The Ghost Ship Message Board: The Noose is drawn, hanging time. (Snowkaap)

The sun falls upon the Winterlands, leaving the icescaped countryside a desolate and fatalistic terrain. Men and women lay in frozen graves about the haunted wastes that stretch out in droves of chill and icecapped mountains, forests, and plains locked within this Arctic antiparadise. The Warlock Order had split their forces, two attack both Ishetta and Snowkaap simultaneously. Their continued insistance in trying to force a bloody "meat-grinder" on all fronts darkened and, by far, overshadowed their fleating moments of tactical brilliance in the defeat of the Great Allies at Odindrust, and the following harassment of the Mutiny Alliance navy - which sent Ethan's remaining warships limping back to the Venway isles in near-ruin.

Now, it was time for judgement, payback, and outright, bloody vendetta. Unknowing that bands of unlikely allies where landing upon the Southern shores of the Winterlands, which will make Cypress' tactics even deadlier when the small W.O. companies of attackers are caught between two groups which, altogether outnumber them to about 2-1 odds, the youthful veteran of the Angels of Caine has skillfully positioned his pieces for this blitzkrieg counteroffensive with the purpose of breaking the Warlock Order with brutal and viscious raids, wise tactical sabotage, assassination of the leaders (the only ones who really will probably even profit politically from this war back in the Order's empire) to leave bands of freezing, beleaguered, and undermined troops scurrying about, caught within a noose of strategy. Kill their leaders. Break their war machines. Murder their spirit of battle. And let the cold do the rest. It looked excellent on paper. Now, everyone would see how it would work in actual reality.

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Dusk - The tides begin to churn

As the aurora of northern luminescence light up the skies with a solar lantern of silently howling premonition, the strikes begin upon the estimated 1,500 Warlock Order soldiers marching on Snowkaap. Paramilitary units composed of mostly seasoned M.A. regulars from Cypress' sword and machine gun infantry units mixed with freshly recruited locals for survival skills in the Winterlands wilderness and beefed-up manpower begin to make their raids. A reconaissance "sausage" balloon - amplified by the powers of the Hermetic magus Christopher, now a 1st lieutenant in Cypress' ever-fluctuating, versatile M.A.F. ranks sails the Northern horrizon with spyglass and magick ready, applying basic forces Arts to subtly tip the scales of the harsh elements in his balloon's favor - allowing the crew of two other M.A.F. "grunts" to captain the derigible, independent from any holding cables attached to the surface. Christopher keeps clear from the frontlines, but spies the W.O. advance by combining the capabilities of his spyglass with Correspondance scrying. His eyes are those of the angels watching over his fellow comrades, and his prayers are readily answered by the celestial bodies who's powers he unlocks with his paradigm of numerology and puzzling calculations.

Coded radio signals are sent via a very basic wireless set to a communications team operating in the field. They coordinate the counteroffensive's first moves from this point onwards.

Two full machine gun squads are intact, and rush with their light MGs, burrying themselves in the snow in the path of the Warlock Order's advance, clad in tossled white furs for greater camoflauge within their elements. When the Order arrives, they are met with a fury of bullets straight into their front ranks, forcing them to wade through literal death and desolation to overtake the machine gun squads. (Obviously the result of this would be a force too decimated to even think about continuing on to Snowkaap, unless they have a death wish. Though they probably have the manpower to overtake the MG nests if they really wish to throw their chances for the future away...)

Redirecting their movement will throw them into a bed of thorns, as the paramilitary common M.A. skirmishers begin their assault, striking in precise raids aimed primarily at their enemies' armor. There is little chance that the guerrillas could actually hault the Order's advance here, but it is primarily meant to dissrupt their movements and wear away at their mechanized vehicles.

The guerrilla teams come from both flanks, making bloody assaults against W.O. machinary and those guarding it. Sniper fire to eliminate officers or ringleaders amidst the common enlisted (only the gravest of fanatics totally lay aside their own concerns for life when it comes down to it. The tactic is sheer terror. If the officers are cripled by worrying about their own survival, can they truly lead in battle? The W.O. players must decide, in truth, how effective this tactic is. But keep in mind, even these soldiers do have emotion.) And cover fire from Thompson .45 submachine guns or 7.62mm light machine guns targetting the common soldiers, coming from basic vantage points in the terrain - snowcapped terraces, behind nests of frigid evergreens and mounds of snow, or what not, gives teams of hit-and-run guerrillas a chance to murderously use the cover of darkness to chunk homemade phosphorus bombs in the way of vehicles, gun down drivers with rifles, pistols, or even grenades, and basicly take out as many mechanized vehicles as possible. Pack animals are also, needless to say, eliminated with as much totality as possible.

Other tactics are applied as well - demonstrating the desperation and fatalism of a people who have lost unknown numbers of relatives and loved ones to the Order's total annihilation of Odindrust, and suffered indescribable amounts of pain and terror at the hands of these unscrupulous invaders.

Sleds of all types are converted into flaming "hell on blades" bombs that are lit and pushed to slide into a horrific death ride against the W.O. machinary. Local alchemists have been recruited to combine natural elements into crude, home-made rockets that "push" the sleigh-bombs into the midst of the enemy armor. The accuracy of such weapons is irrelevantly poor - all too many of the bombs miss their target and whirl and spin out of control to explode chaotically amidst soldiers - creating more of a field of randome destruction and mayhem amidst the W.O. ranks. Perhaps this was Cypress' plan all along. Gruesomely, some of the sleigh-bombs are even carried into the frey by dogs - sacrificed by their masters for the cause. The yelping and howling of these packanimals as they die amidst flames and explosions mingle with the cries of dying men and the hollow racket of gunfire and machinary being warped or broken.

Of course, the sleigh-bombs are intricately set off in between raids that stab into the W.O.'s flank.

There seems to be only one way out of this situation. The Machine Gun squads are eating up the Order's infantry head-on, and the guerrillas are blitzing their flanks left and right, all night long. Though only a royal pain in the ass for now, the destructive tactics of the guerrillas, combined with the wholesale slaughter pouring in from the front, could eventually wittle the enemy down to a force unable to push onwards. Cypress' plan is very versatile. And, no, he did not leave the rear of the W.O. uncovered, although it certainly seems as if he did.

((Okay. I'm just posting things from the Mutiny Alliance's point of view right now. I'm short on time, so I had to cut it short. heh heh. Anyways... please post some kind of reply... Gotta go in a hurry! Bye!))