for when the lines broke. The instructors made it clear: firearms were our main tool, but in war there always came a moment when powder ran out, or the enemy was simply too close.
The veterans of the Elector Count, barely five thousand hardened men from past campaigns, would be the first line in any battle. We, the new recruits, were expected to hold the rest.
In Talabheim, supplies were bought in staggering amounts. Hundreds of wagons loaded with grain, salted meat, barrels of water, timber for stakes and nails for camp fortifications joined the army's baggage. With them also came merchants, like carrion drawn to the smell of war, setting up along the edges of the column. They sold everything imaginable: thick clothes, trinkets, wineskins of smuggled liquor, even knives and "blessed" charms against witchcraft. Many began following us as though they were part of the army itself, always hoping to wring coins from weary and gullible soldiers.
Discipline, however, was kept iron-hard. Captains watched day and night, and all of us knew what happened if rules were broken. Every day men were punished, whipped until bleeding before the troops for drinking ale, for secretly hiring women, or for buying extravagant food from merchants. The prince had given a clear order: all would eat the same, from commanders down to the last recruit. Whoever disobeyed would be punished publicly, during the meal, so the lesson sank deep.
It didn't matter whether you were son of a peasant or of a burgher—on the march we all received the same rations: bread baked in the portable ovens, dried meat, thick soup with vegetables or with cows slaughtered in the villages we passed through.
Merchants were tolerated only when the army camped and soldiers were released from duty. But while marching, contact was forbidden.
So we advanced on, deeper into Talabecland. The column stretched so far it was lost on the horizon, a river of men, horses, wagons, and powder. From Talabheim onward, a great crowd began following us. Some were families accompanying sons or husbands; others beggars, prostitutes, or trinket-sellers. But most noticeable was the arrival of youths seeking to enlist.
Winter in Talabecland left many without work, and the army's pay was tempting. Hundreds of peasants and woodcutters joined the march, hoping to be accepted. And what was strange was that the farther we went from the city, the faster they were given uniforms and muskets if they met the requirements. The officers did not waste time: you had to be tall enough to carry a firearm and have sound teeth so you wouldn't lose them biting powder bags. Those who passed were integrated at once, almost without training, and the next day they marched beside us as if they had been there from the start.
For many more days we kept marching along the roads of Talabecland, crossing endless forests and frozen fields where the villagers watched us pass. With each day our ranks grew: peasants, craftsmen, stable boys. By the time we left the outskirts of Talabheim behind, the army had gained almost three thousand more recruits, who quickly learned what it meant to serve.
After days of marching, we were finally granted a two-day rest. But it wasn't out of mercy: rumors spread that a great tribe of beastmen had been sighted in the forest, directly on our route. The prince had given the order: we would not leave such vermin at our backs. They would be exterminated.
The musketeers were placed in fixed positions, lined up in tight ranks, with wax plugs in our ears to endure the thunder of the volleys. The air was thick with tension, a constant murmur between clenched teeth. The Elector Count's cavalry went into the forest first, scouting. It didn't take long before they came galloping back, and behind them burst the chaos: dozens, perhaps hundreds, of those horned abominations, armed with bone and crudely forged iron, charging with a roar that chilled the blood.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it would break my ribs. The ground itself shook under the weight of those creatures, each one a monster of twisted muscle, fangs, and bloodshot eyes. The stench they carried was unbearable.
"Fire!" one of the officers bellowed.
I aimed with trembling hands, pulled the trigger, and the musket roared against my shoulder. The recoil shook me, the acrid stench of gunpowder filled my nose. I glimpsed bestial bodies collapsing in heaps, torn apart by the opening volley.
With clumsy hands I drew the ramrod, bit open the powder charge, and reloaded as best I could. Another group of beasts pushed through on the flank, waving axes and spears. Suddenly I felt a strong hand on my shoulder: one of the veterans shoved me down.
"Get down, idiot!" he shouted.
I obeyed instantly, reloading crouched while another volley thundered over our heads. The second line fired above us, and I saw another wave of creatures fall, some split in half by the shots, others rolling in the mud, bellowing in pain.
I was just finishing my reload when a different roar tore through the din. I rose to aim and saw it: a hulking brute emerging from the trees. Nearly three meters tall, with twisted horns and muscles so swollen they seemed to split its skin. It wielded a monstrous sword.
"Concentrate fire, first line—fireeee!"
The shots came in a relentless thunder. The entire first line unloaded on the monster, but still it advanced, staggering, taking lead with every step. Its chest became a sieve of bloody wounds, and still it roared like a maddened bull. Only when a final volley tore its face apart did the creature finally collapse, raising a cloud of earth and snow stained red.
"Come on, reload, idiots, there are still more!" one of the officers shouted.
I repeated the process again and again, doing everything I could to keep from dropping the musket or the ammunition from my trembling hands.
Several times I reloaded and fired, though terror gripped me every time I glimpsed one of those minotaurs. At least they never got close to us.
At last we had finished off nearly the entire tribe of beastmen, who began fleeing back into the woods.
It didn't take long to realize we had won.
"We won… we won!" Lukas shouted, thrilled at our victory.
"What the hell are you talking about?" snapped one of the veterans in charge of us. "This was just a small skirmish. We don't have time to scour the woods of beastmen. This was nothing—just three minotaurs." He glanced over the field littered with corpses.
"Only three? We killed those monstrosities with great difficulty," I said, stunned by the soldier's indifference.
"The Prince of Marienburg can kill one by himself… I once saw him take down three, playing with them. Yes… the man has perfect aim—straight to the eyes, blinds them instantly. This here was nothing, boys. In Middenheim we killed hundreds of thousands in one campaign. But our goal here isn't the beastmen. It's to reach Ostermark and deal with the Kislevites. So pick up your things and get ready—the place is clean, and we march on." The veteran bent to help move bodies as he spoke.
We didn't take long to burn all the beastmen corpses, enduring the vile stench of their flesh. Then we began marching again toward Ostermark.
At least with each day the weight of the pack seemed a little less, but the march never stopped until we reached Bechafen. Finally, after what felt like an eternity in Talabecland, we had arrived at our objective.
Arriving early in the day, we quickly set up camp outside the city while our lord entered to begin negotiations.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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