《The Westmarch War (A NaNoWriMo 2017 winner)》 Chapter 0 A note from the Editor: This work may never see widespread publication. It may only ever be read by scholars, tucked away in the dark corners of libraries and scriptoriums, far from the light of the public''s eye. But it is a worthwhile read for those interested in the subject matter, a glimpse into the minds of some of the key actors and otherwise silent and inconsequential spear carriers. There are far more authoritative works on the Westmarch War, such as Nasha Ahmedu''s exhaustive seventy-six volume work on all of the minutiae of the campaign. There are far more readable (albeit fictionalized and sensationalized) publications, such as Nabil Hussaina''s popular history tale. But all of them tell this story at second- and third-hand. This is a collection drawn from the first- hand accounts, brought together to shed light on the lesser-seen portions of the conflict. The human (and orcish!) side of the war. The day-to-day living and hidden thoughts behind some of the most well-known names. They show the people, not the personas. Some of them I have had the privilege and honor to know, others I only met through the writing they left behind.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Given that some of the source material is so intensely personal and never intended for others to read, much less general publication, my hands are bound in some cases to not reveal everything. Such is the cost for peeking into the private journals of people and re-printing sections of the material contained within. Other sources, such as Chronicler Vian''s Logs, are also bogged down by the bookkeeping trivia endemic to their positions. For the sake of readability, and not boring you, the reader, onto death, I have also omitted those sections. Of the materiel I both can place into this work, and what I have deemed worthy of inclusion, I have arranged by chronological date. This places all of the events into their proper sequence, at the cost of jumping about the region in question like a deranged hare. I have tried to place related or geographically close entries together to minimize this effect, but sometimes these jumps are indeed unavoidable. May you find this work in interesting, and perhaps fodder for thought and reflection. Lady Ilelahne SiDabolo Chapter 1 Chronicler Vian''s Log First day of June, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. My first day as the chronicler of the Ironbark Mercenary Company! Excitement and sadness war within me. I received this position because my mentor, Old Leon himself, finally grew too frail and nearsighted to hold a quill. He wanted to dictate the Log to me, but the Captain would have none of it. I wasn''t present for the meeting itself, but I could hear it from halfway across the camp. Old Leon my need a cane and ointment for his joints, but there is nothing wrong with his lungs! But the matter was decided, the position was mine, and I fully intend to keep Old Leon on to assist me. The Captain wanted to leave him behind, but I pointed out that the Chronicler always needs an Assistant Chronicler, and that Old Leon was stubborn enough to come along whether we wanted him to or not. The meeting got rather loud at that point, words being said that have no place here, but the matter was settled. The other reason for the meeting was to inform the officers that Ironbark had taken up a new Contract. We are to train and reinforce the garrison of the Westmarch Border Fort for the Council of the Jeweled Cities. In description, it sounds simple enough. But the simplest things are often the most difficult, and something about this contract stinks like a fresh dung heap. Old Leon and I will be digging back through the older Logs, searching for more information on the area. Old Information or not, any information is better than walking in blind. Addendum: Old Leon found the background we needed, in the old Logs and the records and reports of Sapphire (one of the Jeweled cities), and it more foul then I feared. A powder-keg of this magnitude has not been seen since the Seminal War itself, and We of Ironbark are walking right into it. I will record the important details here, so that future reader of these Logs will know the peril that we march into. The Jeweled Cities, for all of their legendary wealth and dependence on sea-trade, are large and growing larger. They are swollen with ever-growing populations, and blighted by that population''s matching hunger for foodstuffs. The sea can only provide so much, so the farms must expand to feed the population. As the farms extend, they push back all in their path. Forests have grown smaller, or vanished entirely. Only the oldest and darkest of woods, dense with Druidic Magic or the Fey, have a chance of surviving. Other tribes have been forced out of their lands, or swallowed up entirely. The Orc tribes along the northern frontier of the Jeweled Cities'' borders were pushed up valleys and back into the mountains. Westmarch is one of these valleys, and the Border Fort was placed in the throat of the valley to protect the farmers beyond it. But Tribes, particularly Orc tribes, do not go quietly into the night. They have raided in the past, small parties sneaking past the forts to take a few sheep or cows. Of late however, their raids have grown bolder, larger in size and scope. They are no longer single night raids, but last three and four days. There have been reports of smaller bands not taking anything, just watching. Scouting Parties. Something is brewing, up in those mountains. Tribes have been forced together, in space and culture, and fed a diet of resentment and anger. They are planning something, and We of Ironbark are to stand in their path, as a challenge to their might. And the Orcs I know are not ones to let a challenge go unanswered. We are to move out in a week, and the recruiters are already out in force. The Captain knows we''re going to need more manpower, half-trained or not, to offset the inevitable casualties.
Aris Cretu''s journal Second of June, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Well, it''s done, I''m in Ironbark now. I''ll miss fishing for Lady SiDabolo, but I have an itch I just can''t scratch if I stay here in Sapphire the rest of my life. Tam is coming along too, the crazy lass. The recruiter was only taking men, sixteen or older for humans. Tam''s a girl, and fourteen at that. But the recruiter took one look at us both, didn''t question our ages, saw our strength, smelled the docks on our clothes and bodies, and told us where to report in.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Either he didn''t care, or there is something else going on. I''ll find out on the morrow.
Shaman''s Records, Meeting of the First Gathering of the Orcs of Glacierheart. Tenth of June, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Wolfbite, of No Clan, recording. Present are: While the usual posturing and boasting is going on, I will record instead the importance of this moment. Never before has there been a gathering of all of the Orcs of Glacierheart. Clan-songs recall times when two Clans met, but never Blueteeth, Longfang, and Grimscar all at once. What happens here will shape the fate of all of the Orcs of Glacierheart. All of us here have been forced from our lands by the humans of the Jeweled Cities. All of us have sent scouts down past their border forts, raiding parties to steal the food our Clans need to live. No one has suffered more than we of No Clan, we who stood and fought, we who lost all resisting the pikes, we who lost so much that we no longer have a Clan to call our own. But the boasting is all but done, and it is time for me to tend to business. I may have no voice at this Gathering, but I hold the most sacred task of all, whether the Warlords and Warladies know it or not. I will record it, turn it into the first Clan-song to be shared by all the Clans. Warlord Lokk the Brutal (LtB): Right then Otab, you''ve got us all here in one place. And there can only be one reason for it. When do we start raiding in earnest? Warlady Vuggie the Vivid (VtV): In earnest? My clan has stolen whole herds, burned houses, slain men and feasted on their sorrow! LtB: Their Sorrow? What of the sorrow of the Blueteeth? We have done the same, and lost many warriors in the doing! VtV: Then perhaps you should scout more before shoving your face into a pike head! Otab the Old (OtO): Quiet the both of you. We have all raided, and we have all lost warriors, even shamans. We have all scouted, and we all know that the Westmarch Fort is weak, with only a few farmers to man its walls. Now is not the time to fight among ourselves. Now is the time to plan. LtB: Plan what? The humans are weak, we are strong! We should raid their fort, rend it stone from stone, and scatter their farmers to the winds! VtV: And invite their pikes to come right back down the valley and our throats? Stop and think with more than your dick for a few heartbeats Lokk. We want that for intact and those farmers as our slaves. Let them weep for a summer as we have wept for years. LtB: Heh, perhaps you are right. Their women would provide good sport, and we can still burn it all and leave ashes behind come the winter. OtO: The both of you are being short sighted. There are two reasons why we should wait, and why we want to keep that fort intact. We were once more then raiders, and we should not burn our old lands just to spite the ones that hold them. We should take them back, and use the Westmarch Fort to hold their pikes at bay, so that we can keep our lands this time around. VtV: Oh, and who will hold the fort? None of us here can afford to let any other Clan hold it, as that Clan or Clans would rule over all of the others. LtB: Vuggie is right. OtO: Forts can be built, but there is another problem, and I must thank you Lokk for bringing it to my attention. There are those among us who have lost more than the rest of us combined. They have lost land, and warriors, and family. They have lost Clan and voice. What will they do if we take their lands for our Clans? There is silence in the hall. All eyes turn to Otab, and then they stare at me. History sings in this moment, and Otab has given me the opening to shape it. I left a blank place here, space to record my speech and what followed, and then filled it in afterward. Wolfbite (W): We would not stay silent, and we will not stay silent now, while such things are decided. We lost our old clans, and became No Clan. In our loss, we have become more. In our shared sorrow, we have forged blades stronger then Clan. In our shared hate, we have quenched those blades in the blood of Men. In our shared victories, we became strong. We are of no Clan, because we are greater then Clans. We are Orcs of Glacierheart. Silence echoes in the hall. All can feel the change now, but it is Otab who speaks first, invoking one of the Oldest Clan-rights, and in so doing, ending the Clans. OtO: Shaman Wolfbite, you speak for us all. Grimscar bows to Glacierheart, that our Clans may become one. VtB: Shaman Glacerheart, Clan Longfang would join you if you would have us. LtB: Aye, and Clan Blueteeth too. We have all bled on the pikes, and if we are to stand as one, then we all will stand as one. W: Then stand, Otab the Old, Veggie the Vivid, and Lokk the Brutal, Warlords and Warlady of Glacierheart, and may your people rise with you. We are all Clan Glacierheart, onto the end of our Clan. Chapter 2 Shaman''s Record Tenth of July, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. It has been a month Since the Great Gathering, as it is now known. Clan Glacierheart grows stronger with each passing day. More warriors and womenfolk flow slowly in to swell the ranks. Watchtowers have grown to guard towers. Muddy flats are now hard-packed mustering grounds. The Elders have all taken up their tasks, and Wolfbite Glacierheart''s wisdom of taking on Otab the Old, Lokk the Brutal, and Vuggie the Vivid is showing. Not one of the Elders has the time or wit to manage everything, but they are all working together, adding strength to strength, and Clan Glacierheart grows ever stronger for it. Vuggie the Vivid has taken on the task of leading the Scouts. In this, her skills are hard to match. Already, her bands have started taking to the goat-trails along the edges of the Westmarch Valley. They may not have great numbers, for few Orcs can move silently enough, or wait long enough, to pass unnoticed. Yet the Elders put great weight on their abilities, and any orc who stops to think of the larger picture can see why. They tell not only of the human''s strengths (or current weakness), but also of their food, their water, and their support. When the time comes, they are to cut into all three, sinking a sword into the humans'' backs. Lokk the Brutal leads the warbands already preparing for the assault down the valley itself. Indeed he spends time pouring over maps, seeking positions and places to use the crushing weight of his orcs. Those who knew him before the Great Gathering would have sworn to all of the Gods that he had not the wit to do this, but I think instead that he did not have the scouts. Instead, he had to find the foe by forcing them to come to him in open battle. Now he does not, and is eager to press his newfound advantage. Otab the Old may no longer lead from the front, but as Glacierheart swells in numbers, his insistence on planning for more than just the fight at hand is showing itself. The food is ever short, the water never quite enough, But there is always some of each, and space to sleep. Already he is stockpiling wood for the winter to come, and salting away what meat can be spared. We may not eat well, now or then, but we should not go hungry. Wolfbite Glacierhear himself is the heart of the Clan. Where the other elders are buried to their necks in planning and work, Wolfbite always has the time to work with the healers, the mothers, the children. He is always the mentor, the mediator, the peacekeeper. The Peacekeeper. That is a title I would have never thought possible. But I never thought that those of No Clan would be of a Clan once more. That I would live to see a day where only one Clan ruled Glacierheart, and did so without shedding the blood of all others. Yet it is so. Indeed, more then so. A pattern is emerging, particularly among the youngest of us. They speak not of Clans, but of place. I am not sure what to make of it, or what to call it. There is a new spirit to them, a new and burning desire. It is slowly spreading, and with it seems to spread a fierce vitality, a desire to be. The humans know not what they have created by driving us up into the mountains, but it is coming for them. Drums beat in the distance, sounding the cadence of war. But in the darkness of the night, when I stand alone with my thoughts, I cannot help but wonder. How many of us will there be next spring?
Aris Cretu''s journal Twelfth of July, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Tam turned fifteen today. It is a small thing, but the small celebration and extra ration of drink was enough to break the endless marching and drilling. She and I are both strong enough, and perhaps mad enough, to sign up for the Ur-handers. To agree to stand at the forefront of the pike block, taking extra pay for extra risk, and swinging awesome blades. We''ve been assigned to Sergeant Gork, an old half-orc. He''s a bastard of a taskmaster, but his unit doesn''t lose nearly as many men as the other Ur-handers do, so that''s a plus.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. He also didn''t blink when he found out Tam was a girl. The secret is out now, but there are more than a few women in the ranks, even one of the smiths is one, so getting equipment that fits right shouldn''t be a problem for her. For me, I always have problems getting boots. The cobblers know me on sight by now, I think, and at least one of them has a pattern of my slabs (as he called them). Full armor will have to wait until we get to Westmarch and the smiths can set up permanently. At least any bandits or marauders are probably smart enough not to attack a thousand-strong column on the march. If not, then the pikes will sort them out in short order. Rumor has it that we are to reach Westmarch inside of the week, if the weather holds. I''ll believe that when we get there.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Twentieth of July, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. On this day Ironbark Company reached the Westmarch Border Fort. The first reaction by many of the veterans was a resounding ''that''s the fort?'' It''s not much to look at, and clearly build by the lowest bidder, but the engineers behind it knew what they were doing. The fort itself is set atop a hill, if the thirty-foot high, half-mile long hump can be called a hill. The walls are high enough, and there are places for catapults (noe currently in them, of course). The mountains rise away to either side, but more than a mile lays between the outer walls and the beginnings of the mountains themselves. Plenty of room to surround the fort, envelop it in siege lines. But the fort sits right in the throat of the valley, with large streams flowing down from the mountains behind it. Passing it by is not an option for any army, as the road would be needed to keep supplies flowing. What worries me is raiding-bands can slip through that gap if they so desire, or even use the goat-trails up in the mountains themselves. Getting substantial amounts of loot back past the fort would be harder still. We have some months before the snow flies. While the farmers set about harvesting, Ironbark will be setting up outposts, watchtowers to sound the alarm. With the recruits who stuck it out through the training on the march here, we have a thousand men to cover three miles. Hopefully, the local garrison will be able to make up the numbers we (hopefully will not) need. The scouts are already out, searching for positions, information, mapping the goat-trails. The reports are already coming back of occasional skirmishes. No losses yet, but I have to wonder who is scouting who. The locals are nervous. They claim to hear drums in the night, echoing down from the mountains. I''ll have to check with some of the half-orcs in our ranks, see if there is any importance or substance to the rumors. Addendum: There is significance. More than one half-orc remembers drums being used in ceremonies, and veterans recall them being used to summon a clan for a major endeavor. The Captain needs to know. With any luck, our presence here will deter the Orcs until the snow flies. The garrison has time for drill now, but the corn harvest will start in the last week of September, stretching all the way into the end of December. Weather permitting, of course. That is the tail end of campaigning season for armies, precisely because they forage crops out of the fields to feed themselves as they go. If the Orcs want food, then Ironbark is going to have to stand alone against their raiders during the harvest. I smell discord on the wind. If the Orc clans are gathering strength, they don''t mean to just raid, they mean to invade. If Ironbark holds the initial rush, this is going to be a bitter winter war.
Shaman''s Record First of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. The scouts are back, and dire word follows in their wake. Pikes! Pikes on the High-road! The Elders debate closely, debating whether to strike now, or wait for the harvest. I have sat on their councils, listened and recorded their words. They would make for a poor Clan-song, full of fury but saying little. Elders Otab and Vuggie both want more information. Numbers of foes, of pikes and bows. Elder Lokk wants to hit the foe now, smash them before they can dig in, because digging them back out again will be far more costly. Elder Wolfbite wants to know who the Pikes are. Something black is churning in his mind, eating at his heart. He and Elder Otab are both old enough to remember being pushed from Westmarch. But where Elder Otab made it to safety unscarred, Elder Wolfbite saw things he will not repeat, not even to fellow shamans. That day he buried his old name and Clan. Shadows of the Past reach far, and they are stained with blood and fire. I pity our foes, for they know not the beast that they have awoken. Chapter 3 Aris Cretu''s Journal Third of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Sgt. Gork''s squad (including Tam and I) pulled goat-trail duty. Everyone''s getting rotated through it, but those skirmishes up in the clouds are close and brutal affairs if the camp whispers are true. On the other hand, Tam and I are now properly armored. It''ll take a few days before we''re used to wearing it, but I for one am not about to turn down good equipment. A full set of scale mail costs much more than I''d make in my life back in Sapphire as a fisherman. Add in the greatsword, and I don''t think I''ve ever seen this much wealth just issued to one person. We have two days of drill to get used to our new equipment, then its up into the mountains for perhaps my first taste of battle. I hope Tam and I both get to come back down the mountains alive.
Shaman''s Record Fifth of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. The fighting along the goat trails is growing more vicious. Warriors are notoriously tough, but the Elders have decided to start sending shamans along to heal the injured in the field. It sounds so simple when stated that way. Warriors that would otherwise not make it back alive will now do so, and infections and disease should go down as well. But shamans are more than just healers. We are living emblems of belief, and wise eyes and ears. I think Elder Wolfbite and Elder Vuggie intend us to be a restraining influence on some of the more aggressive scouts, some of whom are disappointed that the humans are too smart to send Pikes chasing along those mountain trails to be picked off.
Shaman''s Record Seventh of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. Transcribed from field notes and memory. The humans we saw up on the goat-trails were laughably pathetic. For all of their impressive equipment, none of them wore it well. We heard them clanking about and crashing through the bushes long before we saw them. And if my eyes did not deceive me, the humans must be desperate for warriors indeed. The squad was led by a half-orc, whose blood is inherently divided against itself, and had at least one female in it. Elder Vuggie is a strong warrior indeed, but she is the exception, not the rule, and fights three times as hard as any other warrior under her command just to keep challengers at bay. The scouts I''m following are headed back out on the morrow. If we find those same humans again, I''m going to recommend that we kill them instead of letting them slip away again.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Ninth of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I have tasted battle, and found it vile. We were ambushed up on the goat-trails, but Sgt. Gork held us together. I know not how long we fought for, but as soon as it was safe, I threw up. Tam was a shaking wreck, and most of the other recruits were somewhere between the two of us. Head-count came up three short, and two others are hurt. Just like that, the squad is short one man in five. We are to be up here for another three days, then we can head down and rest. It can''t come soon enough for me.
