First day of the Albion Civil War.
Gramont led ten thousand to mortal combat with Houses' thirty thousand, annihilating them at the cost of seven thousand lives. Then bones gathered, pyres lit. The ten thousand remnants rested one night before departing Toth for Tony.
Day one: Grunt expedition commander and Tony defenders staged back-and-forth skirmishes — lively clamor, yet end-of-day casualties under a thousand total, city intact.
Megan commander lost patience. "If Grunts spare their feathers, let Megans lead. Tony falls — spoils split even."
Such generosity — refusal would be madness. Yet Grunt proposed south gate his, north Megan's. First entry claims half spoils, regardless.
Megan commander nodded assent.
Night fell; both sides stood down to rest. Grunt commander penned word to city defenders: stage one or two thousand at south gate; concentrate rest at north — good luck.
Defenders trusted, redeployed per Grunt plan.
Meanwhile, Mani-Pace-lesser coalition's eight thousand still en route to Tori.
Day two — Albion civil war's second, expedition's second day in Toristine borderlands.
Nine a.m., skies clear: Grunts and Megans assaulted separately.
Grunts staged weakly south. Megans hammered north full-force: archers lobbing, sappers blasting gates under shield cover, spears and swords advancing.
Tony's defenders commanded north personally: archers raining from walls, spears and pikes hurling stones, oil poured and torched — every desperation.
Yet Megan onslaught endured. Boom-boom-boom.
North gate crumbled in blasts.
Moment's pause; Megan troops flooded, clashing with defenders. Even Tony commander frontline: slashed one foe, chanted magic, fireballs pulping four or five more. Tony's five thousand leveraged walls, slaying two or three thousand Megans near-bloodlessly pre-breach. Gate blown, foes poured; melee engulfed north's five thousand defenders — all perished, trading three thousand Megan lives.
Megans streamed north-to-south. South's two thousand saw breach, knew doom — hands raised in surrender. Grunts entered south; families split city north-south, foraging supplies, resting troops.
One p.m.: Gramont's ten thousand reinforcements appeared north gate, halting three miles out to recuperate. Megans tensed, summoning Grunt commander for council.
Gramont held; commanders stayed walled. Standoff indoors-out.
One p.m.: Mani-Pace-nobles coalition reached Tori unpausing — eight thousand straight to assault. Tori commanded death-stand, unyielding: eight thousand of ten thousand defenders fell battling back first wave, inflicting three thousand kills. Remaining five thousand foes could take Tori's two thousand survivors with mild push — but each house halved, now strength-hoarding, letting others bleed. Assault paused for rest.
Four p.m.: pigeons plummeted into coalition command outside Tori.
Lesser commanders gaped at letters, emerging tents to peers' shocked faces. Queries revealed: family nobles seceded republic for kingdom; patriarchs ordered quit expedition, haste home. Letters cited Verus's kill-order on Mani, Pace, Megan, Houses — shun them.
Mani-Pace commanders blanched. Verus restored; heads urged abandon expedition for civil war — noting lesser revolts, four-family purge edict.
Lesser commanders eyed Mani-Pace distrustfully.
One quivered — letter slipped, exposed amid commanders.
"Kill!" "Kill!" Roars erupted.
Bewildered troops, lately allies, seized arms under barked reprimands, turning on comrades. Eight thousand nobles coalition battled six thousand Mani-Pace — expeditionary civil war.
Tori's two thousand remnants baffled: Why foe self-slaughter? Commander, stunned, ordered wall-bound defense — no sorties.
Brutal fray two hours: Mani-Pace coalitions obliterated; nobles dwindled to three thousand. No time for pyres — they withdrew slowly beyond Tori sight.
Defenders gawked, then embraced in survival cheers.
Houses' letter to expedition commander likely undelivered. Gray-white plains: pigeons circled vainly.
Grunt and Megan letters reached commanders around four-thirty p.m.
Megan's: Verus-Grunts civil war restoration. Grunts betray; Verus kill-order four families. Abandon expedition — rush home support.
Grunt's: Civil war afoot — withdraw, join.
Former friends' armies, co-quartered, ignited via missives.
Megan commander charged city-south: "Shit-eater! Brother treated — you tricked!" "No choice — family decree. Last stand together?"
Grunt-paid mercenaries, siege-paddlers, faced red-eyed Megans: slew or wounded two-to-three thousand. Survivors fled rabbit-like, stranding five thousand Grunts against enraged ten thousand Megans.
City aflame; cries surged. Outside, Gramont deemed "friend" Grunt attacked — led ten thousand through north gate.
Blown unguarded, six thousand fresh Toristines joined Grunt-Megan melee. Gramont stressed Grunt alliance — but blood-mad survivors couldn't distinguish, slaughtering indiscriminately. Grunt-Megan troops, mindlessly hacked by Toristines, hacked back blindly.
Tony became abattoir: twenty thousand from three nations three sides butchered mutually. Gore sprayed; roars boiled; flame-shadowed figures demoniac.
Clash faded late night. Last: three thousand Toristines, three hundred Grunts, five hundred Megans.
Sanity returned from bloodlust; Gramont posted guards on survivors. Central square: underlings presented entwined Megan-Grunt commanders — mutual stabs to chests, faces rage-hate-regret-twisted.
"Separate — no, bury together," Gramont mourned. Grunt command aided him much — unmet thanks, now dead.
He eyed distant Tori — unknown fate. Skyward west: Albion civil war's tide?
Regardless, Albion's Toristine thrust failed. Time for victory drink.
"Wine — bring it," Gramont boomed.