The city of Eastborne sat alone upon the ridges of a meager fifty foot sheer cliff of rock and stone that dwindled down into the small cluster of docks that met the relatively calm waters of the bay that lapped against the land.  Further out on the horizon of the waters of that bay one could view the narrow inlet that trafficked boats from the peaceful soft waves of the basin, out into the turbulent depths of the sea and oceans beyond.  The pair of white washed stone towers that sat on either edge of that strategic entrance had fallen into the clutches of the Empire weeks ago.  Their white banner with the singular blue star in the middle fluttered to and fro at the whim of the oceans breeze, uncontested.<br/><br/>Galleys of war dotted the waters of the bay near those twin towers of bleached weather worn stone.  They proudly showed the Empire's flag as well, whipping about from their lofty perches.  Since the distant inlets capture, not a ship had entered, except for the scouting patrolling movements of the Empire's own fleet of battle hardened vessels.  Eastborne had never made their name as a coastal city of trade and might upon the open seas, their own fleet, what was left of it, barely measured up to the juggernauts of the Empire that circled like sharks further out.  Their presence made one point clear, no one was getting out that way.<br/><br/>It was a turbulent time of uncertainty for those who had taken shelter within the horseshoe shaped walls of white stone that swept around the elevated city of Eastborne.  They'd suffered assaults before, commonly involving monstrous humanoids that filtered down occasionally from the northern winter lands and the mountain ranges therein.  Then of course there were the religious wars from decades past that had faded into distant memory and were only recalled firsthand by the most elderly of Eastborne and within the pages of old tomes.  The Dark Oak, or Svelleka as he was known by proper name had long since warred with the peaceful nurturing nature of his sister, the Lady of the Veil, Oprinicus.  The city of Eastborne had seen it's share of strife over the course of it's history, and had never fallen into ruin.  They were a hardy people, accustomed to standing their ground and fending off those who sought to take what was rightfully theirs.<br/><br/>All of that history made for a stubborn lot, a defiant and proud lineage of men and women that had thought they had seen the worst of what the world offered.  Then their gods faded to dust, Oprinicus grew silent and the warring tribes of barbaric hosts that flocked to the violent teachings of Svelleka faded into the tales of Eastbornes past.  Rumor and story of other gods belonging to the pantheon of the one true god, the All Father, Q'wainor, found way to the ears of the populace of Eastborne.  Their divine presence and guidance had gone silent, and over time the temples that once shouted their glory and spread their doctrines began to fall into obscurity.  That was all some fifty years ago, and coincided in near unison with the armies that marched out of the Empire's capitol of Merasheel.<br/><br/>From city to city they cut and paved their path across the land as they led the Inquisition from one ill prepared settlement to the next.  A mighty road was left in the wake of their passing, and upon it under extreme protection traveled the mystical Portal, by which those damned by the Empire were cast out in a grand public affair.  Whether by force of arms, skilled negotiations from their diplomats, or by sheer virtue of starving a city out, every settlement eventually folded in time and opened their gates to the ruthless Inquisitors.  Such was the current dilemma facing the populace of Eastborne.<br/><br/>When the Empire had finally arrived a month ago at the borders around the cliff perched city, few were left to doubt the tales of the Empire's might.  The very farmland that swept across the plains beyond Eastbornes walls were over taken with ease.  There were stores of grain within the city that could keep them fed for months on end, and based on the display of power taking place outside their walls, the generals and leaders of their army opted to sit tight and take advantage of the strategic advantages that the defenses of their city offered.  So they sat, and watched as the Empire and it's vast army settled in around the fringes of their lands.  They looked on in awe as the morning watch awoke to find the very flat lands beyond their walls were no more.  Now a trio of steadily rising slopes of land had taken shape seemingly over night, each uphill incline leading towards a flat hilltop from which encampments of tents and banners of the Empire's army had taken root.<br/><br/>Safely just beyond the range of any of Eastborne's defensive counter measures, they waited for the morning fog to thicken.  Then the siege began.<br/><br/>It started from an unfathomable distance as streaking balls of fire no larger then a bowling ball hurled in straight indiscriminate lines from the trio of flattened hills.  They exploded against the walls and ramparts, spreading concussive blasts and enveloping the walls in flame.  Illprepared guards caught peering over the protective walls suffered horrid burns and more then a few men lost their lives as their burning bodies were flung from the heights of the walls by the force of the explosions.  Screeches filled the air from over head as the volley of fireballs impacted against the upper ridges of their fortifications and kept the archers of Eastborne hesitant to pop their heads up.  Those rattling cries from overhead gained shape and form as griffons and their riders broke out of the swirling clouds above Eastborne.  