Shaman''s Record Eleventh of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. Transcribed from field notes and memory. We did find the same squad again, and I can see why the Scouts find it so hard to restrain themselves. My blood pounded in my veins, and I have never felt so alive.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I must also, to my shame, credit the humans I scored with more prowess than I had thought possible. The half-orc led his band well, and both the female and one or two other men distinguished themselves in the fighting. We had to fall back, dragging our dead and injured with us. I have sung the death-song for four orcs this day, and healed a fifth. He will not fight for some weeks while he heals, but will still have the full use of his arm at the end of that time. I gave my report to the Elders, and was then asked to record their gathering as to the timing of the main attack. Elder Lokk still wants to strike now, but Elder Vuggie wants to wait until the end of the harvest. It it the raider''s debate: strike early, capture humans and force them to harvest the crops for you, or strike late and capture the already-harvested crops? Striking early leaves raiders in the field longer, risking more fighting, and requires taking humans alive, Often difficult to do. Striking late risks starvation however, as a failed raid will leave the clan short of food with the snow flying in the air. Elders Otab and Wolfbite are of a more vicious mind. They plan to strike in the middle of the harvest. Human slaves or not, there will be food to take if Glacierheart does not hold the fort at the end of things. Elder Wolfbite worries me however. I was seated next to him when the meeting ended, and he muttered something about fields on fire. This fall and winter will be forever sung of in the Clan-songs. Whether they are songs of triumph or sorrow is yet to be seen.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Seventeenth of August, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. The fighting along the goat-trails is going well. Ironbark is winning as much or more then the orc Clans are. The question on the Captains mind is how many orcs we face. They have yet to show their full strength, and have left the fort untouched, the farms un-raided. This is most unusual. Our fortification efforts are well underway. The captain is concentrating Ironbark''s efforts on the outposts closest to the orcs in case they strike during the harvest. The garrison is lending their aid for now, weaving construction efforts into their field-tending work. They may not be worth much in a fight (I''d take our recruits over their numbers), but they are more than willing to defend their homes. I need to begin the search for a real Assistant Chronicler. Old Leon''s help is invaluable, but he will not live forever. And if I have to train someone to read and write, then I should start looking now. Ironbark always keeps a Log, passed down from Chronicler to Chronicler, all the way back to the Founding. I may be worrying without need, but there is this itch that I just cannot scratch. There are still drums in the night. I can but hope that Ironbark survives the winter. Addendum: The Captain is drafting a letter back to the Jeweled Cities, informing them of the circumstances and asking for reinforcements.
Chronicler Vian''s Log First of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. A reply from the Jeweled Cities has arrived, and it is not good. On the surface, they express their confidence that Ironbark can hold their own against any raiders. That reinforcements are being assembled, just in case they are needed, and will be moving towards the border by the end of November. The stench becomes stronger, and the fuse on this particular powder keg is now burning from two ends. The Jeweled Cities intend for Ironbark to provoke the orc Clans into an attack by our very presence on the border, and for us to take the brutal shock of their raids. Inevitably, even with the garrison, there are too few of us to prevent all casualties. The Jeweled Cities intend to use those casualties as an excuse to launch a war of their own. The ''reinforcements'' aren''t there to reinforce us, but to pick up the pieces. It is a callous maneuver, but not unheard of in the Logs. Ironbark does not abandon contracts, but this has put the Jeweled Cities on our Blacklist. We will never take another one of their contracts again. As for the local Westmarchers, their ire is only smoldering for the moment. Should the betrayal become common knowledge however, then the Gods alone know where this Westmarch War will end.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Ninth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. The harvest has begun, but the celebrations are soured. There are ugly rumors being passed around. Betrayal from on high, back stabbed by the Council of the Jeweled Cities, winter war. The veterans all look sour, like they bit a biscuit and found half a maggot. The local Westmarchers are worse however. They may be waiting to see how this all plays out, but the Council is in for a rude surprise if they expect this to all blow over. They only way the Council comes out of this intact is if the orcs slaughter us, and are slaughtered in turn. They can afford no survivors to tell the tale. It will take some time for this to fully sink in among the garrison, but as Lady SiDabolo would say, the Council will reap what they have sown. And they have sown a hurricane fit to wash them away. The Garrison and the newbloods of Ironbark, Tam and I included, are coming to an unspoken agreement. The Council can take their war and cram it up their asses. Westmarch will stand, and Ironbark will stand with them.
Shaman''s Records Fifteenth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Elder Wolfbite Galcierheart recording. There is little holding the Clan back now. The war drums are beating, and Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal is leading the chants. We go to war with the dawn. But I take it upon myself to write in the Records once again for good reason. I can point to nothing real, but I have this feeling of a third hand of another in this. A third cook stirring the pot, fouling the stew. I have cast the bones, and one always lands in the shadows, its runes concealed from the firelight. This Ironbark Company is more than the eye shows, and perhaps they know more then they tell. But the Clan is going to war, and there is no stopping it. I can but hope that this will stop with raiding, and not escalate into atrocity. My dreams of fields on fire haunt me still. Chapter 4 Chronicler Vian''s Log Fifteenth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Old Leon, retired Chronicler, Remembering Honor. Loyalty. Duty. Such have been the watchwords of the Ironbark Company for more years than even I can remember. I learned them from Chronicler Teloch himself, bless his old soul. I have read his Logs, and those of Sian Kendra before him, and those of Rhineshield before her. Even the Logs of Innoch, going all the way back to the Founding, before the Seminal War. In all of those Logs, in over nine hundred years of history, Ironbark has never broken a contract. Others have broken contracts with us, once upon a time. And we have blacklisted them in turn, never again taking contracts with them. But now... I walk about the camp, and listen to the men and women of Ironbark. Of the Westmarchers, garrison militia and farmer alike. I hear and see a mood blacker than was ever recorded in the Logs. Not even at Charm or the Stair of Tears was it this foul. The men know that the Council of the Jeweled Cities has shoved them out onto the end of a branch and sawn it off behind them. It smells of anger and frustration, of fury and purpose. It smells of mutiny, not against the Captain, but against the Jeweled Cities. It smells of revolution. Ironbark may be about to break a contract for the first time, and I find myself in agreement with the men. This isn''t about our duty to sworn contracts anymore. This is about our Duty to the people who look to us for protection, who stand with us in time of need. This is about Loyalty to the people who have become brothers in arms. This is about our Honor, our ability to look at ourselves when this is all over and not be ashamed of what we did. To the bowels of the nine hells with the Jeweled Cities and their thrice-damned Council. Westmarch calls, and Ironbark will answer.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Seventeenth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War The after-action reports are piling in, too thick and fast to record each individually. Instead, I am forced to summarize. The outermost outposts, closest to the Glacierheart mountains, were hit first. The Captain had deployed three platoons, three hundred men, to man the outposts and serve as pickets and scouts. Thirty-four came back, twenty-two of them wounded. The garrison lost another hundred men, mostly in rearguard actions. Fortunately, the fields in that area had already been harvested, and the animals driven back towards the fort. The orc Clans responded by burning down the farmhouses and raising their banners over the outposts. If there is one shred of a silver lining to this cloud of despair, I did see one of the new recruits, a survivor from Sgt. Gork''s Ur-hander squad, scribbling in a journal. I may have found a candidate for Apprentice Chronicler.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Seventeenth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I had thought I had seen battle before today. It was but a skirmish. Today was real battle, real bloodshed. And much as I cursed Sgt. Gork in training, he knows his business. Our squad, plus the remnants of the other four in our platoon, were the only people to make it back alive. I lost drinking mates today. Friends and rivals alike lie dead. Tam took a cut over one eye and lost her helm. They had to dump many buckets of water over Sgt. Gork to figure out if he was bleeding and where. How I came back unhurt is something of a wonder, even to myself. All I remember of the fight is stabbing, cutting, and running, only to do it all over again. I think I killed a few orcs, but I couldn''t say how many. Nor can I keep any food down. I''ll skip dinner and try to keep breakfast down. I just hope my dreams will let me sleep.
Shaman''s Records, Gathering of the Elders of Clan Glacierheart Seventeenth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal WarThe narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. Present are: Wolfbite Galcierheart (WG): Can we just assume all of the expected pleasantries and gambits have been spoken and get on with this then? Not to put too fine a point on it, but the other shamans will need all of the help they can get tending to the wounded. Lokk, how did the first attack go? Lokk The Brutal (LtB): Well, but not as well as I would have liked. We swept the pickets and scouts aside easily enough, but those outposts were rough. Two of them, the one to the east and the one in the west, were caught with their pants down when we came out of the mountains. We took out losses, but they went down in the end. The one in the middle of the valley though, they saw us coming, and were ready in time. It took three charges to force them back, and for warriors to come in from the outposts on the flanks, before they ran away. Otab the Old (OtO): How bad were your losses? I Imagine Wolfbite has better numbers on how many of the wounded will make it, but let''s hear your count first. LtB: More then I''d like, not quite as bad as I''d feared. The head count is still ongoing, but of a thousand warriors, eight hundred or so came back alive. Vuggie, how about your scouts? Vuggie the Vivid (VtV): All present and accounted for. We didn''t lose anyone, not even hurt. WG: The shamans report at least two hundred wounded, though they are still sorting the wounded from the dying. What did you bring back for food and loot? LtB: Not nearly as much as I wanted to. We got a few wagons of food, plus the beasts pulling them. A few slaves. No gold or silver worth mentioning. The fields were already harvested, the houses already empty. They knew we were coming. We should have struck sooner! OtO: We went over this Lokk. Any sooner and there would have been more warriors to oppose you instead of being busy harvesting their fields. It matters not. We are committed now, and the humans will have pulled back everything they can to their fort. Vuggie, it is time to unleash your scouts. VtV: Pillage or ravage? WG: Pillage. If they harvested the near fields that quickly, then the humans had to leave another area un-harvested. LtB: Are we done here? I need to lead the victory celebrations. WG: And I need to help tend the wounded, so unless there is anything else...? No? Then this Gathering has ended. I read Shaman Elder Wolfbite''s previous entry, so when the others had left, I cast the runes. As he had noticed, one rune fell into shadow, but three others came together in a most unusual fashion. The runes for human, orc, and war came together, but human and orc were in alignment, not opposed. When would humans and orcs ever stand on the same side in war? I can think of nothing that would inspire Clan Galcierheart to stand alongside humans. Somewhere, a God is laughing at us, reveling in the blind paths we follow.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Nineteenth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Our pickets are reporting orc scouts to the south of the fort now. The orc Clans must now feel that they have total mastery of the goat trails through the mountains. The Captain has detailed what men he can to protect the farmers, and the garrison has focused all of their efforts on pulling in as much of the harvest as they can. I fear it will be too little too late. About one-third of the harvest is in, which is enough to feed everyone over the winter, if only just. That set of calculations is based on the assumption that nothing further will go wrong. Ha. If reading (and now keeping) these Logs has taught me anything, it is that something will always go wrong. Plans never survive contact with the foe, and Ironbark is already in contact with the foe. On another front, Aris (the recruit with the journal) looks to be a promising candidate for the position of Assistant Chronicler. But being so new, I think my lofty rank may intimidate him slightly, so I intend for Old Leon to make the initial approach. And if you are reading this Leon, yes, I did see your ''remembering'' entry a few pages back. We could never make heads nor tails of some of the Logs of Innoch. He wrote them in elvish, but the runes in some sections look just a bit different, don''t they? Still, the oral tradition of those Logs lives on, and Chronicler Rhineshield made more than a few references. If we do end up standing a long siege, then perhaps we could try once more to crack some of those old passages? But I digress. I shouldn''t be wool-gathering like this before my thirtieth winter! Which is this upcoming winter, now that I think on it. With the orc Clans encroaching on the southern farms, it won''t be too long before Ironbark and the Garrison is pushed back into the fort itself. The only real questions are whether that will happen before the snow flies, and how much of the harvest the orcs will pillage or spoil in that same time. Well, there is also the question of how the Westmarchers will welcome the Council troops when they eventually put in their ''unfortunately delayed'' appearance. Current odds, according to the bet makers around the camp, are three to two in favor of accepting their ''help'' against the orcs. I expect those odds to swing further in favor of defiance as the season drags on and more of the locals suffer hardship. One other misgiving strikes me. What happens if the Council''s troops encounter orc siege works south of the fort, and assume that the orcs have taken the fort? Chapter 5 Chronicler Vian''s Log Twentieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Skirmishing continues to the south of the fort. The orc Clans are restricting themselves to passing warriors through the goat trails instead of bullying past our flanks. Wise of them, for even with only seven hundred men of Ironbark fit for pitched battle, we could savage any attempt to do so. The orcs may have the advantage on the narrow winding goat trails, but we hold it in the open field. Something was puzzling me about the whole festering situation in this area however. Why would the Council of the Jeweled Cities want to engineer an atrocity to justify going to war with the orc Clans of the Glacierheart mountains? The officers, the Captain included, and many of the veterans seem puzzled by this as well, but the new recruits and the Westmarchers do not. So I went and asked around, and the best answer came, surprisingly enough (or perhaps not, once you know him), from young Aris. It all boils down to local politics, so I will set the pieces into place before describing their moves. On the side of the Jeweled Cities, there is Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal (Emerald and Ebony are further from the coast, and take no hand in purely local matters). All of them together form the Council of the Jeweled Cities, and present a united front to the rest of the world. Quite successfully too, as we outsiders simply refer to the Jeweled Cities without distinguishing between them. But internally, each strives to gain precedence over the others, and they league together to prevent others for doing the same. So if Sapphire makes a grab to secure new land for themselves alone, then Ruby and Opal would put on enough pressure to prevent Sapphire from doing so. On the side of the Independents, there are the farmers of Westmarch and the orc Clans of the Glacierheart mountains. The Westmarchers form a semi-independent region, selling their crops to any of the Jeweled Cities who wish to buy them. The farmers come from all three of the local cities, though I understand that some of them do come from far off Ebony and Emerald, and are not particularly inclined to follow directives form one of the larger Jeweled Cities (even the Council) on the best of days. The orc Clans of the Glacierheart mountains have been mentioned before, but they serve as both target for and assistant to the treacherous politics. Now as to who is doing what onto whom. Sapphire wants to claim Westmarch and the Glacierheart Mountains for themselves. Westmarch for the food and farmland, and also for its access to the Glacierheart mountains. The Glacierheart mountains themselves for the mines (mostly coal) and forests (for timber) they contain. But if they hire up mercenaries and charge off alone, then Ruby and Opal will muster troops of their own to restrain Sapphire, limiting them to pushing back the orc raiders and securing their borders. So Sapphire needs a cause for war that will justify their taking of land outright, and pull Ruby and Opal into the war at their backs. Thus, soiling their hands and making them complicit in the war and rendering them unable to refuse Sapphire taking land outright if they want to do the same. So they hired Ironbark Company and sent us to Westmarch, probably using the official Council stationary and funds to conceal their ignoble intentions. Our presence was to trigger the orc Clans into raiding more heavily, and our cries for reinforcement could be spun out into an orcish war of aggression. This would give Sapphire the cause for war they needed, and they could call in Ruby and Opal to aid them. Looking also at the number of orc warriors that Ironbark scouts have reported, it is clear to me that Sapphire would need aid from Ruby and Opal to take the Glacierheart mountains. We have seen as many as a thousand orc warriors, and it is not unreasonable to assume that there are as many again either guarding their camps or held in reserve. Add in another two thousand or so females and craftorcs (who can fight but are left home for wars), and another five hundred non-combatants (the children and the old)... Four thousand war-ready orcs, if they are all lumped into one pile. Sapphire can field at most fifteen hundred, and afford one mercenary company (Ironbark) of another thousand men. Were the orc Clans divided, split into three smaller groups to be carved up one-by -one, then perhaps that would be enough men¡­This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. But Sapphire has made a fatal underestimation. There are no orc Clans of Glacierheart, to be attacked one-by-one or fractured against each other. Only one banner flies over the captured outposts. Only one Clan name passes the orc warriors lying injured on the battlefields. There is only Clan Glacierheart, with every orc in the mountains at their disposal. It will fall to Ironbark to redeem Sapphire''s error. Or it would, were the Westmarchers not inclined to tell Sapphire and the rest of the Council of the Jeweled Cities to take their claims and cram them up where the sun doesn''t shine.
Shaman''s Records Twenty-second of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. I have traveled forward to the outermost of the human''s outposts. They are not terribly impressive, being only a wooden wall and a short tower. I can see how Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal struggled to take them intact however. Fire may have forced the humans out where his warriors could get at them, but only at the cost of leaving the outpost in ruins. With the outposts intact however, Clan Glacierheart now has forward camps from which to operate. No longer will we have to march for two days just to get to the battleground. Already the craftorcs have come forwards, building housing and extending the walls. Hauling so much wood down from the mountains is difficult, but stone would be even more so. The slaves that Warlord Elder Lokk took are of profitable use here, and for their efforts they are rewarded with improving their own cover and conditions as well. I am of two minds considering the habit of enslaving non-orcs. On one side of the coin, they are prizes of war, and surely a life enslaved is better than simply being slaughtered out of hand? On the other side of the coin, it inspires our foes to fight ever harder, and forces some number of warriors to watch the slaves always, lest they revolt. Among the Elders, only Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal still takes slaves, but he treats them fairly, so long as they are willing to work hard and remain complacent. The Records recall times when Warlords treated their slaves harshly, and the bloody wars that followed. There is a keen mind behind Warlord Elder Lokk''s simplistic mask, and he hides it well unless one knows how to look. The other thing that puzzles me is the banners that flew over these outposts. The records recall in great detail the banners flown by the Pikes when we were driven from the Westmarch valley: fields of white or gold surrounding a colored gemstone icon. The two that flew here do not match these at all. One is a simple crossed scythe and pike in black on a red field, the other is a silver tree on a black field. These humans fought hard for their land, but they are not the ones that took it from us. What has happened among the human clans? What has torn them apart? I think I will find if any of the slaves are willing to talk to me. perhaps there is something else going on here. Perhaps one of them can shed light on the blind paths we are following.
Shaman''s Records Twenty-third of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. I have found out at least some of the story behind the change in banners, and it is almost too much for me to believe. We of Clan Glacierheart have come together, but the Humans have splintered into tribes of their own. Or perhaps they were never one clan to begin with. Whichever it was, it matters not for this season. The scythe and pike on a red field belongs to the humans of this valley, who have named their clan after it. The silver tree belongs to a roving war-clan that calls themselves the Ironbark Company. Both the slaves from Clan Westmarch and from Clan Ironbark are angry at a third clan, Clan Sapphire, for setting this war in motion. It is a story that we orcs are all too familiar with. Clan Sapphire wants to claim the Westmarch valley, and perhaps the Glacierheart mountains, but at least two other clans (Clans Ruby and Opal) do not want them to grow too strong. Clan Sapphire cannot fight three human clans at once, much less Clan Glacierheart, so they have set two of their rivals to fight before sweeping all aside. I must take this to the Elders. Perhaps there is a way for all three clans to discuss this. Would not Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark be willing to give up some land in the valley beyond the fort to clan Glacierheart in exchange for Clan Glacierheart''s aid against Clan Sapphire? This notion is sure to spare furious debate. I cast the runes once more. Once again, the runes for human and orc were in alignment and crossed by war. Perhaps it is a hopeful sign that Clans Glacierheart, Westmarch, and Ironbark need not bleed each other to death while Clans Sapphire laughs. One rune still landed in the shadows however, so perhaps all is not yet revealed. Chapter 6 Aris Cretu''s journal Twenty-third of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Chronicler Vian was asking around the camp a few days ago. Unusual man, what with all his focus on books, but a good officer. He was asking about why the locals (and us new bloods) were so mad at Sapphire. I did my best to explain it to him, and I could tell he was actually listening. By the end of it, he was almost as mad as Tam was when she got cut and lost her helmet. Speaking of, Tam is healthy, and Sgt. Gork is getting us prepared for a pre-dawn raid on one of the outposts the orcs now hold. Sneak in, grab anything important, throw some lit torches around, and run away again. I don''t expect the fifteen of us to do much more than anger the orcs, but who knows, it might actually slow them down. Everyone else is getting some sleep, but I can''t for some reason. I can''t stop thinking random things over, or checking my gear, or writing things down, or worrying about things I can''t control. The one upside is that I found out that Tam snores worse than Sgt. Gork. Well, that and the fact that I''ll get first pass at the tea pot when the time comes. Cherry Bean, black, triple brewed, with a pinch of salt and (if we''re lucky) a shot of Bragg''s homebrew. That stuff will put hair on a bear and wake the dead in the doing. Speak of the thing and it appears. Sgt. Gork is awake, and he''s got a flask. Time to start the dance.
