The Quagmire of the Black Crusade

The General sat behind an immense oak desk. On top, beneath the papers, was a large map, stained and crinkled. A blue vanilla folder sat opened in front of the General. The stack of papers had increased as the offensive dawned on the battle group. It was set to take place in thirty minutes. The required signatures and orders had already all been sent out. Already much had been done, but still, the general fought to get the extra support needed. He would fight for it till the last second.

His secretary, a young female pony, stood nearby, eyeing a large portrait. The General noticed this, stamped his seal on the order, his hooves edging towards the glass of wine on the stained map. “What do you think, Briana? Does that painting capture her beauty?”

“Of the northern princess? Princess Fiana II?” Briana said while focused on painting. The mare's mane was cut short in the painting, which was old now but not covered in dust. A heavy, dark fur coat, gracefully contrasting with the bright pink of the pony. “It does, sir, everyone from the northern tribes would be hard-pressed to find such a depiction.”

The General smiled warmly, the years seeming to disappear from his face. He took a sip from the glass of wine on the desk. Briana already had the folder in her hand and was giving orders to the attendant outside to deliver it to the radio and magic communications department. An order for a request of armored vehicles. Specifically for tank support. As all the UNAD, United Nations Against the Dead, could spare currently was a unit of Griffonian light armored vehicles.

Standing up, the General paced around towards the painting, and then the large window behind him. It faced the frontline. In the distance, the sporadic shelling of both enemy and friendly artillery units could be seen. The explosions, illuminated the dark sky with a sinister array of warm colors. A few of the shells were magically enchanted, sending up cold blues and purples. Even a few greens. It reminded the General of the northern lights. He sighed, drank from the glass of wine, and sat down. The wine from the grape fields of Wingbardy. All nations of Griffonia north of Aquileia had long since fallen. Even that was almost taken. Although hope was found in remnants and survivors still fighting against the undead behind enemy lines. The General's home, and his battalions, had long since fallen. The Northern Tribes, a nation that at the time was lock in a struggle with Socialists, were forced to focus on the real threat. The Dread League, and their Black Crusade.

The General was a young pony during that time, and helped to save refugees fleeing southward. A large potion of their people managed to save themselves. A few members of the Snowflake dynasty managed to escape as well. But the princess fought to her last breath with her royal pegasi until the end. Buying time and defending the fleeing civilians.

He rubbed his eyes, if only he had been there, he thought to himself. The General’s gaze fixed itself on the grandfather clock. A holdover from the previous owner, long gone. Or even worse, turned undead. Briana had returned, nervous as usually, as it was only her second day.
“Do you remember much from home?”

Briana looked at him confused, “the Tribe’s settlement in south Francistria? New Everfrost? Well, they are better than before, but still-” she hesitated to get the words out. “Subpar.”

The General snorted. Briana looked worried, but he waved his hoof in a dismissive manner. “No need to be so polite, be frank.”

“Well,” Briana eyed the painting, the desk, and then the general nervously, “the Princess Boudica II, is strong and has done much but with so many refugees from all over Griffionia. It was-”

“Horse apples?” The General said smirking, the clock struck 5:00, and a chime came from within.

The single tolling of the bell was interrupted by the fury of modernity. Friendly artillery thundered. A prideful lion which sat on the backlines. The roar shook the ground, rumbling, and soon the shells crashed in the distance. The burst of light, contrasted with the various small and large barriers. These barriers were an eerie green of death, giving off the sinister aura of dark magic. A massive own sat in the center, directly parallel to the General’s window.

Briana looked at the scene, like something out of the movies she had seen as a child. According to intelligence, a gathering of necromancers was taking place. The activity of the dead disappearing and the gathering of bodies within the large, center barrier, was a key to this. It was hard to believe the dead had evolved to use complex machinery. Already they had started to respond with their own artillery. Even just the previous day, the undead had used vehicles to provide support on an attack. Airplanes were a regular sight. With many of the undead retaining memories and prior knowledge from before they were turned. Enslaved to their necromancer masters. Some even betrayed the living, accepting the curse.

The General started to pour more wine, refilling his empty glass. “Are you worried Briana, this is the first major attack you’ve seen, correct?”

Briana nodded, “Y-yes, sir. Are you worried, you seem so relaxed?”

The General took a long gulp of wine. Staring out into the light show towards the frontline. “Of course,” he paused. In that explosions, light, he saw the northern lights. He looked back at the painting, the frozen coast beckoning from the late princesses window. He recalled it would often reflect the lights on clear nights. A sight he longed to see again. “Even in these dark times, I hope to see our homeland again.”

Briana stood silently watching the cascade of war. She tried to imagine what her homeland looked like, the mountains, the snow, the lights, the towns. But all she could focus on was the battle. Her attention turned away from the scene as an attendant rushed in.

“General, your presence is requested in the war room.”

He nodded, putting down the glass. “Right then, let us be off then, Briana.”

“Yes sir.” She said, taking one last look at the poor mimic of the northern lights outside.