More fire rained down from above, though in this instance it descended in the shape of ceramic orbs that shattered and sent globs of viscid alchemist fire splattering about the streets of the city.<br/><br/>Cries of panic spread throughout the avenues of Eastborne as masses of the citizenry sought to find shelter and avoid those who were being consumed by the clinging chemical flames.  The smell of burning flesh began to waft through the city, growing more intense with every exploding vial and bursting ball of fire that rained down upon the city.  Soldiers rushed about in a state of hysteria, seeking their own shelter while stronger leaders bellowed out for them to hold their posts.  Horns blared as scouts peering outward took notice of the ranks of the Empire's army plodding forward towards the walls of the city.  For those watching the waters of the bay, word quickly spread of the approach of four massive war galleys closing in.<br/><br/>The Empire answered back to the sound of the horns with the resounding thudding bass of war drums that echoed across the fields and over the city.  Their ranks were led by a trio of gleaming constructs that lurched forward through the morning fog on massive rolling pins of steel and iron, crushing whatever came to pass beneath them.  Metallic molded shapes of a rams head with massive curved horns emerged from the front of these horrors.  Smoke bellowed out from their nostrils as these seemingly self propelled war machines of adamantium rolled forward towards the walls and gates of Eastborne.  Soldiers followed in their wake, moving in spread out organized patterns with large oval shields raised and spears at the ready. Ranks of archers escorted by men carrying large walls of bundled up bamboo before them lingered in the rear of the approaching pack.  Rows upon rows of cavalry could be seen waiting on the distant ridges of the hills in the background, staying out of the depths of the pending fray for the moment.  Still the fire rained down from above, though as the army drew closer those streaking orbs of explosive fire ceased their bombardments.<br/><br/>Volleys of arrows sang from the archers of Eastborne and flaming bundles of fire flung from catapults soared forth to greet the marching ranks of the Empire as they started their charge.  The Empires own archers answered in turn as the sky was washed with streaking lines of arrows and other implements of long range war fare.  One massive flame laden boulder arced through the air and landed a direct hit squarely across the back of an approaching ram.  Cries and cheers rose up from the soldiers who witnessed the devastating impact, but as the smoke cleared and the soot smeared metallic head of the undeterred ram broke through the cloud of ashes those joyous shouts fell to stunned gasps and silence.  The front ranks of the charging force broke past the steady unchanging pace of the mystical rams as they sprinted towards the thick walls of Eastborne.  Teams of men veered off from that charging force as they neared the walls, they carried with them boxes of steel that were littered with hand sized holes.  Carefully they set down at least a dozen of these portable shelters and rushed forward to join the assault as hands of wizards reached out of their personal fortifications and unleashed a variety of magical assaults upon the city walls.<br/><br/>Blasts of lightning crackled across the tops of the walls and sent splinters of the white stone flying.  One long section of the wall softened and sank downward as the top half of the wall took on the composition of white mud and enveloped the unfortunate soldiers and archers atop it.  Amidst the chaos of the full out assault ladders were hastily rushed forward and slapped against the walls.  Hot oil greeted the Empire as cauldrons of the scalding hot liquid poured downward.  Still every ladder couldn't be handled, and more were making progress in their ascent then could be stopped.  Lines of magic continued to course out from the concealed wizards working their magics from the relatively safety of their personal shelters of steel.<br/><br/>All the while the trinity of gleaming ram headed tanks rolled forward, seemingly impervious to any efforts to stall their advance.  As the first of the three arrived, it churned forward towards a stout circular tower that supported a contingent of archers beneath its peaked roof.  The head drew back, as a turtle pulling its head back into the security of it's shell before it jolted forward and with a thunderous impact the wall cracked and crumbled apart.  The entire foundation of the tower shifted and leaned, sending the men atop it skidding across the floor.  Already the head was drawing back and preparing to strike again as the massive steel beams that it rolled upon churned ever forward, crushing the rubble to dust beneath its weight.<br/><br/>As the head of the apparently indestructible ram surged forward and shattered the foundation of the tower once more the entire structure buckled and began to fall apart.  It buried the battering beast of metal and smoke beneath an avalanche of white washed stone that nearly drowned out the screams from the men stationed upon the battlement as it caved in on itself and buried them as well.  Men from the Empire were already breaching junctures of the wall and engaging the soldiers of Eastborne as spear met sword.  The other pair of remaining wall busting constructs rolled forward, one soon to be at the main gate while the other approached the twin of the battlement that had just been torn down.  Off in the distance the cavalry began their approach, soon the Empire's much dreaded force of knights would be cutting into the fray, led by the legendary Sir Fyndrake himself.  Finally the assault from the griffon riders above relented as the forces of the Empire breached into the city of Eastborne.