Shaman''s Records Twenty-third of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal is touring the forward outposts, and had brought me along for a pre-dawn inspection of the sentries. The humans, both free and enslaved, have been quiet of late. They are probably planning something, but the Runes... [The page is marred by spilled ink and blood.] Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty of Clan Glacierheart recording. Mayhem. A small warband of Clan Ironbark came out of the night, forty or fifty strong, with fury on their lips. The Shamans are still sorting out the casualties, but several things are clear from the scene I found here. The Clan Ironbark warband began their attack here, and had the fortune (fair for them, foul for Clan Glacierheart) to come across Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal and Shaman Koroc the Singer inspecting the watch-orcs. The fight was vicious, if the shed blood on the ground is any indicator, but Clan Ironbark was victorious. They didn''t stop with ambushing the watch-orcs. They also freed the slaves from the pens before vanishing back into darkness before the dawn. They have done more damage to Clan Glacierheart then they know. Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal is dead, and Shaman Koroc the Singer is missing. The honor of keeping the Records falls to me, at least until Shaman Koroc the Singer''s fate is known. I can but hope that I do them proper honor.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Twenty-third of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War If history looks back for a turning point in this war, then let this day not be forgotten. Before the sun had even risen on this day, Ur-hander Sargent Gork ''the Scarred'' Burling, of the Fifth platoon of the Ironbark Mercenary Company, accompanied only by his depleted squad, struck a blow that may well prove fatal to the orc Clan encroaching on the Westmarch Valley. In a close-run skirmish, he managed to slay the Warlord of that clan. Of the men and women under his command, two others also acted with distinction worth recording here. The Ur-hander Private Samantha ''Tam'' Fiskr was responsible for leading three other men in breaking through to the slave pens, freeing the slaves, and leading them to freedom, liberating sixty-eight souls from bondage. The Ur-hander Private Aris Cretu captured an orc Shaman, having caught him writing in a book.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The morale of both Ironbark and the Westmarchers needed this lift. The freed slaves and word of the slain warlord will strengthen the resolve of all of us. Severing the ''head'' of our foe by slaying the Warlord with dishearten our foes. But the most decisive blow may well be the capture of the shaman. Warlords are replaceable, when all is said and done (albeit with some disruption in the clan-structure), but having their Shaman simply vanish is a strike at their soul. Not to mention all of the information and intelligence it may be possible to extract from the Shaman in question. Yet there may be another opportunity here, if the Gods are kind. The Westmarchers are of a mind to make a bid for independence from the Jeweled Cities, and could use all of the allies they can get. The orc Clan is pressing their claim on the Westmarch valley, but perhaps, just perhaps, they may be willing to come to some settlement with the Westmarchers. Perhaps even a binding alliance against Sapphire and the rest of the Jeweled Cities. If this does come to pass, then woe betide the armies of the Jeweled Cities when the Council tries to force the issue at the point of a pike. Human discipline and tactics, alloyed with orc ferocity and cunning... I shudder just to think of it. Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal may be able to muster six thousand soldiers, if they scrape their defenses to the bone, but even so large a force would be hard pressed in any attempt to take this particular valley. Whatever the Gods have planned, it does seem that we live in interesting times indeed.
Shaman''s Records Twenty-third of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording. This section will need to be inserted between the pages of the official records when they are transcribed. I can still feel the lump on my head where the human warrior struck me. I am enslaved, with all of this dishonor that state caries. Yet these humans are not unkind to their slaves. I have received healing, food and water, even quill, ink, and paper to keep Records upon. Perhaps the half-orc warrior I saw earlier was able to identify me as a shaman, or perhaps the human warrior who took me knew what the Records I was working upon when he hit me. They were left behind for a Shaman initiate to find and preserve, although they most certainly are marked by spilled ink, and perhaps even blood. Of the half-orc warrior who led the Clan Ironbark warband on their raid, I am certain it is the same one I saw upon the goat trails almost two months ago. That being true, then I will certainly hear of the exploits of the human female warrior who accompanies him, and of the tales of the other warriors in that same warband. If they are worth making Clan-song of, then I will record them, that their fame will not be forgotten should Clans Ironbark and Westmarch fall. I do not know what the Elders of Clans Westmarch and Ironbark plan to do with me, but perhaps I will find out. Two of their Elders approach now.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Twenty-third of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War It is both better than I hoped and worse than I feared. As I had proposed based upon the banners that they used, the orc Clans of the Glacierheart mountains have come together in a single clan. I had hoped that such a unification was not without bloodshed, that there was only a single Warlord and Shaman in the new clan. I was wrong. On the ''worse than feared'' side of the balance sheet, Clan Glacierheart (as they call themselves) is guided by a group of Elders, the Shaman, Warlords (well, Warlord now) and Warlady of the pre-unification Clans. The death of Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal, and the capture of Shaman Koroc the Singer will disrupt their plans, but not stop them. On the ''better than hoped'' side of that same sheet is the fact that both Shaman Koroc and Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart, the chief shaman of the Clan, suspected that some peace deal might be possible. Better yet, they were also thinking along the lines of accepting land here in the Westmarch valley in exchange for fighting against the Jeweled Cities. If only we could get the Elders and the Westmarchers to sit down at a bartering table in good faith. Perhaps, just perhaps, this winter need not be a saga of senseless slaughter. Chapter 7 Shaman''s Records Twenty-seventh of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty of Clan Glacierheart recording Concern grips the Elders. The loss of one of their own was and is certainly a shock, but they have called off the raiding parties in the recent days. This is most unusual. The humans, Clans Westmarch and Clan Ironbark, as Shaman Koroc the Singer called them, will have completed their harvest by now and will be preparing for a long winter war. I am young, and Ill-versed in raiding and war, so I have dug back through the Records, seeking Clan-songs that tell of similar situations. None match exactly, save perhaps an old song of two Clans (Wargfur and Treebreaker, both now long dead) seeking to come to an agreement instead of fighting a blood feud to the finish. I also came across mentions of rune-castings by both Shaman Koroc the Singer and Shaman Elder Wolfbit Glacierheart. In particular, the unusual falling of their runes: One rune always in shadow (no mention of which, an odd omission), and a clumping of human, orc, and war that suggests humans and orcs fighting together against a common foe. I have yet to finish carving my own runes, so I cannot make a casting of my own to see some of what they perhaps saw. But when I stare at the stars in the darkness, up atop a hill away from the camp and the firelight, I feel a shadow across the stars. The worst is yet to come.
Shaman''s Records Twenty-seventh of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart recording With Shaman Koroc missing, presumed dead or taken, many Shamans would consider it unusual that I let his initiate continue to keep the Records in his absence. I think otherwise. Mul the Feisty is a smart and perceptive young she-orc, and a promising Shaman Initiate as well. As her instructor in Shaman Koroc''s absence, it does fall to me to check her work. And though she cannot yet cast the runes or swing a war-club properly, she has made several excellent points. It is when instructing students that Shamans themselves are oft made to revisit their own training. The rune that fell is shadow, time and again, was the rune for the future, often called fate. Sometimes it falls in light, most often in half-light or shadow, only rarely indeed does it fall into darkness. When it does, it is a sign of an approaching set of crossing paths, of uncertainty, of opportunity, and of danger unseen. These are interesting times indeed, for good and for ill. I think I will accompany Mul to that hilltop of hers, that we might sit in silence and stare at the stars. And perhaps, just perhaps, I will see the same shadow across the stars that she does.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Twenty-seventh of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Ur-hander Private Aris Cretu is now officially the Chronicler''s Assistant along with Old Leon. His vocabulary and reading in Common is quite good, but his handwriting is... well, calling it chicken scratch is on the generous side. Old Leon is working with him on that, as well as introducing Aris to the older Logs. And with that announcement completed, onto today''s happenings. The Clan Glacierheart raids have fallen off, and the skirmishing has followed suit. I am not sure if this is due in part to the loss of Warlord Elder Lokk, or just a shift to a defensive posture while the build up their camps in preparation for the coming winter. Either suits Ironbark well enough, and the Westmarchers as well. The harvest is almost completed, which will fill the stores here in the Fort to the brim and then some, given that no crops are flowing back to Sapphire this winter. Koroc the Singer, the captured orc shaman, is also a Log keeper for his Clan, though all the shamans of a clan contribute to the same Log. Oh how I wish we could read those Logs. So much history written down, read and sung aloud in Clan-songs for all to hear. Perhaps we should borrow a page from Clan Glacerheart and organize and annual reading from the Logs? Something to tie this company together, to remind it of its history, of challenges faced and overcome.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I think I''ll leave Airs and Old Leon to watch over the Captain''s meeting with the Westmarchers. Instead, I''ll talk to Koroc the Singer some more. If I am to establish this tradition, then I had best establish it right. He should have some ideas about how to go about doing so, given his experience with a similar tradition.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Twenty-seventh of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Old Leon, retired Chronicler, substituting for Chronicler Vian. Sigh. Vain''s off talking to the captured orc quill-pusher, and he''s managed to stick me with taking notes on the weekly meeting. Well, he stuck Aris with taking the notes, but his handwriting is so bad I''d have to re-write it all anyway, So I''m making the notes and Aris is here listening in. Probably going to be more grumbling and shouting with nothing of worth getting done. Well, the sun is about to set, and just as I predicted, tempers have run short and no one is willing to agree on anything. The Captain said he is of half a mind to simply walk on this contract and leave the Westmarchers to be saved by the Jeweled Cities. Kind of hard on the blokes, but we aren''t getting paid to die for them against their own countrymen. It''s just a bluff though, as over half of Ironbark would probably stay behind anyway, pay or no pay, just to shove the pike more firmly in Sapphire''s throat. There''s a messenger at the door. Well, it looks like things are finally about to get interesting. Cutting away all of the of the diplomatic horse piss and ass covering, Sapphire just tried to order Westmarch to keep holding out against the orcs until the Jeweled Cities (meaning Sapphire with help from Ruby and Opal) can send their troops to ''drive the orc Clans from the mountains and secure the province.'' The Westmarch garrison commander put it the most succinctly: "Get fucked." In more diplomatic words, he meant ''We''ll not give up our sovereign independence. Westmarch will stand alone against the world if need be.'' The growl that went around the table when he said that had teeth to it. A hungry thing, fangs bared in the winter winds, backed into a corner with nothing left to lose. It would be nice to have some friends though. I wonder how Vian''s doing talking to that orc. Would he, the orc that is, be willing to act as a messenger back to Clan Glacierheart? The Westmarchers and the Captain are willing to sit down and talk in good faith at least, if Clan Glacierheart is willing to do the same.
Shamans Records (in captivity) Twenty-eighth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glaicerheart recording Clan Ironbark does keep records of their own, and their Record-keeper, Chronicler Vian he calls himself, has asked me about how to go about making a clan-song from them. When I told him that I would need to read the records to know if it was possible for clan-song to be make, so see if there were deeds worth singing of, he was more than happy to share them. To any who reads these Records, remember Clan Ironbark well. They have stood tall and conquered where others have fallen. Their name is known down the generations, counting back all the way to before the Seminal War. Clan Ironbark fought in it, on both sides. They were there at Hawthorn, at Brambles, at the Stair of Tears, at Charm, on the Whispering Plains, and the Gravelands at the end of things. My hands tremble to hold the Records that detail those campaigns. To hold the un-sung memories of those times and to be asked to help shape the clan-song of them... I cannot do this alone. I will need the help of other Chroniclers and Shamans, of the Gods, and of the Fey keepers of the land. Such a clan-song must echo down the ages, lest we forget what should never be lost. But there is one Record book that is older still. Yes, older than the Seminal War. Half of it is writ in Elvish, but the other half... I know the marks upon those pages, though I have never heard them spoken aloud. How could I not, when I read them every time I cast the runes? Old Tongue, the language of Shamans of old, not spoken aloud since the Seminal War. If only there was one who knew how those runes would sound spoken aloud... But that is a dream too distant, a hope too far. For now, I must think of how to bring Clan Glacierheart to the Gathering, that Clans Ironbark, Glacierheart, and Westmarch can end this blood feud before it begins. Alone, we will not stand a snowflake''s chance in summer against Clans Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal. Together, we would have the numbers, the food, and the defenses needed to stand our ground. Three Clans against three Clans... the snow would run red with blood before the war ended. But I feel the same bared-fang spirit here that I did in the home of Clan Glacierheart. Reading the Records of Clan Ironbark, I have found a word for it: Nationalism. It is the strong support of one''s land and people, particularly against those that would enslave you. It is the fury needed to stand, to say to the world ''we are as one'', and make it true. Sapphire has not the slightest clue in this world or the next what creature they have backed into the brambles. And now they are following it in with nothing but a knife, expecting to finish a dying animal. Instead, they will find fangs ready to tear their throat out. Chapter 8 Shaman''s Records Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty of Clan Glacierheart recording White flags fly over a hill between our outposts and Fort Westmarch. Calling it a hill may be generous, given that it is hardly taller than one orc on another''s shoulders. But it is a rise in the ground, and I know of no other name to give it. Sigh. Here I am, scratching words onto a page, feeling my way to what the flags mean. White flags are a sign of truce, a call to discussion, an offering of peace. That they stand atop a hill gives them greater visibility, that they might be seen by any orc, not just the Elders. Word has spread, and the whispers started. That they flight halfway between Fort and the mid-valley outpost is another sign. Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark are willing to talk, but are not willing to yield. both they and Clan Glacierheart must come partway to speak, and the same on any lasting truce that would be struck. The Elders are inclined to talk, and I hope that they are more than willing to come to some agreement. Clan Ironbark and Clan Westmarch may have lost one warrior in four when Clan Glacierheart captured the outposts (counting enslaved, hurt, and killed as one), but Clan Glacierheart lost one warrior in five in the same doing with every advantage we could find or make. That would only get worse the closer Clan Glacierheart came to taking the fort, when all of those advantages would be flayed away by open ground and stone walls. The shadow across the stars changed last night. I know not whether is was natural, or the presence of Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart nearby, but it changed. The lighter shade of black flowed and began to glow. First a deep purple, then flowing, flaring, higher. Blue the color of a deep lake, edged with more in the flashing ice-fire of sun-on-snow. Then into green the color of fresh grass, lashing out across the sky in snaking whips. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come, a torch snuffed out by a strong wind. What omen that may reveal is lost to me. It was the most beautiful and sublime sight I have ever seen. The Elders have reached their decision. We will meet Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark under white flags of our own.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Today marks a turning point in this war. By the time the sun sets, the Fate of Westmarch, the Ironbark Mercenary Company, and Clan Glacierheart will be decided. We have marched out under flags of truce to talk to Clan Glacierheart, in the hope of finding common ground against the Jeweled Cities. If their latest letter spoke true, then we have two months before their army arrives. Two months to forge an alliance between the two nations, and then it will be tested in the fires of battle and hammered against the anvil of war. The Westmarchers also tell me that it will be two months before the snow begins to fall. There is more than enough food in the fort for the Westmarchers and we of Ironbark Company, but probably not enough for the orc of Clan Glacierheart. They should be bringing food with them if they do decide to move down out of the mountains and into the valley. But here I am, assuming that all will go well. It may not, or this all could end with a blood feud. But if it does, then Westmarch is probably screwed, and Ironbark along with it. So I''ll go on assuming that all will go well, and plan to keep the Logs preserved if it all does go horribly wrong. There is a delegation descending form the Outpost under a white flag of their own. It looks like the meeting is on.
Shamans Records (in captivity) Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glaicerheart recording I never thought that I would see this day. Orcs and humans coming together in common cause. More than just that, if those at its heart could but see it. Common purpose, common desire, common fate. The last rune, fate, landed in the light this morning. This is to be a momentous day, for better or for worse. With any luck, I will be returned to my clan, or at least freed from captivity. Even so, I may request to stay here. I have only just begun to transcribe the Old Tongue sections of the Clan Ironbark Records written by Innoch. So much is there that has been forgotten, buried under newer Clan-songs. A human by the name of Old Leon, an old Chronicler, is helping me. He too is fascinated to learn of the things that were once forgotten. The Chronicler in training, a young man by the name of Aris Cretu, is also interested but is often busy working on his handwriting. I have seldom seen such a clear, distinctly purposeful mess before. Still, he does have a wonderful singing voice. I can hear the sea, the crash of waves on stone, the storm in the sky, when he sings. For one who is not a shaman, he knows more of nature''s fury and grace than most will ever know.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. It took me a few days to piece everything together, as well as reading Chronicler Vian''s Records of my capture, but I now know the names of the ones who took me captive. They are the same band that I first so badly underestimated up in the goat trails, and they are also responsible for the death of Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal. The half-orc band leader goes by Gork the Scarred, the human woman is Tam, and the third was Aris himself. All three are warriors of renown, despite their ages and lack of experience. Gork the Scarred is the veteran of the three, having survived and triumphed in three conflicts before this one and earning the right to lead his own band in the process. This is the first conflict for both Aris and Tam, and Tam in particular is hardly an adult by human or orc standards. But scars earned on the field of battle tell no lies. Tam bears them on her flesh and blade, while Aris'' armor is fairly etched by them. White banners are coming forward from the Outpost in the middle of the valley. I will lend my voice to these peace talks, for no other reason than to ensure that all present know the strength of all of the others.
Shaman''s Records, Peace gathering between Clans Glacierheart, Ironbark, and Westmarch. Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty of Clan Glacierheart recording Present are: Also present is Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart, held captive but not enslaved by clan Ironbark. It does my heart glad (and the Elders'' hearts too I suspect) to see him alive and well. Shamans Notation: The usual bantering and posturing for position is absent. All present know that the other has something that they want, and a pressing reason to make the exchange. Wolfbite Glacierheart (WG): We both know that a war is coming, and that we must stand together, so what must be asked is what you of Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark are willing to give us for our aid? Bilal Muhktar (BM): We had hoped that you would be willing to take the land that you already hold, that you might have a reason to stay and fight in Westmarch valley. Otab the Old (OtO): That is quite generous, especially considering the farms that you would also be giving up, as well as all of their future produce, and the profit from them. Nalo Samirah (NS): But you would also then be invested in defending the Westmarch valley instead of simply retreating into the Glacierhearts every time the Jeweled Cities came calling. Rivoril Syllynn (RS): The other thing that you would giving us is a safe place for the women, children, and others who cannot fight. WG: Alongside those of us who could not fight, and a safe place to store their food for the winter, leaving Westmarch Valley filled only with warriors and Pikes. RS: Exactly. OtO: This is more than acceptable to me. WG: I agree. Do we need any ceremony to mark our agreement? BM: None, so long as our Chroniclers and your Shamans make record of it. Shaman''s Notation: There is agreement all around. Messengers are dispatched back to the Fort and the Outpost with word of the agreement. The mood shifts, hardening as it comes to the tasks of the sword and pike. RS: That leaves getting your warriors and my soldiers to work together in the next two months. OtO: Two months? NS: Aye. The Jeweled Cities will be arriving by the end of November, and we will need to be ready for them WG: Then perhaps we should start by moving the non-warriors and the food. Give our peoples experience working alongside each other before asking them to fight together. Koroc the Singer (KtS): Sharing Clan-songs would help this process. Would Clan Ironbark be willing to spare one of its Chroniclers to aid in the translation effort? Vian Cofaen (VC): I think I could Spare Aris for such an endeavor, if you would be willing to lend me an assistant in exchange, or at least the results of your endeavors. WG: I am not sure that we have a Shaman Initiate whom can be spared from their studies. What works would be translated Koroc? KtS: From Clan Glacierheart, some of the older clan-songs. The ones that date from around The Seminal War perhaps. From Clan Ironbark, perhaps Innoch''s Records? VC: If you can make sense of that language, then I am more than willing to lend you Aris in exchange for learning what they say, and a guide on translating the rest. OtO: It sounds as if we have an agreement on these matters. The fine details can be worked out at a later date, if all are in agreement? RS: Ironbark is in agreement, and are willing to let Koroc the Singer go with you as a sign of good faith. BM: Westmarch is in agreement, with the understanding that particular details as to who owns which farm will be settled after this winter is over. WG: Then we are all agreed. May the Gods bless us all with good fortune in our future endeavors. Chapter 9 Lord Ochen Shagari''s War Journal Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War On this day, the Thirtieth of September, in the Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the end of the Seminal War, I have been appointed as the General of the combined armies of Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal by the Council of the Jeweled Cities and tasked with crushing the Westmarch rebels and driving the orc Clans back into the Glacierheart mountains. Such an undertaking can only be entrusted to one of my bearing and noble bloodline, for any lesser man would falter and fail to see it through. The plans that have brought this coalition together have been accelerated. The whispers placed this campaign as a springtime event, that we would be marching through melting snow to destroy starved orc clans and suppress restless humans. It was to be an easy undertaking. But then the mercenaries, instead of blindly playing their part and dying by the dozen trying to fend off orcish raiders, broke their word. Ironbark Company, as they call themselves, has sided with the Westmarch rebels against their own oaths. I expected such treachery from base-born men and half-breeds, so I cannot say that it surprises me overmuch. The Council put too much faith in their record, despite my warnings to the contrary. It will still be an easy campaign, a short and victorious ''war'' that will only serve to strengthen Sapphire''s position as first among the Jeweled Cities. The Westmarch rebels could only count seven hundred and fifty militia, if they all actually show up for the muster and don''t desert when faced by proper soldiers. Ironbark counted only a thousand men, half of them fresh-faced recruits, and have reported over three hundred losses before breaking their oaths. By now, they must be down to only five hundred men, if that. My five-thousand strong army will bury them with discipline and steel. The orc Clans may prove to be more difficult to dislodge, if only because my men''s arms will be tired from slaughtering so many of them. They will break and flee when the tide of battle turns against them, if they even bother to take the field at all. I could wish for more magical support, but it should not be needed. The Guild charges far too much for a Battle Caster, and even more for a proper War Caster. I have advised the Council in the past to think of breaking the Guild''s monopoly on spellcasters in the Jeweled Cities, but they always demure, claiming that it is unwise to provoke the Guild, that they would withdraw all support from the Jeweled Cities. Had we mages of our own, that would not matter. I could reach out to Lady SiDabolo, but I expect that any approach would be met by silence at best, so it is not worth my time. We will spend the winter in the Westmarch Border Fort, then press on with the arrival of spring into the Glacierhearts themselves. That will be a longer campaign, if only because the terrain will favor the defender so heavily. By then the Emerald and Ebony contingents should be to hand as reinforcements. They should not be needed, but I will grant them the ''honor'' of taking point and suffering the inevitable casualties of springing the orc''s initial ambushes. Come next summer, we will be marching home again in glory.
Shaman''s Records Seventh of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of clan Glacierheart recording.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It is good to write in the Records proper once more. Better still was seeing that Shaman Imitate Mul the Feisty had kept them so well in my absence. Inserting my work will require rewriting that particular section of the Records into a new volume. It is a protracted task, but not an overly difficult one. Aris is helping her, as much as Mul allows that is, and his handwriting is getting better. My translation efforts on the Records of Innoch are going well, but little of what is written makes sense. It does not read like a Record, not like a person would speak. Instead, it feels more like a part of Clan-song. I will have to keep translating, and hope I come across something else, something more. A shame that I can not hear these Clan-songs, if that is what they are, sung aloud in the original Old Tongue. That would be something to hear indeed. Other sections read like rituals, though I am hesitant to even contemplate attempting them without knowing their components or outcomes. Was Innoch a spell-caster as well as a Chronicler, or was he picked as the Chronicler because he was a spell-caster? That question may never be answered. The other non-warriors are taking the move to the mountains in stride. The first wave arrived yesterday and are already working to put up houses fit to stand the winter. Craftorcs are working with them, teaching and learning in turn. There is plenty of lumber to go around, and enough space to build in. Not an excessive amount of either, things will be a bit cramped, but not so little space as to leave people sleeping on top of each other. The food is also being moved as quickly as winter tight places to store it can be found. The hunters are working extra hard bringing in meat to be dried before the herds migrate away for the winter. Grains, roots, and some vegetables are being placed in hastily dug root cellars. There looks to be enough for all, baring excessive spoilage. I did take time to read through Mul''s entries into the Records. Her entries are a tad bit more formal then is the norm, but she does make sure that a reader always knows who is being written about. I wish I could have seen the sky lights she wrote of. Perhaps they will appear again?
Aris Cretu''s journal Seventh of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Finally, I have time to write in my journal again. Chronicler Vian, Old Leon, and Shaman Koroc have been keeping me busy, helping with this, carrying that, and in every scrap of spare time writing and writing and writing to improve my penmanship. I do admit that I can tell the difference between this entry and my previous one, so all of the cramps and mindless copying have been of use. I guess. If one looks at it in the right light. With a lazy eye. No use crying over the past however. I am eager to read Shaman Koroc''s translations of Innoch''s Logs. He keeps muttering about them not making any sense, as if they read like a song. Perhaps they match up to the songs that Lady SiDabolo taught me to sing? I know the words, but have never seen them written... That would be a stretch too far however. Shaman Initiate Mul is well named. She is Feisty indeed, and fiery-haired to boot. She does spend quite a bit of time staring at the sky. I wonder what she sees out there. Perhaps she does just like staring at the stars? I guess the only way to find out is to ask her, and hope she doesn''t throw a shoe at my head again. I really need to learn orcish, instead of relying on common and hoping she understands. I hope Tam is doing ok. I haven''t seen much of her since being sent up here with Shaman Koroc. Sgt. Gork too, of course. I can only hope that Fort Westmarch can hold out when Sapphire shows up in seven weeks. If they can hold out until the snow starts falling, then we win. Sapphire will be forced to retreat without food or proper shelter. They might decide to just burn everything when they leave, which would be bad, I guess. Ah well, no use wondering over the future when the present is so complicated. Addendum: I was able to sneak a peek at Shaman Koroc''s translation efforts. I do recognize some of the lyrics! I knew Lady SiDabolo was teaching me to sing in the Old Tongue, or Primordial as she insisted on calling it, but I never thought that I would get to learn how to read it! I''ll have to bring it up with Koroc in the morning. Chapter 10 Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Seventh of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Sixty percent of the Army has assembled, with more formations reporting as in transit. The Logistics Corps are out in force, arranging the camp and drill grounds. Wagons are moving everywhere, and I have reports of at least six incidents of quartermasters fighting over organizational matters. I will need to sit down with all three Logistics Commanders and get standards set up and agreed upon. I wish I could delegate that task to one of my minions staff officers, but they are either too incompetent, or not of sufficiently noble birth and stature to command authority outside of the Sapphire command structure. The siege engineers are also setting up their own encampment well away from the main encampment. The Logistics Corps started to complain, until one of the Gunners pointed out that storing gunpowder anywhere near the cooking fires, or any source of open flame in general, was a really bad idea. I didn¡¯t know that we would be burdened with siege cannons, but Ruby sent a trio of them along. Sapphire and Opal brought along the lumber for far safer and more practicable catapults. I can¡¯t complain overmuch however, given that the sheer sound of a ten-inch siege cannon firing is fit to send lesser men running. And the Ruby Gunners actually know what they are doing, and are taking all of the needed safety precautions, which should keep collateral damage to a minimum. The first reports are starting to creep in from my scouts. Ironbark¡¯s banner still flies over the Westmarch border fort, so they still hold the orc Clans at bay. This is good, for it means that they will still be taking attrition losses while I assemble the remainder of the Army and get everyone organized to march in the same direction on the same day. I do have to give some credit to Ironbark for continuing to hold despite reported losses of over thirty percent before all communications were cut off. Then again, they have nowhere to run to when it all falls apart on them, so perhaps I am giving them too much credit. One thing that I have learned thus far is that armies do not march over land. They march over paperwork. Endless crates of forms, pallets of reports, and cartloads of ink stained bureaucrats infest the camp. I have half a mind to throw them all out, but the efficiencies that they produce are too valuable to be so casually dispose of. Fortunately I have little minions junior staff officers, useless twigs from aristocratic trees really, to delegate the most onerous paperwork to. And thank the gods for it, for I think I¡¯d go mad, or at least fail to accomplish anything if I had to fill out all of it myself.
Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty¡¯s Journal Eighth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. These Records are Personal in nature, and separate from the Shaman¡¯s Records. A place to put personal thoughts and fears down, but not make them part of the official Record. A journal, as Aris calls it. And there are indeed things that I wish to put down that should never be part of the official Shaman¡¯s Records. I write them here in an effort to understand them, to put them down in the physical world where I will not forget or misremember them. I heard Aris practicing a song the other night as I was staring at the Shroud Across the Stars. It was old, wild, free. There were no words that I could hear, but I felt it. And more unusual, the Shroud Across the Stars twitched several times while Aris was singing. Almost like a puppy cocking an ear to listen to wolf song on the wind. Since then, nothing has seemed quite real to me. War blades and clubs look hazy, shrouded in pre-dawn mist. Their handles feel like wool or rope, not leather and wood. My robes feel cold and rough, as if they were made of uncured hide instead of woven cloth. The runes that I am carving to make my divining set swim in my vision, as if they are fish in a fast flowing stream. No one else seems to notice this. No one else can see the Shroud Across the Stars. No one else can hear the silence in the night, taste the blood on the wind. I am not sure If I am going mad, or if I am being driven to be so. It all began with Aris singing that song in the silence of the night. I must ask him where he learned it. I must Know it. The Shroud is calling out for anyone who can hear it, and I am the only one who has felt its call. I do not know how I know this, but I am certain of it.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Aris Cretu¡¯s Journal Eighth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. I have managed to get Shaman Koroc to begin to teach me Orcish. Initiate Mul is helping as well, and I have managed to not have another shoe thrown at me in the process, so everything seems to be going well for once. In turn, I have been helping Mul with her Common, but she is far better at that then I am with Orcish. There is still the matter of learning to read and write the Old Tongue from Innoch¡¯s Logs and Shaman Koroc¡¯s translations of them. He treats the whole process like some ritual, which I guess it might be for him. I can only hope that he will allow me to learn from his work. I did make a practice pass at singing one of the songs that Lady SiDabolo taught me. It went well. Very well, actually. The empty mountains have great resonance. Or it might be that I¡¯m used to the echoless sound of singing over the open sea. Out there, sound carries forever with nothing to bounce off of. Up here in the Glacierheart Mountains, there are plenty of things to create echoes. But the trees also eat up sounds in their evergreen needles, and there is always a background murmur of conversation from the camps. Well, almost always. I followed Mul out near her stargazing hill, and that one dead-end valley is strangely quiet. It is as if the silence surrounds you and swallows you up. That place feels like one of the places of power the old songs speak of. It has that strange silence and stillness, the isolation from the rest of the world. It is untouched by any construction, unmarred by thinking peoples of any race. The very ground and air feel like they are ever so slightly shaking with invisible power. I suspect a spell caster or druid would be able to tell me more, but there are none about. Or if they are, then they do not know their own power. I¡¯ll ask Mul if I can follow her out to her stargazing place again tonight. It is a good place to practice.
Shaman¡¯s Records Eighth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Something new is in the air today. I am not sure what it is, but I could feel it change late last night. It is as if something is calling out to me. I will set aside my translation work for the day and go find Mul the Feisty¡¯s star watching hill again. Addendum: The hill has changed as well. There is a resonance in the air here, and the feeling that someone or something is watching, waiting. For someone or something, I do not know. Aris has been showing interest in the translation work. Perhaps I will show him to satiate his curiosity. And to take my mind off this place.
Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log Eighth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. The Westmarch Valley fort is almost ready for the coming war. Most of the civilians have been moved back into the mountains. The food has been stripped down to send everything we can spare with them. The Orc warriors are taking well to the drills we have instituted. They are eager for this coming fight, but they are more eager to learn about how the Pikes, as they call us, fight. Warlord Elder Otab the Old in particular has come up with a few new wrinkles. In particular, his insistence on scouts and skirmishers being able to use more of their own initiative within guiding orders. Warlady Elder Vuggie the Vivid showed us what that meant during the fighting up on the goat trails, so the Captain has authorized out scout leaders to start working on similar approaches. It will take some time and training, and in particular some personnel changes, before out skirmishers are comfortable working in such a structure and our line unit commanders are used to their doing so. Ironbark and Glacierheart are starting to evaluate ways to slow down the approach of Sapphires army. We have a combat force numbering almost two thousand five hundred, but almost five hundred of those are scouts and skirmishers. We will have plenty of intelligence gathering opportunities, but two to five odds in pikes is starting to be a little steep for anyone¡¯s liking. The good thing is that despite occasional clashes with mounted scouts, it appears that Sapphire¡¯s army is still assembling. We will have plenty of time to harass them as they move up the valley. And we could get even more time to grind their forces down in skirmishes and ambushes if we yield the fort. That is a strategy that is being discussed. It would mean giving ground, which some of the officers are not happy about. But it would also mean drawing our enemy into a trap. Give them the fort and the farms around it, stripped of all food, and then use it as an anchor tied to their necks. Once the snow starts to fly they will be forced to either retreat or fight. One part of me, the honorable and decent part, hopes they turn tail and run. The other part of me wants them to stay and fight, to bleed all of their strength into the snow, and leave the Jeweled Cities (and Sapphire in particular) crippled and weakened. If we are to have a chance of winning, then this must not be a short war. We may not have the numbers to make it so, but we have the terrain, the cunning, and the planning to achieve just that. Chapter 11 Shaman''s Records Tenth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Gods above and ancestors below, I have heard the Old Tongue spoken once more. More than simply spoken, I have heard it sung, and it is a sound to move the spirit. I should start back at the beginning. As I wrote on the eighth of October, I was disquieted by the changes to the hill where Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty stares at the stars. I decided to show her and Aris Cretu my translation work on the Records of Innoch as a means to satiate their curiosity and distract myself. Shaman Initiate Mul was utterly fascinated, while Aris Cretu recognized the lyrics. More than that, he knew the songs. That a clan-song from at least seven hundred and seventy years ago was still sung aloud in its original form and tongue was astounding to me. We Shamans still sing some of the old Clan-songs, the ones that speak of battles of legend and warriors of myth, but none are more than four or five hundred years old, and they are all from events or orc that were so much larger than life as to spread beyond clan boundaries. I had to ask where Aris Cretu learned the song and how to sing it, and his answer shook me. "From Lady SiDabolo, when I worked aboard her fishing boat." The SiDabolos still live, and Aris Cretu has no fear of them. Almost certainly because he has no Idea of who they are. Of the old Clan-songs, the darkest ones, the ones we sing to keep the danger close, speak of the SiDabolos, of the Sadist, the High Lord of the Shadows, and of the Priest of the Hourglass. We sing them only in the softest of voices on the darkest of nights, that our voices will not call their attention to us from beyond the grave. Should I survive this war, I will make a pilgrimage to see this Lady SiDabolo to learn to speak the Old Tongue more fully. My knees shake and my mouth goes dry at the very thought, but duty calls and I must answer. Shaman Initiate Mul was far more interested in the other sections in the Old Tongue, the ones that looked like ritual. She stared at them for the longest time, as if listening to a voice no other could hear, and then began to babble incoherently. She is sleeping now, but I have decided against translating those sections of the Records of Innoch. Something is wrong about those sections. Wrong isn''t quite the word. Reading them gives the sense of smallness, of just how vast the world and the planes are, of the infinite void of colors that envelops the entirety of them and stretches out further than any orc could travel in a thousand times a thousand lifetimes. Perhaps something of that sense has broken a piece of Mul''s mind away. When she wakes, I will find out. In the meantime, Aris Cretu and I will search through the usable portions of the Records of Innoch, searching for Clan-songs related to Clan Ironbark. They may not be exactly what we need, but perhaps there is something that can be adapted to rally Clans Ironbark, Glacierheart, and Westmarch on the eve of this war.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Tenth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I think I broke Shaman Initiate Mul. Shaman Koroc the Singer was dumbfounded when he learned that I knew how to speak and sing in the Old Tongue, but Mul got this other look on her face. It looked like she could hear something that we couldn''t, and it was bothering her. Shortly afterwards, when we were working through one of the stranger sections of the Logs of Innoch, she started rambling in the Old Tongue. I could make out about two words in three, and I still have no idea what she was talking about. Something about a Broken Veil, a Sundered Shroud, and a full moon on an empty night? The capitalizations are intentional, for anyone who may someday read this: Mul was using words with formal ending, like ranks or titles, So I have written them down as such. Something strange is definitely going on in her mind.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. She is asleep now, but I can still see her lips moving in her sleep. I just hope that she wakes up sane again.
Shaman''s Records Twelfth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Shaman Initiate Mul finally woke up today. Much of her old spirit has left her, along with the muscle and fat that has fallen off her frame. She looks like a sketch of her old self, and she still has a haunted look to her eyes. She has yet to speak more than six words, and those were only to ask for water, food, and her journal. I fear that wherever her spirit went, not all of it came back. Or perhaps worse, it returned to her flesh changed, shaped by whatever she saw in her dreams. Aris Cretu is almost pathetically relieved that Mul woke up at all. He blames himself for ''breaking'' her, but it is not his fault. We Shamans are more in tune with the world then others, and so are exposed to more of the things that can alter it. Magic is one of those things, and the Old Tongue is often called the language of magic in the old Clan-songs and Records. Mul should be fine, and make a full recovery with some help and support, but perhaps her name will change. She was called the Feisty for her fiery temperament and love of life. All of that has vanished, buried alive by an unspoken dream. The Record of Innoch lie all but forgotten. Aris still reads through them, learning how to write in the Old Tongue. But I will not touch them again. Perhaps some things are meant to be forgotten. Perhaps there are some things that we mortals are better off not knowing.
Shaman Initiate Mul the Silent''s Journal Nineteenth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Tonight is the night. The full moon will shine through the Shroud Across the Stars, Illuminating the fragments of my mind. And in the scattered reflections, truth will be revealed onto me. It is not a Truth that Mortals are meant to know. It is a Truth from Beyond the Shroud, from beyond this existence we call reality. Aris Cretu, bless his innocent Fighter''s soul, still blames himself for my madness. In truth, I was always slightly mad. When I read the Record of Innoch in the original Old Tongue, the cracks grew onto fissures. While I slept and Dreamed the Impossible Dreams, the Fissures ruptured all into rubble, spilling down and casting tidal waves across the still pool of my insanity. I opened the gates to the Twisted Kingdom and walk willingly into its enthorned embrace. By the time the sun rises, I will have re-built the Illusion of sanity by going onto the farthest reaches of the Twisted Kingdom, my path illuminated from beyond the Shroud by the light of the moon. I will open those furthest gates and stride out onto reality, bearing my poisoned gift of Truth within my mind.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Twentieth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Something changed last night. My minions staff officers are reporting that morale has fallen. The pack animals are skittish without reason. The Soldiers are reporting spoiled rations and water that tastes of Sulphur. The Gunners are reporting excessive rust, and the other siege engineers are reporting timbers that have rotted overnight. It will take even more time to bring the Army up to strength after these setbacks. We will not be dissuaded. Morale will be rebuilt. The pack animals will settle or be replaced. New rations and fresh drink will be brought forward. Rust will be scoured away and new lumber cut. The weakest men will have deserted, fleeing right into the waiting arms of the discipline masters. We have been forced to give the Westmarchers more time to dig in, but this works in our favor as well. They will still have to deal with orc raiders, with the knowing fear that our righteous fury is coming to crush them back into the mud like the helots they are. We can make good our losses, they cannot. Winter moves ever closer, but that will play no favorites. I intend to be barracked down in Fort Westmarch with plenty of time to throw up whatever additional housing my soldiers need. Come the spring, we will resume our march into the Glacierhearts. We will slaughter the orc clans, claim their mountain homes for our own, and make way for the miners to claw their wealth from the stone. Yet for all of my fiery proclamations in public, there are new shadows at the corners of my vision. Something fundamental has shifted out in Westmarch or the Glacierhearts beyond. In my dreams, everything is ever so slightly tainted by the color of madness. Chapter 12 Chronicler Vian''s Log Twentieth of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Something Fey or Fell passed by in the night. Most of the Soldiers and Warriors here in the Westmarch valley Fort felt it, but none can vouch for what it was. There are a few reports of spooked animals and spoiled food, but not much more than I''d expect. Still, I''m sending Old Leon up into Clan Glacierheart''s territory with the other non-combatants. I''d feel better with him up there, away from what promises to be a long grinding fight. Warlord Elder Otab The Old is conducting a full inventory of our remaining supplies, while Warlady Elder Vuggie The Vivvid is leading the scouting and harassing effort. So far, she and her scouts have reported the banners of Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal mustering at the far end of the valley. The headcount is at four thousand, plus camp followers and support corps, with more formations reporting in on an almost daily basis. If Sapphire has sent everything, and convinced Ruby and Opal to do the same, then the Army of the Jeweled Cities will number a little over six and a half thousand men by the time the come north. The good thing (from Ironbark''s perspective) about that army is its composition. It has next to no skirmish troops, and even fewer scouts. Whomever commands that Army intends to march down the valley and force us to come to him, or simply besiege the fort. But without scouts to cover his flanks, he will be marching blind. Between Westmarch, Ironbark, and Glacierheart, we can muster only two and a half thousand, of which five hundred are only scouts. On the wrong end of (just over) three to one odds, any hope of holding Fort Westmarch or any of the outposts just went up in smoke. And that doesn''t even consider the Siege Cops attached to the Army of the Jeweled Cities. With what appears to be a dozen catapults rigged to fling fire and three massive siege cannons, they could simply burn or smash any fortification we could put in their way. Accordingly, the Captain is already working with the Elders to split our formation up into smaller, more flexible raiding- and warbands. None of them will stand a chance in an open field engagement, but none of them will be built around doing so. Admittedly, this plays far more to the strengths of Clan Glacierheart then it does to the strengths of the Westmarchers or we of Ironbark, but that is not a bad thing. Between the three groups, we must have a hundred years or more of combined knowledge on raiding from the eyes of both the raider and the raided. We will know how to make our raids hurt, how to make each of them leave wounds that will bleed the Army of the Jeweled Cities dry. The key question now is timing. This war cannot be a mere victory for Westmarch and Glacierheart. It needs to be a crushing defeat for the Jeweled Cities. One that leaves them in no position, and more importantly with no desire, to try and re-invade at a later date. We could unleash our raiders in the next week, and cripple the Army of the Jeweled Cities efforts to organize and mobilize, but that would only force them away, make them concentrate into larger, more dangerous, forces. It would force them to reconsider their current tactics, and they might actually come up with something effective. Thus, The Captain and the Elders are in agreement. We will not strike until the Army of the Jeweled Cities is fully committed to coming north into Westmarch. We will give up the southern outposts without even a fight, and the fort will be left unguarded and with signs of a hasty flight. We will have to leave some supplies behind to sell the illusion, but we will leave the ones closest to spoiling. Or perhaps even befoul what is left behind ourselves. Once the Army of the Jeweled Cities holds the fort, then and only then will our raiders and warbands come down out of the mountains and goat trails to sever their supply train and savage the rear of their encampment. We will hand the Army of the Jeweled Cities an empty treasure chest, then slam the lid down upon their hands.
Shaman Initiate Mul the Silent''s journal Twenty third of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War My valley is forever changed, and I have changed with it. The once serene hill is now marred by the stench of ozone, the after-smell of lightning strikes, and black pock-marks the size of a clenched fist. My frame was wasted away to almost nothing and has now grown back lean muscle. Gone is the fat imposed by a life of seclusion and study. Gone also is the fiery orange from my hair. It had bled to the black of a starless sky, save for a single lock the color of dried blood. My eyes have gone from the color of shale to the color of obsidian mahogany, my red-brown irises slashed by black specks and pierced by my pupils.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I have spent the last three days wandering in my valley, becoming accustomed to the feel of the powers that now flows in my veins and echoes in my mind. So far, I have been able to set illusory copies of myself to appear in my immediate vicinity, call forth and hurl a bolt of pure force of will fit to crack stone, and most impressively, call forth my battleax. And it is mine alone, of that I am certain, for I hold it in my mind when it is not needed, and can call it to my hands with a thought. Its handle is of leather-wrapped bone, its smile is of blackened iron, and the sightless Eyes of my Patron from Beyond the Shroud stare through the gaps in the leather wrapped about the grip. It is time that I returned to Clan Glacierheart and faced Shaman Koroc the Singer. I know not whether he will bestow the title of Shaman upon me or not, but this winter and its war will be my last with Clan Glacierheart. I can but hope it is not also my last winter as one of Clan Glacierheart.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Twenty seventh of October, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty is now officially Shaman Mul the Silent. It is a bit disconcerting to talk with her, for her mouth never speaks, but you hear her voice clearly. It seems to disturb the other orcs more than we humans, though I am not quite sure why. In either case, Old Leon has come to replace me in working with Shaman Koroc the Singer, and I am returning to the war. A few other orcs are also coming forward, now that their training is done, or as done as it can get before beginning proper drill alongside Ironbark. Mul is also coming with us, though she is a shaman, not a warrior or soldier. When I asked her about this, she simply shrugged and pointed out that Shamans are as much battlefield healers as they are lore-keepers, and that could look after herself. Given the skill with which she swings her battleax in practice, I know that I would not care to challenge her in battle. The word is that this is to be a war or strike and fade, of raids and ambushes. If the fighting up in the goat trains or raiding the Clan Glacierheart outpost taught me anything, it is that the side with the better scouts will win such a war. If we know where our enemy is, and he knows where we are, then it is a fair fight. And fair fights a) are for suckers, and b) favor the side with more resources to expend. Given that rumor placed the Army of the Jeweled Cities at three times our number, we cannot afford fair fights. If neither side knows where the other is, then it comes down to chance and who can afford to wager (and loose) more. As above, the Army of the Jeweled Cities can simply afford to lose more men and supplies then we can. But if we know where they are, and they do not know where we are, then we can hit them when, where, and how we choose. I admit, I am not looking forward to fighting and killing again. My stomach is still upset by the smell of freshly slain people, and I have little desire to kill even more people for little reason. That being said, this war is shaping up to be a bloody one. Sapphire can ill afford to lose its claim on Westmarch now that it has pulled Ruby and Opal into the war. The cost in prestige and influence alone would be crippling, and that doesn''t even begin to account for how much coin they are pouring into their efforts. If they are unable to recover those expenditures somehow, then Sapphire, at the very least, will collapse as a great power in the region. Ruby and Opal could well follow, leaving Ebony and Emerald to step into the gap. The Westmarchers are equally determined to not be ruled by a foreign power any more, nor have their exports be monopolized and their income hemorrhaged away by tariffs. They will fight to the bitter end towards that goal, doubly so with Ironbark and Clan Glacierheart at their back. Clan Glacierheart is fighting to recover their land and their honor, and are even less likely to back down now that they know the Pikes can be bled and beaten in war. And the Ironbark Mercenary Company? We''ve been backstabbed before, any reading of the Logs will show that, and patrons have broken contracts before. But not one of them have deliberately set out to get Ironbark massacred, to end a nine-hundred-year tradition of victory (or survival at the least). We new bloods are angered at the betrayal, infuriated that our former country set out to trade our lives away just to see the color of our blood. The veterans like Old Leon and Chronicler Vian are even more vengeful. They remember the traditions of old, recall honorable Patrons past, and have found causes worth fighting for in this war. For friends, for Ironbark, for bloody vengeance, it matters not in the end. All of us in this war have our reasons to kill and die. I can but hope to still be here when the snow melts in the spring. Chapter 13 Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal First of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. All of the men have reported in, and the pre-march drills are nearing completion. We head north into Westmarch inside of the week. With such a preponderance of martial glory, we will sweep aside all who would stand before us! But I am growing ever more concerned by the lack of proper scouts and skirmishers. As the prospect of combat grows ever nearer, I have sat down again and again with my minions staff officers and sought to forge battle plans. Time after time, we have been forced to rely upon what we knew when we set out on this campaign. Again and Again, we have come to the same conclusions, forged the same plans anew. The Westmarch garrison were but militia spear carriers, but a Mercenary company like Ironbark doesn¡¯t survive for long without at least some intelligence. And despite all of their reported losses, they still have enough forces to be a nuisance. And there have been no more words on orcish raiders or warriors. Are the Glacierheart Clans going to sit this little revolt out, let we of the Jeweled Cities bleed ourselves crushing Ironbark and suppressing the Westmarchers before making a play of their own? This would be good for me, in that I could defeat my foes in detail one at a time. But also bad, for it would give the Glacierheart Clans time to gather their own strength, and drag out my march into the mountains far longer than I would like. However, I cannot help but wonder if the Westmarches and orc Clans shared hatred of the Jeweled Cities will overcome their mutual distrust. If it does, and if the Army of the Jeweled Cities has no warning of their alliance, then we will be shoving our collective organs into a nest of irate hornets. I do not doubt that we would prevail in the end, but the cost is likely to be much higher and more painful in the doing. The Serene Dominas of Sapphire have put their combined wealth and prestige behind this war, and have convinced the Dominas of Ruby and Opal to do the same. We of the Army of the Jeweled Cities cannot afford to come home with anything less than victory. I cannot afford to come home with anything less than victory. So why, in the darkest parts of the night, do I wonder if this is all a horrible mistake?
Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log Fifth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. The Army of the Jeweled Cities is moving much sooner than we anticipated, but not so soon as to catch us unprepared. The southern outposts are already stripped bare and abandoned. Several of the carpenters took time to weaken some of the beams and trusses before they left, which will prove an unwelcome surprise when the snow begins to fall in earnest. Fort Westmarch itself is being stripped of everything we can take with us in the next two days, which is why I write this entry in haste. The Ur-handers of Ironbark are already moving up into the goat trails, following the scouts and hunters of Wralady Elder Vuggie the Vivid. The Westmarch Garrison and the pikemen of Ironbark have fallen back to the northern outposts, the ones Clan Glacierheart fortified and developed, to help strip them bare as well. As for the translation efforts of Shaman Koroc the Singer, they have proven more successful than I could ever hope. I am eager to learn what Chronicler Innoch wrote so long ago. Shaman Koroc has put forth a warning that there are sections that he will not translate, as attempting to do so nearly cost him a Shaman Initiate. The orc in question is now a full Shaman, but is markedly changed by the experience. I saw Shaman Mul in passing, as she followed our ur-handers up into the goat trails. She does look decidedly odd, and her battleax is a unique blade indeed. I would dearly love to record her tale, should she ever decide to share it.
Aris Cretu¡¯s JournalThe narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Seventh of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Back up in the goat trails, and back with Sgt. Gork and the rest of my squad, my brothers in battle. Tam had made peace with the scar across her face and the attention some of the other men give her now that she has proved herself in battle. It is a hard thing, to grow up so fast, but she seems to be managing it well. Shaman Mul the Silent seems to have attached herself to Sgt. Gork¡¯s squad. The Sargent seems to appreciate her presence, even at the cost of accepting her oddities. Having a healer along certainly couldn¡¯t hurt! Our orders are to wait three days before making any attack against the Army of the Jeweled Cities. After that, it is just Sgt. Gork¡¯s squad and a small band of Warlady Elder Vuggie the Vivid¡¯s scouts out on our own. The Ironbark Pikemen, Westmarch Spearmen, and Glacierheart Warbands are busy stripping the outposts (and the land) bare before the advance of our foe, so they will be delayed in joining our efforts. I am slightly worried about Stg. Gork¡¯s plan. We will be far beyond any support for quite some time, but we should also be hitting unescorted supply wagons first. We should be able to gather the food we need form our raids, but it is a risky strategy. High risk, higher reward. With any luck, we should be able to do some real damage before the rest of our friends get forward to join us. The scouts are starting to beat the drums, signaling our march to battle, to war. Shaman Mul is beckoning me, inviting me to join her in singing one of the old clan-songs. "Six winds blow as one / they will turn the tide. / We are marching on¡­" [1]
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Ninth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. We have taken Fort Westmarch without a fight, along with the three outposts standing guard over the farms to the south of it. But I have a sickening feeling that my fears are real, and that I have placed the neck of the Army of the Jeweled Cities into a noose from which there is no easy escape. The first warning was the absence of worthwhile food store in Fort Westmarch. The harvest was obviously complete, and none of it has come south into Sapphire, so the stores here should be full. They are not, thus someone must have emptied them before we arrived. The second clue was the drill field. It was packed down to bare earth and as hard as flagstones, indicating a ferocious amount of feet had stamped across its length and breadth in recent days. More than the Westmarch Militia and the Ironbark company combined. But the final clue, the one that confirmed my fears, was a note left pinned to the desk in the commander¡¯s quarters. A drawing of three flags, the Westmarch crossed scythe and pike, the Ironbark tree, and an orcish glyph translating as ¡®cold / frozen mountain.¡¯ The words ¡°We are coming, and hell comes with us.¡± Three daggers, one for each flag, pinned the note in place. One was of local make, one of good steel from beyond the Jeweled Cities, and one was simple stone with a bone hilt. Our foes have indeed united against us, and endeavor to make sure that none of us leave this valley alive. I have already issued new orders. We cannot assume that our flanks are secured by the mountains and foothills along the sides of the valley, nor that our rear will go unthreatened. Accordingly, all of our supply wagons are to travel in escorted groups. Sentries will be posted to watch all sides, all angles of approach. And the logistics and siege Corps are to be tasked with putting up enough shelter to barracks the entire Army of the Jeweled Cities for the winter here at the fort. I intend to make Fort Westmarch into a fortified supply base from which to strike into the Glacierheart mountains. It is clear that our foes have withdrawn their supplies and the bulk of their troop up into those peaks, so we must root them out. Winter will prevent the movement of large volumes of supplies and men, and also any large operations, so we must pass through the winter first. I also intend to write back to Sapphire reporting my success so far, and asking for more scouts and skirmishers. The goat trails that must wind though the sides of the valley will need cleared, or at least contested strongly, and formed pike men are not the right troops for the terrain. I will ask the drill masters if they can adapt any of the drills to focus on small-unit tactics and cramped terrain fighting. Perhaps the street fighting drills may prove useful? The goat trails must be narrower and more twisted than even the oldest sections of Sapphire, Ruby, or Opal, but we will have to begin somewhere. Though I will admit it to no man alive, and certainly not to my minions staff officers or men, I can but hope that we are not bleeding too badly by the time we learn from my blunders thus far. Chapter 14 Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Tenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. On this day, as I stood deep in the wreckage of a Jeweled Cities wagon train, I have learned two things. Why Orcs fight, and why humans fight. We orcs fight because the fire races in our blood and beats in our hearts. We taste the stink of battle and some part of us exults in it. We savor the killing for the sake of the killing. Not even my training as a shaman, with all of the instruction on how to preserve and protect life, nor the gift of knowledge from my Patron from Beyond the Shroud, in all of its horrific glory, can change this. I licked blood from my teeth, mine or my foes I couldn¡¯t say, and howled my glorious victory to the heavens above. I saw Aris heave his meager breakfast onto the bloody ground. I saw Tam shaking like a leaf in the wind. I saw men pray, weep, and stare at nothing. I saw others walk away from the killing ground, holding companions on their shoulders, only to crumple like a burning page as soon as they reached camp. They do not enjoy the killing as we orcs do. They have no desire to dance upon the graves of their foes, or heft the horns of ale to the sky at the victory feast. So why do these humans fight? They fight for more than just themselves. They fight so others need not risk the clash in the bleeding places. More than just that, they kill so that others do not have to. They take these scars onto their minds and souls, the sights that can not be unseen, the nightmares that will haunt them forever, all so that those the love and honor can live and grow untainted. I stare at my battleax and wonder if it is a reflection of me, or if I am a reflection of it.
Aris Cretu¡¯s journal Tenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Nineteen of us went out, nineteen of us came back. Not all of us were unhurt, but thanks to Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s efforts, none of us died. Sgt. Gork has another new scar, but Tam is fine. We captured a half dozen crates of food, which will keep us fed for the next week or so. I still can¡¯t keep any food down after a fight. I¡¯m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one. We all have some sort of post-combat shakes or rituals. I cannot help but think of some of the older songs, of their laments of war. If Koroc is right, and they were writ around the same time as the Seminal War, then I can see where their sorrow comes from. I have fished off of Armageddon Reef, and it is one of the most haunted places I have ever seen. I have spent only a single day and night ashore there, riding out a storm. Just past the dunes, I could feel the ghosts of the dead staring at me. Staring out from the sea-side cave where the boat¡¯s crew was sleeping, I could see the massive craters of the God¡¯s Footsteps where they marched back and forth across the ruins of a long-dead city. I will never forget the song Lady SiDabolo taught me that night, as we stared out across the place where millions of souls perished. If there¡¯d be any glory in war / Let it rest on men like him / Dead men who never came back. [2]
Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log Twelfth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. The first reports are starting to filter in from our Ur-handers and Warlady Elder Vuggie¡¯s scouts. They are an almost uninterrupted string of successes marred by two separate flaws. One is the handful of warbands that got too aggressive or stayed in contact with the foe for too long. Ironbark Company lost another sixty men when Sgt. Urlan¡¯s squad got bogged down raiding an enemy encampment. Sgt. Nibar''s and Sgt. Ardennais'' squads were drawn into the growing melee, along with their attached scouts. They managed to fight their way clear and broke contact cleanly, but left quite a few men dead in the snow. The other flaw are the squads that haven¡¯t reported in. Some of them, like Sgt. Gork¡¯s squad, had indicated that they were moving south, and so are probably out of easy contact range. Other squads were probably wiped out entirely however.Stolen novel; please report. I can only expect our casualties to climb as the Armies of the Jeweled Cities become better organized around dealing with this new (for them) form of war. And when they do start to climb, then we will have to adapt again. This war will not end quickly, which is exactly what we wanted. It also means that we will leave many of our number behind, buried in the ground here. We are committed now, and there can be no turning back.
Aris Cretu¡¯s Journal Fifteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Sgt. Gork has had all of us learning to use some form of ranged weapon for upcoming raids. He claims that we got lucky when we hit an undefended section of the Jeweled Cities¡¯ supply train, and that we need to be able to pick off sentries before we hit the next one. I¡¯ve been learning how to use a light crossbow that we captured in the last raid, and I¡¯m decent with it. I don¡¯t think I could simply pick off a sentry though. It feels too much like murdering a man in cold blood. Then again, this is war, and fair fights are for suckers when lives are on the line. Shaman Mul the Silent has been moping since the last battle. It¡¯s almost as if she found out something about herself that she doesn¡¯t like. Tam has tried to cheer her up, but hasn¡¯t had any success. Sgt. Gork is worried what she will flake out the next time we go raiding, but I don¡¯t think so. He wasn¡¯t there when the Fiesty went off the deep end and became the Silent. She¡¯ll pull through this, but I¡¯d better offer my shoulder for her to cry on, just in case.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Fifteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Aris has offered his shoulder if I need one to cry on, and an ear if I need to talk. Bit ironic, the last one, as I haven¡¯t said a single word aloud in almost a month. But I could read the sentiment in his mind, know the concern he feels for me. How can he know that every time I fight, I have to either lose myself in the roaring song of the blood-lust or listen to the dying thoughts of each and every one of my victims as I cut them down? Even now, the camp is awash in voices, thoughts, and emotions that only I can hear. Tam and Gork offered the same thing, but I turned them both down. Gork only wanted me fit to fight, or at least able to survive walking on a battlefield so that I could tend the other wounded men and orcs. A laudable intention, but one that would cloud his perceptions. He wouldn¡¯t understand why I am the way I am, or at best would understand¡­ and bury it under the need of the rest of our little warband. Tam was full of awe, spiced with touches of hero worship and perhaps lust. I don¡¯t want to break her Illusions, nor indulge her fantasies. I think I will take Aris up on his offer. He was the only one whose concern was genuine, and who may be willing to understand. The sun is well set now, and the moon is high in the sky. It was Aris¡¯ songs, the Old Tongue cast aloud to the wind, that first set loose the power that lies within me. And it is he that put it best when I explained to him about how I have been speaking without saying a word, and what it means to me. He said that I have an extra set of ears and lips, and it¡¯s just a matter of learning how to use them. And he was correct, far more than he could ever know. I have experimented aiming my mental ¡®ears¡¯, and found a peaceful balance between the cacophony of ¡®listening¡¯ to everything and everyone and the deafening ¡®silence¡¯ of aiming them at nothing at all. My mental ¡®mouth¡¯ is much the same, and I am learning how to aim it. In time, I will know how to speak to more than just one person or everyone within ¡®earshot¡¯ of me. I have so much to thank and curse Aris for. He set in motion the sounds and actions that made me what I am today, the Blessed and the Cursed and the Bound. But I now know that there is so much more out there to learn. I may no longer be safely ignorant, and that fact in the end may indeed consume me. But nothing is boring any more in these interesting times. And if I no longer fit here in Westmarch or Glacierheart, then the whole world lies before me. A glorious blue-green jewel in the vast void for me to explore for the remainder of my days. Chapter 15 Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log Fifteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Old Leon, Remembering I remember when I first joined Ironbark. I was full of piss and vinegar, propped up by my bravado. I thought I was immortal, that nothing could kill me. Two weeks of training knocked that notion upside the head. But it was six long years of marching about to look impressive, garrisoning this town or crushing that rebellion for the lesson to really sink in. I had seen men die in those six years of course. Some of them were friends of mine, and I still hoist a glass in their honor every wintertide. Bergen, who was always so quick with a joke. Yigvar, the half-elven bastard who reveled in the mud he dragged his father¡¯s name through. Croaker, the best healer I¡¯ve ever known. I could go on, and on, and on, but I could fill the remainder of this Log and not name them all. I weep some nights for the men who joined Ironbark just before this war broke out. They do not get to learn in skirmishes and brawls, bit by bit as the years wear by. They will have to learn in the fires of battle and in the crucible of war. It will scar them as I never was, and I mourn their innocence lost. But they have also brought a blazing fire to the beating heart of Ironbark. We had grown old and cynical in our advancing years. Hardened veterans of a dozen campaigns, we had seen everything the world could throw at us and vanquished it all. We would have simply marched away into the wilds when Sapphire stabbed us in the back, never to return. The new bloods did not just sigh and begin packing. They got to sharpening the smiles of their pikes. They glanced at the cynical calculations of cost and benefit, laughed in the face of simple survival. They saw a cause worth fighting for, the freedom of Westmarch and Glacierheart from the grasp of the greedy Serene Dominas of Sapphire, and were willing to slap us veterans in the face with it. ¡®Are you so willing to save your own skin that you are willing to do this thing?¡¯ they asked us. ¡®Are you able to look yourself in the mirror, knowing you left women and children to be ground between the gears of empires? Because we are not. We will stand and fight, whether you stand with us or not.¡¯ And they were right. The debate was fierce at first, but blew out inside of a day. We veterans looked into the mirror, or the bottom of our mugs, or the depths of our scarred souls, and found the embers there. Ironbark had been too long without a cause worth fighting for. I had been too long without a cause worth fighting for. Win or lose, this war is exactly what Ironbark needed. Even split into roving bands, our collective spirit burns bright once more. We are not fighting for pay this time. We are fighting because our honor demands it of us. Because our loyalty to our Company is stronger than our loyalty to a sundered contract. Because our Duty in these days is to protect the commoner from the tyrant. Honor. Duty. Loyalty. The rust has been scoured away. The pikes gleam in the breaking dawn. Ironbark is awake, and she is angry.
Shaman¡¯s Records Fifteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart recording The humans who have moved into our mountain homes have brought many ideas with them, even some notions worth listening to and thinking on. I look to our old huts and longhouses, and see their walls made tight against the wind, their rooves thatched anew against the impending snow. Firewood is being stocked to fuel the fires against the oncoming cold. Pits have been dug down to where the ground is ever-frozen to store roots, grains, nuts, and even smoked meat. Hunters and gatherers are out in force, orc and human alike, gathering what they can. Not just for the winter, but also for the lean times after the thaw. I admire the humans¡¯ hard work and the innovative, even inventive, ways they approach any problem. More than that, I also appreciate the way that they are showing reverence for the land. They do not strip a plant bare, always leaving some to grow the next year. They do not slaughter entire herds of prey animals, always leaving some to multiply anew.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. And the humans miners and metal workers¡­ the knowledge that they have brought with them and the techniques they use are pushing our production steadily higher. Our blades and tools are no longer made of simple wrought iron that needed repaired or replaced every year. By casting the metal, cooling and quenching it properly, it will last years. There is steady talk of getting ¡®proper¡¯ forges and furnaces up as soon as the weather allows to produce not only wrought and cast iron but steel. We always valued the tools we could pillage when we raided Westmarch, now we are learning to forge them for ourselves. We have become more than just Clan Glacierheart in mind and body, now we are building our homes anew to match. Even after the humans go back onto their homes, they will have left their mark behind in the ally they have made and the trade partner they are so busy creating. Come the thaw and the summer, we will have land at the northern end of the Westmarch valley to grow crops. We will have the beginnings of mines and forges to make more tools and goods then we could possibly use. What we had to plunder and steal to get before, we will be able to trade for openly and honestly. The wider world may be set against us, for who in it has not heard of orc raiders? But we will have a friend in Westmarch, and perhaps we can make others in the fullness of time. We have a war to win, and then a world to befriend.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Fifteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I should like to meet the leaders of this rebellion. I know not if I would shake their hand and swap stories with them over ale beside a fire or plunge my sword into their bellies and tear their guts out through their spine. Their timing is impeccable, their tactics inspired, and the fighting spirit of the men and orcs under their command is second to none. It hasn¡¯t even been a week since we took Fort Westmarch and already my supply route in under continuous, savage attacks all along the length and breadth of the Westmarch valley. They have put us into a pocket and are working on sewing it shut behind us. We already have the food and drink needed to last the winter, if and only if we hunker down in Fort Westmarch and conduct no offensive operations before the snow flies. But I worry that with every letter I receive from the Serene Dominas they will command me to do exactly that. Doing so would over-extend my men and my already dangerously thin supply lines. The fortified outposts to the north are almost certainly abandoned and stripped as barren as Fort Westmarch was. Taking them would be just as easy as taking the fort was, and just as deadly of a trap. The fort can just suffice to hold the entirety of the Army of the Jeweled Cities currently under my command, along with all of the attached support corps and the (inevitable) camp followers. Expanding to the northern outposts would ease the congestion here in Fort Westmarch, but at the cost of leaving those in the outposts exposed to surprise attacks, just as Clan Glacierheart (as I have come to call the orc clan) did to Ironbark. I have learned from Ironbark¡¯s mistake, and will strive not to repeat it. But if I want to save my supply lines, then I cannot wait on reinforcements that may never come. I will have to detail platoons to cover each convoy of wagons as they roll south, and again as they come north. This will whittle at my manpower and supplies, but what other choice do I have? I cannot pull back out of Westmarch without conceding defeat, nor can I risk pushing forwards and plunging my neck deeper into the trap. I will issue orders to those escorting platoons to protect the convoys. Their task will not be killing raiders, but driving them away and getting the convoys through alive and (hopefully) intact. This is a crucial difference: perusing raiders to destruction will pull men away from the convoys, weakening the escorts to follow-up strikes. Driving the raiders off and returning to protect the convoy will leave the raiders to try again, but also leave a strong escorting force in place to meet them every time they try. Both methods have their advantages and disadvantages. Perusing the foe to destruction works best against raider bands operating alone because there isn¡¯t another raider band waiting to swoop in as soon as the escorts are out of position. Settling for driving the raiders of works best when there are additional raider bands waiting to exploit any weakness. I will err on assuming the latter rather than the former. It will perhaps mean a slightly less favorable exchange rate over all, but each supply convoy should get through with fewer losses. I wonder how this tactic would work against pirates on the open seas? It is perhaps too expensive to use in all but the most dangerous waters, or in time of war, but should prove quite effective. I can hear the drums in the night. Our foe is cunning, and he will not rest until he has claimed his prize or died in the attempt. I find myself in agreement with his aims, with my eyes set upon the same prize. Only one force will hold this valley when all is said and done. May the Gods grant me the victory. Chapter 16 Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Fifteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Here I am, a pikeman in the Sapphire Army! A long way from where I¡¯d though the son of baker would end up. It¡¯s not an easy life, what with all of the drills and the marching, but I got lucky when they put me in a platoon assigned to guard supply wagons moving up into Westmarch. The Army has already claimed the province, and the newspapers have them poised to move out to crush the orcs of Glacierheart. Some of my fellow soldiers seem to regard my platoon with disdain, calling us rear echelon ass lickers. Jokes¡¯ on them however! We guard the supplies that will keep them fed and armed over the coming campaign, and we get first pick at the kit as a result! The rumors coming back with the returning wagon groups are more than a little disturbing. Marauders and raiders are preying on the supply train and making a right nuisance of themselves. Probably why Lord General Ochen has switched from simply moving the wagons as fast as they can roll to grouping them into convoys and putting platoons of pikes to guard them. The one we are assigned to at the moment is from Ruby, containing red-striped casks and large round spheres, and is earmarked for the Siege Corps. Probably ammunition for the catapults, though why they would use expensive iron instead of local stone is beyond me. If the rumors hold true, then I can expect my first taste of real combat to happen in the next three days. I can¡¯t wait to see the rebels on orc running away back to the mountains after we cut their comrades down on the end of our pikes. It will be glorious.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Sixteenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Another group of wagons has entered the Westmarch Valley, and this one is guarded by a warband of Pikes. Either this is a valuable group of wagons, or our foe has started to become wise to the ways of the raider. I would think the former if the Pikes didn¡¯t look like they were on their way to a party. Their discipline is poor, they laugh and joke as they walk, and they post almost no sentries. The only question now is if we hit them tonight or whittle them down first. Either way, we won¡¯t move until dusk. The Sun is setting and Gork has made his decision. Tonight we harass them. I know that I can shatter rocks with the Bolts that I cast, so I¡¯m going to aim for the wagons. If I can break an axle or wheel, that will slow them down or force them to abandon some of the food we will need.
Aris Cretu¡¯s Journal Seventeenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Well, last night was certainly interesting. We were planning on harassing the latest convoy to enter the Westmarch Valley, but somebody knocked a torch into one of the wagons and the night came apart in fire and smoke. If I had to guess, that wagon was loaded with gunpowder for the siege cannons and that torch set it off. All of it detonated in one rolling blast, whomp-whomp-whomp, and everyone was kissing the dirt, praying that none of the debris fell on their head. I think we can mark that caravan down as sufficiently raided, even though we didn¡¯t claim any food. We¡¯ll be going back tonight for that, now that the guard platoon is sufficiently weakened. We put the fear of the night into them, now it¡¯s time to put the fear of Westmarch into their hearts.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Seventeenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Well, the damnable rebels have proved their cowardice. They didn¡¯t come out to fight in honorable battle, didn¡¯t even send skirmishers to harass us. They came in out of the dark and went right for the wagons. How they knew those red-striped casks were full of gunpowder I¡¯ll never know, but they hit the driver and knocked his torch into the bed. It all went up and tore the wagon, the driver, and most everyone nearby to bloody chunks. The wagon load of cannon-balls (which is what those iron spheres must be) got turned into so much shrapnel as well, and one of them crippled another wagonload of gunpowder. Thankfully, that one didn¡¯t explode as well, but the Lieutenant has decided to leave it behind. We can¡¯t fix it, we don¡¯t have another wagon to shift the load to, and frankly I¡¯m glad to be leaving such a dangerous load behind. Of the eighty of us that set out from Sapphire (two platoons of forty men each), only forty two of us can be considered ready for battle. Thirty eight pikemen, three drivers, five horses, either dead or injured, and three wagons destroyed or disabled in one night of fighting. No one is taking sentry duty lightly anymore.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s journal Seventeenth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I found out what caused the explosion last night: barrels of gunpowder in the wagon I was aiming for. I think my shot shattered one or more of the barrels, and then a torch landed in the middle of the mess. Boom. And then the wagon group moved on and left us a gift: a broken wagon still loaded with barrels. Food would have been nice, but five tons of gunpowder will do nicely. We obviously can¡¯t carry that much with less than twenty people available, but it should serve to set up a nice ambush on the next unfortunate caravan to pass through here. On the other hand, this bounty will be more useful to the other warbands operating closer to Fort Westmarch. I imagine any explosion powerful enough to shake the earth will take down a timber wall with ease. Addendum: each barrel is about 150 pounds, of which 30 or so is the wood and iron of the barrel itself, so we only captured about four tons of actual gunpowder and one ton of barrels. Still going to be a rather impressive explosion. Still going to be a bitch hauling all sixty five barrels back over the goat trails without any pack animals, even with help from several of the nearby warbands.
Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Sergeant Gork¡¯s squad has finally reported in by messenger, and they have captured a prize indeed. It will take some time to get here, given the difficulties involved in carrying five tons of gunpowder along the goat trails. When it gets here, it will be time for our saboteurs to get to work. A two-and-a-half-ton shipment detonated in Ruby when a fireworks shop suffered a mishap. That explosion leveled the building to its foundation, and heavily damaged the surrounding area. Five tons, buried in tunnels mined under Fort Westmarch, will level the place. The difficulty will be getting all of it into place undetected. Frankly, I don¡¯t expect us to be able to do that. But we should find some way to make use of this bounty, much to the detriment of the Army of the Jeweled Cities.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War We have reached Fort Westmarch at last. Our orders for the moment are to stand down and re-organize ourselves into a single platoon. Half of us dead in a single attack, and we hardly even saw our foes. The veterans already on station here aren¡¯t very talkative. They seem to think that getting to know us new recruits is a waste of time, that we won¡¯t last long in this war. Well, if they would talk to us, give us some idea of what to expect and share their experience with us, then perhaps we might just last a bit longer than they expect. The bread here is acceptable. Not quite as good as my father made back in Sapphire, but good enough for a product churned out by the ton. I suspect the officers are eating better, as befits their Lordly status. The Lieutenant did have a dispatch bag, which he delivered to Lord General Ochen¡¯s office. Judging from the volume and tone of the ¡®discussion¡¯ that followed him back down the stairs, whatever news or orders that he was tasked to deliver didn¡¯t sit well with the Lord General. Thankfully my rank is too low for anything to splash back onto me. We have a week here before my platoon is scheduled to ¡®run the gauntlet¡¯ back to Sapphire. From what I¡¯ve overheard, that should go smoothly enough. The raiders are more interested in supplies coming north then empty wagons rolling south.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War The Serene Dominas have either lost contact with reality, gone completely insane, or both. As I feared, I have been ordered to take the northern outposts before the first snow falls, to ¡®secure forward positions for the spring campaign.¡¯ A fine move on a map in the comfort of a secure base far to the rear of the actual fighting. A daring stroke of the kind so beloved by the armchair commanders who have never bothered to actually inspect troops, much less a front line or a battlefield. At best, the northern outposts will be empty and the snow will fall soon enough after we take them to prevent our foes from responding effectively. At worst, they will be trapped in some way. The siege corps convoy that just came in was supposed to deliver fifteen tons of gunpowder. Only five made it through after they were hit by a raid on their first day in the Westmarch Valley. They did report that two of their wagons were destroyed and a third was disabled in the blast when at least some of the gunpowder was detonated by a stray torch. I only hope that the raiders decide to use any captured gunpowder in attacking future caravans instead of sending it north to demolish the northern outposts. But that is perhaps too much to hope. I will write back asking for clarification as to my orders, and hope the snow flies before a response comes in. There are already flurries in the air, and water is freezing in the horses¡¯ drinking troughs overnight. I can argue that the snow is already falling, that I need to fortify what I already hold. As much as I hate to admit it, we need the Emerald and Ebony troops before we can take the war up into the Glacierheart Mountains. If for no other reason than to secure our rear and flanks. Either that, or Sapphire is going to have to send more men forward. The convoy system is working, but it eats up manpower at a voracious rate. Almost a third of my command is tied down on convoy duty, and taking the associated attrition. I need more reinforcements, more supplies, and more time to prosecute this campaign successfully to its conclusion. Perhaps the most dangerous notion in politics is that of the short, victorious war. Unless one side has secured total victory before the first blow has fallen, there is no such thing. Chapter 17 Shaman¡¯s Records Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording It has been more than a month since I last spoke with another person, orc or human. After Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty underwent her awakening, the changes that reshaped her mind and body, and became Shaman Mul the Silent, I have wandered her hidden valley and the woods and hills beyond. I wanted to contemplate things away from all others. I had to spend time on my own with only the wilds to keep me company. I could have hunkered down in a cave to hibernate the winter away, but even in the depths of the wilds the Westmarch War has enough impact to reach out and touch me. There was an echo of a sound from far down the Westmarch valley, a rolling detonation shook the sky. So I have returned. Not unmarked, perhaps, but with a deeper understanding of the wilds. They sung to me, and I to them. I look upon the new walls and rooves of the Clan Glacierheart settlements as a mixed blessing. They are far better than any we had before, and that is a blessing indeed when the winter winds come howling down from the snow-capped peaks. But in this growth of industry, in the ever-greater forging of metals, of new tools and weapons, something is perhaps lost. Not the sleepy innocence of peace, for we orc were never a peaceful race. What we are losing touch with is the wilds themselves. We now build towns, not encampments. We have set our roots down into the bedrock stones of these Glacierheart Mountains, laying claim to them, seeking to dominate them. We gained this from the humans who now shelter in our midst. They were never as strong as we orcs, never as tough. They could not stand the same cold or heat that we can by raw endurance, so they had to use their cunning and wisdom to find new solutions to old problems. Thay have passed this questioning mindset onto those orc who are willing to think and learn. For all the loss of what we were that I mourn, we have gained much in return from the humans. But perhaps we need not lose it all. We are orcs, not humans. We cannot mirror them, nor should we attempt to do so. We have already formed a single clan, and now a single nation. We must now also forge the identity of that nation, and a part of that identity should be a remembrance of where we came from, who we were. Not just of our greatness, like some of the eldest Clan-songs, but also of our faults and failings. We should remember the wilds, even as we move away from them. The Shamans have always been a part of our people¡¯s hearts and souls, and it has always fallen to us to be the keepers of our people¡¯s past. I will speak with Shaman Elder Wolfbite on this matter, as he is at the heart of our new nation¡¯s spirit. The Record-keepers of Ironbark wanted to learn of our Clan-songs and grow a similar tradition in their own ranks. We should do the same, re-establish the clan-songs anew, and keep the danger close to our hearts so that we will never forget it no matter how far from the wilds we become.
Shaman¡¯s Records Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart recording I spoke with Shaman Koroc the Singer as the sun set over the Glacierhearts. We looked out over the Westmarch valley, at the smoke coming from the chimneys of the fort and the southern outposts, and spoke of times past. As we spoke, I recall Mul¡¯s valley, the night I spent watching the stars and marveling at their expanse. The sense of the infinite patience of the world, the deep power of the wilds. Shaman Koroc the Singer is correct. Even as we modernize, moving from Clan Glacierheart to Glacierheart the Nation, we cannot afford to lose track of what was. The threat of outsiders, humans, is what drew us together back in June of this year. It has only been half a year since that united, hungry roar of fury swept us up in its arms and carried us forward onto our shared destiny. But here we are with humans as welcomed members of our community. Gone is the old disdain for non-pure orcs, the half-human and the half-other. It was sent spiraling into the grave when the humans of Westmarch and Ironbark offered to stand with us if we would stand with them.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. As when that happened, we moved from a minor power tucked away in a mountain range to an actor acting upon the vast stage of the world. We are now a player in the great game of international politics, and must conduct ourselves as such. We must modernize, learn the secrets of metals, of building, of farming and war known to the others on that stage and in that game. But we cannot forget who we are, as individuals and as a people, or we will be scattered across the stage and subjugated by others in the game. We have a past full of glory and sorrow, of the sweet sadness that comes with good days gone by. As with the freedom of the wilds, these should not be forgotten. There will be many funeral songs to sing this winter, but come the spring we must sing of a new dawn. Perhaps sometimes Darkness is needed so that we can see the Light.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War This war is shaping me into what I need to be if I am to survive it. And for that, I am grateful. But I also regret its necessity. Even if my mind had never been Awakened, if I had never found my Patron from Beyond the Shroud, this war would be the death of who I was. I can never go back to the way I was, to the peace and the quiet of a sedentary life, knowing what this war has taught me of myself. That is not to say that I live for the carnage and slaughter to be found in battle. It is just that I have always wondered what was over the next hill, beyond the next mountain peak. I wanted to be a Shaman to learn more of the world and its secrets. I found my valley while wandering, seeking a place to pour over things in solitude. When I made my Pact, I saw the world spinning alone in the void, so vast and yet so small. I weep that I will never have a chance to walk across the stars, but I revel in that I will have a chance to walk across the whole of this world and explore its hidden places. But the Glacierheart Mountains are my home for now, and I cannot leave them to stand alone. I will see this war onto its end because I must. After that? I am not sure. I feel no call to bind myself to any place or people. I feel a need to seek, to learn, to know. I cannot do that here. Am I sane? I ask this question over and over again, and never have I found a satisfactory answer. Am I Insane? Again, I have found no answer that satisfies me. Is there a firm line between the two, or is it only what others are willing to accept? Where is the border of the Twisted Kingdom of madness, if it even has one? I recall entering it under the unshrouded moon and walking out its gates scarred by its thorns. Perhaps there is no line between the sane and the mad in my mind anymore, and it only exists for me as a standard set by those around me. Come the end of this war, I will simply walk away. Perhaps I will make one last entry in the Shaman¡¯s Records before I go, so that my story will not be forgotten. Perhaps not, as there are some things that sane mortal minds cannot hold. I think I will take a metaphorical page from the Logs of Innoch, and leave an entry in the Old Tongue ringed round with warnings. It will be there for any who want to read it, but safely shrouded so that the casual eye will not lead to another mind being shattered the same way mine was. And if a mind is broken, then the mind in question will have walked into such a state with its eyes wide open.
Aris Cretu¡¯s Journal Twentieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War There are storm clouds on the horizon. The wind bites with teeth of ice. Flurries coat the ground and the streams are edged in ice. We need to break the deadlock soon, or both sides will be forced to hunker down to hibernate until the thaw. But can either side afford to? We need to win a decisive victory, or have the weather do so on our behalf. But that isn¡¯t possible while the Army of the Jeweled Cities has enough food in Fort Westmarch. So obviously this needs to change, but I do not know what that change might be or how to bring it about. Obviously a task for older and wiser heads than mine. I just hope that we can complete whatever needs doing before the snow really starts to fly. Ah! But at least living on the edge of a pike in the middle of what bids fair to be a winter war isn¡¯t boring! I''ve had a life that''s full / Everyone''s been good to me / So fire up that fiddle, boy¡­[3] Chapter 18 Aris Cretu''s Journal Twenty Third of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War We made it back to the northern outposts under cover of darkness and with our gunpowder wealth in tow. I find myself amazed that the Army of the Jeweled Cities has not yet taken them, if only to relieve the crowding inside Fort Westmarch. Then again, we of Ironbark did manage to lose almost three hundred men and the northern outposts when Clan Glacierheart assaulted them, and that fact was relayed obediently back to Sapphire at the time. So perhaps the General of the Army of The Jeweled Cities isn''t dumb enough to stick his men into the same trap. Shaman Mul seems to be doing better. She hasn''t needed to cry on my shoulder any more, and seems less distracted most of the time. I don''t think she''ll ever get her old zest for life back, which is a minor tragedy in its own right. Oddly enough, she never seems cold. Heck, she''s still wearing the same lightweight robes she was wearing when I met her back in October. I don''t know if I should mark that down to her powers as a shaman or to something else. Since here elevation from Shaman Initiate to full Shaman (A ritual I was not invited to witness), she has been wearing a gold ring. I had thought it a wedding band of some sort, but perhaps it is a minor magical item granted to her as part of her mantle of office? I know little and less of such things. Magic and mantles of office for orcs that is, though orc wedding customs are also an opaque mystery to me. As for the gunpowder we have spent the last three days in backbreaking labor to bring back with us, it is something of an embarrassment of riches. We have no cannons to expend it in, no way to dig worthwhile mines below Fort Westmarch to place a charge into, and I can think of no other way to expend it profitably. Perhaps we can use it to demolish the northern outposts, but that would also serve to remove bait from the trap set for the Army of the Jeweled Cities. We could try mining the outposts instead, but I''m not sure how we could detonate the charges at an opportune moment. I''m glad we have the gunpowder and the Army of the Jeweled Cities doesn''t¡­ but what are we going to do with it?
Reth Nakima¡¯s JournalSupport the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Twenty Third of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War My Platoon just got ordered to head back down the Westmarch Valley to Sapphire four days early. Wonder who the Lieutenant pissed off to make that happen? Or if the Logistics Corps decided they needed some extra bodies and we got ''volunteered'' for the job? Not my place to ask why, only to do or to die. Still it could be a lot worse, we¡­ [The page is obscured by a bloodstain] Nine blazing hells, that was fucking close. My hands are still shaking. Someone killed the guy sitting right next to me. Crossbow bolt came in from somewhere upslope, tore right through the back of his head and out his mouth. I think his severed tongue bounced off of my shoulder. Drivers picked up the pace and the rest of us just got behind whatever cover we could as more bolts, arrows, stones, and even a javelin came in from what seemed like fucking nowhere. Probably rebels and raiders dug into whatever cover they could find, hid themselves at dawn and jumped us because we were the first caravan that passed them by. The drivers got the wagons out of there fast enough that there wasn''t any real chance of a fight breaking out. I''m starting to think that all bards are charlatans with silver tongues. There haven''t been any battles in the Westmarch Valley, only ambushes and raids. So much for the glory of serving in the Army of Sapphire. It hasn''t even been a week, I''ve been nearly killed twice, only seen a half-dozen or so rebels or raiders, and haven''t even come close to killing a foe in honorable battle. The last is kind of hard to do when said foe discards all honor and refuses to meet in honorable battle. But I guess rebels and raiders don''t have any honor any more. They only have their misguided cause and bloodlust to drive them. Headcount just came in. Of eighty who set out from Sapphire, now only thirty-four remain. Honorless cowards these rebels and raiders may be, but they seem to be killing us just fine. There must be some way to strike at their source. We must push up into the Glacierheart Mountains, find their hidden fastnesses, and burn them out at the source. That will rip their hearts from their chests and leave them to freeze or starve in the cold embrace of winter. If Lord General Ochen will not do so before the snows begin to fall, then what hope do we have of winning this war? I wonder what happened to that shipment of gunpowder we left behind? Looking back, we should have probably found some way to spoil it, or pull it away from the road and laid a long fuse. The rebels and raiders have shown no siege weapons, much less cannons, but who knows what deviltry they could get up to with that much powdered destruction? I only hope that they won''t find a way to use it, or were unable to recover it. Chapter 19 Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Twenty Fourth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War It turns out that snow is rather fun when you don''t feel cold. I''ve been wearing this ring for a while now, ever since my Awakening (I think), and I''m fairly sure it is a Ring of Warmth. Mostly it keeps things from getting too cold. I think the enchantment would keep food from freezing, for example, but wouldn''t keep stew hot. For me, it means that I haven''t had to use my heavy winter furs, which is nice. In turn, I''m not encumbered by heavy, restrictive clothing in a fight. I''m far more mobile than anyone else in Gork''s warband as a result. Which is a very good thing in this case, because I can make the run back to the Clanholds up in the Glacierheart Mountains for more supplies faster than anyone else can given the foot of snow that fell overnight. That doesn''t mean that such a trip is without risk! I''m nearly the only person, human or orc, moving about in this storm, so I''m a clear target for anyone with a bow. Or I would be, if they could see me through the falling snow. I''m more worried about coming across a Clanhold sentry who is more inclined to shoot first and check later if I come walking in like a ghost out of the storm. Gork''s Warband is bunkered down in one of the northern outposts, which is more than a little risky, given that the Army of the Jeweled Cities has to be looking to take them over as soon as the weather clears. But with the snow falling this thick and fast, I somehow think that they will be staying home around warm fires. I wonder if that would let me slip a barrel or three of gunpowder somewhere important? I need to get food and supplies to Gork''s Warband first, then perhaps I''ll get to play with explosives in a blizzard only I can''t feel.
Lord Ochen Shagari''s War Journal Twenty Fourth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War The weather has turned. Snow now buries any hope of an advance before the spring thaw. Whatever the Serene Dominas may want, the Army of the Jeweled Cities is now in winter quarters. We should have sufficient food, drink, and firewood to keep us alive until then, but discipline is going to take a hit unless measures are put in place in advance. If I allow them men to simply sit indoors, then they will get cabin fever staring at the walls all day long. Tempers will flare, inter-city rivalries will spawn fights, and blood will be spilt. Already, I have my minions staff officers thinking about what exercises we can do in the winter, snow or no. We do have winter uniforms and I would not be opposed to practice marches and drills in the spaces between storms. If each barracks is responsible for digging itself out, that should also help to burn off energy. Perhaps I will contemplate taking over one of the outposts if we do get a long enough break in the weather, if only to give my troops a destination to march to and from outside of Fort Westmarch. The outposts to the south are too incomplete to provide winter quarters if a platoon or company is caught by an oncoming storm. I certainly don''t expect the Westmarchers or Ironbark to be particularly winter-mobile. The Clan Glacierheart orcs may be slightly more mobile, if only from their experience living in the mountains. Still, a foot of snow on the ground should slow them down, give my men time to see them coming and react accordingly.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Twenty Fourth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Damn and blast this infernal weather. All of the convoys, northbound and southbound, have been forced off the road into whatever shelter we can find. Thank the Gods for this barn not too far from the high road. The snow is already heavy enough on the ground that I don''t even want to think about when we can get back moving again. But we''re going to have to before our food runs out. We''ll probably head back to Fort Westmarch. It''s closer, so we can get there faster. The one good part about this weather: if that wagonload of gunpowder isn''t under cover at the moment, it''s ruined. Probably. Hopefully.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. I can hardly feel my toes and fingertips. I hope they don¡¯t fall off when if it gets any colder.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Twenty Fourth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War This is perhaps the worst storm I have even had the misfortune of being caught in. That''s counting both at sea and ashore, including the gale of 767. The one that tore most of the docks out of the ground, smashed two of the piers, and flooded almost a third of Sapphire. I was ashore for that one, having just docked at Lady SiDabolo''s tower. I remember ducking when the mast was ripped out of the footing by a gust. Between waiting for the storm to clear and repairing the boat I didn''t get back to Sapphire for a week after that. This blizzard is worse. Much worse. A typhoon might drown you, but at least rain flows away after it hits. This snow is sticking to everything. It''s already up to my knees and only getting deeper. I know Shaman Mul isn''t affected by the cold or the snow like the rest of us, but¡­ I hope she''s ok. We do have the gunpowder under a solid roof. No point in trying to haul it up into the Glacierhearts in this weather though. We could make some sleds and find some tarps or something, but we''d have to leave over two-thirds of the barrels behind. Plus, I''d probably get lost in the storm. Shaman Mul may be used to navigating with no visibility, and some of Warlady Elder Vuggie the Vivid''s scouts could do the same, but there is no point in risking it. Not yet at least. We''re too close to Fort Westmarch for my comfort, but the weather should keep everyone there hunkered down. Tam keeps talking about making up an Ironbark Company standard and putting it up the flagpole, just to piss off the Army of the Jeweled City. Not exactly a brilliant idea, given the odds stacked against us if they do decide to send anyone our way, blizzard or otherwise. Might be worth it just for the laughs and to keep us busy.
Shaman''s Records Twenty Fifth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording The snows have come early and heavy this winter. The silence in the time before the dawn is especially quiet now that the wind has stopped howling. The falling snow formed white sheets in the air and mounded into drifts in every sheltered corner it could find. The animals have all either found their winter sleeping places, or flown on to warmer lands. But we Glacierhearters, Westmarchers, and Ironbarks cannot rest, nor can we leave this place. We may be slowed down for a time and forced to rest while the snow falls. But we cannot, must not, allow any chance to bleed the Army of the Jeweled Cities dry to slip through our fingers. The council of Elders, in alliance with the Leadership of the Westmarchers and Ironbark, debate on this matter constantly. They look for ways to provoke our foe into doing something rash, to get him to come out from behind his walls for just long enough. Our foe is no fool though. He knows as well as we do what the snows mean. He also knows that he has more resources, more men and weapons and gold, to call upon then we can muster. Come the thaw, we will be breaking ground for new mines and forges, but the Jeweled Cities will be able to send forward new units already armed by their existing workshops before we can stand up new warbands of our own. The chance of a short war has already come and gone: there will be no victory before the snow flies for either side. But if the long war, the one that depends on how much a side can make, how many men and orcs they can arm and feed in the field, also does not favor us, then what hope do we have of winning? We win the winter war. The men of Westmarch and Ironbark may be slowed by the snow, but they can learn from us Glacierhearters. We can strike at the Army of the Jeweled Cities and force them to use up supplies that they cannot easily replace now that the snows have begun to fall. There can be no pitched, open field battles with this much snow on the ground; man and orc alike would freeze in their boots waiting for everyone to get into position. So we must make this winter the season of raiders, of daggers in the darkness. It is not an honorable way to fight, but this war was never honorable. Mother Nature and the Worldfather play no favorites. All sides in this fight must make the best use of what time that they are given.
Editor''s Notation: The winter storms of 769 are some of the worst in recorded history for the area, particularly in terms of the depth of snow that they left on the ground and the frequency with which they occurred. Scholars with an interest in magic, myself included, have long made note of these storms and the magical disturbances which preceded them during the last half of 768 and in early 769. The sundering of the Garonian Wayshrines and the fall of the Temple of Storms in Kakariko may be related in some way, but none of the individuals whose writings are included in this work knew anything about those events. I mention them here only to point out possible global connections aside from the disruption in the economies and trade patterns of the Jeweled Cities. Chapter 20 Shaman''s Records Twenty Seventh of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Shaman Mul the Silent just came in out of the blizzard. She was clothed in nothing heavier than her white summer robe and nearly walked right past the sentry before she was challenged. I¡¯m not sure what I¡¯m more impressed by: her navigation skills in walking three days through this blizzard or how close she came to just turning up at the next gathering of the Elders unannounced. She has said that she intends to head back out into the storm with a sled of supplies for Sgt. Gork¡¯s warband. I have no doubt that she will make it, but I have persuaded her to wait until the morning at least. With any luck the storm may break. And if not, then she will at least have a chance to get warm food into her belly. I intend to follow Shaman Mul the Silent back to this Sgt. Gork¡¯s warband. It seems to be marked by fate for important things. They could use an extra sled of supplies and another warm body or two as well, given the Elder¡¯s plan to use the gunpowder they captured and the cover provided by the blizzard to make something happen. From the grin that crept over Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s face when I mentioned this to her, she seems to be looking forward to making an explosive mark in this war. To be fair to the Elders, we need to find some way to slice into the Army of the Jeweled Cities, but the weather and their commander have conspired to make that incredibly difficult to do. Accordingly, the tactic they have settled on is to poke the hornet¡¯s nest and see what they can stir up. Once they get some sort of response they are trusting in the warbands to notice the opening and make the best use of it they can. It is not quite a plan of desperation, but it is designed to look like one in order to draw the Army of the Jeweled Cities out.
Aris Cretu¡¯s Journal Twenty Seventh of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Tam really did it, the crazy girl! She managed to sew up a standard and somehow get it up the flagpole in the middle of this storm. If the weather does finally break, the sight of that flag is going to piss of those Jeweled City bastards quite a bit. But with three feet of snow on the ground, I doubt they will be able to do shit about it. Just as well, because we would have a hard time getting away through that same snow. There still hasn¡¯t been any word from Shaman Mul, but she should be back at base by now, if not headed back this way. We have been on short rations, just in case, and there is no shortage of water with clean snow to melt and drink. We should be alright until someone gets back to us with more food, or we get a break in the storm and can move out.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Twenty Eighth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War The blizzard finally stopped sometime last night. The entire army is busy digging itself back out, but I worry about the convoys caught out on the high road. They were prepared for cold weather, but I don¡¯t think anyone (myself included) expected a storm like this! I think I can safely put any worries about orders to advance to bed with a shovel. On the other hand, one of the sentries did report a banner flying over one of the northern outposts. It looks like Ironbark at least, managed to infiltrate it during the blizzard. More likely, one of the raider bands was almost caught out in the storm, took what cover it could, and is now poking fun at my command. Vexing, to be sure, but no major threat. Nothing else should happen in terms of combat for the next few months now that there is snow on the ground. The men of the Army of the Jeweled Cities will be busy making the best of their winter quarters. As soon as time and weather permit, I do intend to keep drilling them so that they stay in good fighting shape. Come the spring thaw, I intend to be ready to march north as soon as possible. With any luck, the speed of my renewed advance will catch my foes off balance and I can sweep the field here in the Westmarch Valley before the reinforcements from Emerald and Ebony arrive.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Assuming, of course, that the Serene Dominas manage to keep things together and committed to this war for that long. I don¡¯t see how it could be otherwise, given that men of Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal have all fought and bled together. I do not see how any one of the Jeweled Cities can pull out of this conflict, but that does not mean that one of them will not find a way.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Twenty Eighth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I can finally feel my fingers again! We made it back to Fort Westmarch on the twenty sixth, or perhaps early on the twenty seventh. It was pitch black out, snow was coming down sideways in the wind, and our only point of reference was the lumpen shape of the fort itself against the stars. The apothecaries and medics had everyone bundled up and drinking ¡®hot¡¯ soup as soon as we stumbled in. Two of my fellow soldiers lost fingers or toes to the cold, and one of the sergeants lost his nose, but we didn¡¯t lose anyone. That¡¯s a minor miracle in and of itself. The rumor mill has Ironbark reclaiming one of the northern outposts sometime during the storm. That¡¯s a load of horse shit. I was out in that storm and nobody could have taken anything in that weather. Nah, they got caught in the storm, same as I did, and took cover there. No idea why they would put a flag up and let us know that they were in the area. Seems like a stupid idea on someone¡¯s part, given that the raiders and rebels have tended to prefer striking from the shadows like cowards. We¡¯re probably going to be turned out of our snug bunks, ¡®winter¡¯ uniforms and all, and told to go marching about in all of the snow soon enough. I just hope we don¡¯t lose too many to the cold men before Lord General Ochen gets it through his head that chest-high snow and marching don¡¯t exactly go together.
Shaman''s Records Thirtieth of November, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Shaman Mul the Silent and I have made it back to the outpost where Sgt. Gork¡¯s warband has hunkered down with two sleds of supplies in tow. Someone ran a banner up the flagpole to taunt the Army of the Jeweled Cities. It seems the juvenile thing that a young un-blooded warrior might do, but it is exactly what needed doing to hopefully draw that same army out to where we can get at them. I don¡¯t expect them to take the bait with this much snow on the ground, but they have managed to shove their feet firmly into several traps so far, so I wouldn¡¯t put it past them. Shaman Mul the Silent seems hopeful that the weather will take a turn for the worse soon. I guess she is eager to play with the gunpowder. I just hope she doesn¡¯t blow all of us up along with Fort Westmarch! She should probably be able to slip some into position at the base of a wall or tower, given how easily she snuck up on our own sentries. The next question is how to go about setting it off¡­ Perhaps a candle? Stack the barrels out of the wind, shove a candle into a crack, and let it burn down? That could work if the candle doesn¡¯t go out, and it actually sets of the gunpowder, and one barrel blowing up will also set off all of the others. Shaman Mul the silent seems confident however. She did manage to blow up another wagon with a similar load of gunpowder on the high road rather easily. The snow and wind will make the task of moving the barrels easier, at the cost of making them blow up more difficult. There has to be some way to make a proper fuse... perhaps cloth with gunpowder rubbed in? I did look into one of the barrels, and the gunpowder in question is very fine indeed. Fine enough that it throws up clouds of dust just opening the barrel, and the men and orcs here at the outpost are paranoid about fire anywhere near the building where the gunpowder is being stored. They don¡¯t allow lit candles or troches into that area, much less allow the fireplaces to be lit for warmth. The dirt floors and wooden walls give of no sparks when struck by iron or stone, but any boot or shoe with studded soles is banned. As is any metal armor, weapons, and just about anything else that may cause a spark. I think their precautions are a little bit excessive. If anything did manage to set that gunpowder off where it sits, this entire outpost would probably be leveled, or at least reduced to a flaming ruin. On the whole, I¡¯m inclined to follow their precautions. Chapter 21 Shaman¡¯s Records Second of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Mul the Silent of Clan Glacierheart recording It has been some time since I have made an entry into these Records. Shaman Koroc the Singer has been experimenting with new ways to set off gunpowder, and he has found one¡­ at the cost of singing his eyebrows away and burning one hand quite badly when one of his experiments worked a little too well. He will recover with time and care, but will forever carry a scar to remind him of his momentary carelessness. The weather has remained clear for the past two days, which has let preparations move forward on all fronts. I can¡¯t speak for the other warbands here in the Westmarch valley, only the one Sgt. Gork commands. Their plan is to get clear of this outpost as soon as the weather permits, for there isn¡¯t enough food stored here to sustain them. Far insufficient to allow them to fight. But they have stayed here to guard their prize (sixty five barrels of gunpowder) for the moment, so that a small portion of it can be used offensively against the Army of the Jeweled Cities. To that end, several men and orcs have braved the cold and the snow to scout the snowed-in approached to Fort Westmarch under the cover of night. While I have assembled a sled fit to run easily and silently across the snow while loaded with as much weight as I can pull. While Shaman Koroc the Singer has risked his fingers (and eyebrows!) experimenting with ways to create a delay between when the flame is applied and the gunpowder explodes. There are storm clouds on the horizon. Tonight, under their cover, I will load my sled with as many barrels of gunpowder as it will hold, cover it with a white tarp, and make for Fort Westmarch. With only a little luck, I will be able to park it next to the sheltered wall, out of the wind, and away from the eyes of the sentries driven back to their fires by the storm. I will apply the flame and then endeavor to get clear before the gunpowder explodes. With any luck, the explosion will cause some disruption and harm to the Army of the Jeweled Cities. The night has fallen and the snow blows on the wind. It is time.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Third of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Bastard rebels blew a hole in the wall last night. Everyone sleeping all comfy like, except for the poor sods who had sentry duty, then Boom! There goes a chunk of the outer wall that just happens to also be the back wall of a barracks. That woke everyone up all right, and we had to put the fire out and start getting everyone to the healers. Not many of the wounded are expected to survive. That kind of thing happens when a three foot long splinter rips into your back and out your belly. That barracks isn¡¯t going to be usable ever again. The hole in the wall is big enough to walk through without ducking. The fire and smoke ruined everything that wasn¡¯t blown up. The bloodstains underneath the ash and snow are never going to come out. Of the two hundred man company bunked there, only fifteen are even close to being ready to fight. That number may go all the way up to twenty five once the healers finish their work. Everyone is still on edge, and the new leaks in the roof aren¡¯t helping any. A steady trickle of snow is filtering in between the wooden shingles before melting on the floor. Never thought I¡¯d have to deal with fires and mud in temperatures this cold.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Third of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Fort Westmarch has been attacked. Gunpowder was planted at the base of the southern wall and detonated sometime in the night. It is the single largest loss of life suffered by this Army of the Jeweled Cities in a single attack. Word of it will inevitably reach Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal. It will draw comment, and perhaps questions, from the Serene Dominas. I have already instructed my minions staff officers to begin sifting evidence and taking statements to determine what happened. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that one of the raiding parties got hold of some gunpowder from one of the convoys, probably the one from Ruby that arrived on November Twentieth. How they got it from wherever it was captured to a safe storage location, and from there to just outside the walls of Fort Westmarch is as yet unknown. This is being looked into.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The amount of gunpowder used in the attack wasn¡¯t a grand amount, probably no more than a barrel or two. Such a weight would not be too hard for one or two men to pull on a sled in this snow. What is more surprising is the fact that whomever the attackers were, they managed to get past the sentries undetected. At least on the way in. If they hung about just long enough to make sure the powder did indeed explode, they could have slipped away in the confusion without much difficulty. The state of the sentries at the time of the attack is being investigated. I am unsure if such attacks can be repeated. We do not know how much powder was captured, nor how much of It has survived the snows that have wrapped the Westmarch valley in their frigid embrace. I can only hope that this kind of attack is indeed difficult to repeat, if not impossible due to lack of supplies.
Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log Third of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War An explosion echoed up from the Westmarch Valley last night. One of our warbands did something, probably. Hopefully it wasn¡¯t too stupid, and we didn¡¯t lose too many men in the doing. The other possibility is that the Ruby component of the Siege Corps suffered a mishap. I don¡¯t think that was the case: the explosion was too quiet and Fort Westmarch is still standing (albeit smoking) down in the valley. When it comes to known casualties, the list is slowly growing longer. We have almost no contact with the warbands still operating in the Westmarch Valley, though most of them have fallen back on the Clanholds with this much snow in the air and on the ground. Of one thousand men that set out from Sapphire, we know that four hundred have managed to reach the clan holds, and another four hundred are known to be dead. Of the last two hundred men there has been no word. Some of them are probably still alive and fighting against the Army of the Jeweled Cities, but some of them have probably succumbed to the cold. I can but hope for as many of the former and as few of the latter as possible. One of the returning warbands pointed out that the Ironbark standard is flying over one on the Northern Outposts. It seems like one of our warbands has decided to taunt the occupants of Fort Westmarch by being so close and yet so far out of reach. They are the only warband I know of close enough to have attacked the fort, and that means it¡¯s probably Sgt. Gork¡¯s squad, with their attached guides and Shaman Mul the Silent. Shamans now if Shaman Koroc the Singer decided to stick with them instead of moving on to another warband. I hope Assistant Chronicler Aris Cretu is still alive. He was attached to that same formation when it was dispatched, on account of it being under strength by almost fifty percent before counting attachments. This snow is unlike any I have seen before when it comes to raw volume. It is just ridiculous. Over three feet fell not even a week ago, and still more is coming down. There is even talk of digging tunnels through the snow to link buildings back together again if it keeps getting any deeper. There is no shortage of food or water, only the difficulty of getting it out of storage and preparing it safely. The children (and guards, when no officer is looking) are having great fun with snowball fights and other winter pastimes. There is still some concern as to the outcome of the war, but not much. I¡¯ve even begun to learn how to snowshoe so that I can get about in these conditions. The short days are keeping people inside. I have spent some time going over Shaman Koroc the Singer¡¯s translation of the Log of Innoch. Much of his work is indeed exemplary, including not just the translation but also notes of phrasing and context. Some parts are obtuse or awkward, and there are several sections that are marked as not to be translated. I asked Shaman Elder Wolfbite about those sections, as Shaman Koroc has gone forward and is unavailable, and he mentioned that translating those sections had a traumatic effect upon Shaman Mul the Silent. I think that those sections in question will be copied over as is when the Logs of Innoch are transcribed into a new volume. Not including them would be to deliberately omit a section of Ironbark Company¡¯s past, something that not Chronicler ever wants to do. I think that I will also include a forward, explaining and marking the common translations, and why the untranslated sections remain so. It seems the safest compromise available to me.
Shaman¡¯s Records Fourth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Mul the Silent of Clan Glacierheart recording The attack on the night of the second (two days ago) went off without a hitch. I was able to approach fort Westmarch without being detected and emplace the gunpowder. Shaman Koroc the Singer¡¯s ¡®black fuse¡¯ worked quite well. I used a substantial length of it, just in case, and it was good that I did so! It burned far more quickly than I expected thanks to the wrapping I put around it to keep it dry. The explosion was quite satisfactory, but I have no idea how many men, if any, it harmed. I was tempted to remain nearby to make an examination of the damage, but the commotion after the gunpowder detonated was too great for me to approach Fort Westmarch any closer. So long as supplies hold out and the weather remains favorable, I¡¯m tempted to try the same tactic again. Perhaps it may even be possible to set off a smaller charge inside the fort? The damage wouldn¡¯t be as wide-spread, but if it was in the right place¡­ Chapter 22 Shaman¡¯s Records Sixth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Given the success of Shaman Mul the Silent''s raid on Fort Westmarch, it seems a tactic worth repeating, as supplies and weather permit. However, Sgt. Gork''s warband needs more supplies than it has remaining to continue this strategy. Shaman Mul the Silent and I are planning to head back to the Clanhold for those supplies, and perhaps to bring more troops forward as the weather permits. Breaches can be made in the fort''s walls, which will enable us to possibly take it by storm. The snow on the ground will impede movement outside the fort, and will slow the rush itself, but the Army of the Jeweled Cities will have had to clear the interior just to move about. If our troops can get past the wall, we stand an excellent chance of taking the fort outright. Perhaps I am wishing for too much however. Our foe may be packed tightly into a small space, but that does not mean that they are fish in a barrel waiting for a spear. They know that they have no place to fall back to, no path of escape is open to them. On one hand, this is good, for we can not afford to have them escape to fight again: Westmarch, Ironbark, and Glacierheart need a crushing victory to force the Jeweled Cities as a whole to reconsider the (un)wisdom of their invasion. On the other hand, the Army of the Jeweled Cities will fight to the death with no place to run. This will drive up the bloody cost of this war, and embitter both sides against each other in future conflicts. This possibility must be brought before the Elders of Glacierheart and the commanders of Westmarch and Ironbark for debate. It is not a decision to be rushed into, nor is it one to be made by a warband commander in the field. For now, Shaman Mul the Silent and I will labor to resupply Sgt. Gork''s warband and bring up reinforcements. With the snow four feet deep and still falling steadily, the Northern Outposts form a sturdy barrier against the Army of the Jeweled Cities moving further north. It will hold our foe until we can decide what to do with them.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Sixth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Snowfall or no, it is clear to me now that some of the buildings here in Fort Westmarch are too insecure to use as barracks blocks and store rooms. I have ordered all buildings adjacent to the outer wall to be evacuated, the troops moved into housing closer to the center of the fort and the supplies put into any space available. The gunpowder for the Ruby siege cannons is the only exception: it cannot be put near any inhabited buildings or other store rooms. The raid on the third of December made that clear: if a detonation can pierce the walls of this fort and start a fire, then it can detonate any gunpowder stored on the other side of that wall. This leaves our stores of gunpowder in an awkward position. In any coastal fortification in the Jeweled Cities, the gunpowder for the artillery would be stored in a buried bunker, hardened against incoming projectiles and fire. Often the officer responsible for maintaining that stockpile is quartered above it, to keep his mind on his task. But here we cannot follow the same procedure because the ground is frozen too hard to dig into deeply. Accordingly, I have ordered the gunpowder stockpile to be broken down into several smaller lots, to be stored in the now-empty outermost buildings. To mitigate against the chance of a repeat of the previous raid setting them off, they are to be ringed about with sand and dirt stacked atop extra shot for the same weapons. The barricade of dirt should absorb any explosion and the burning splinters from a breached wall. And should that barricade fail, the smaller lots of stored gunpowder would produce a smaller secondary detonation. It is far from an ideal solution, just the most workable one that I can think of.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As to how the raid on the third of December was carried out, the investigations that I ordered have come to the following conclusions: Given the quantity of gunpowder transported in a single wagon of our convoys, and machining a minimum number of assumptions, I have come to the unhappy conclusion that such an attack is probably repeatable. One wagon carries between sixty and sixty-six barrels of gunpowder. If two are used per attack, that means a total of twenty-nine to thirty-two further such attacks are possible, if and only if the raiders managed to seize one intact wagon and carry off its entire contents. Given the now overcrowded state of Fort Westmarch and the likelihood of further such raids, it has become imperative to seize at least two of three of the Northern Outposts. Each is capable of housing a battalion of troops and their supplies. The battalions in question would be exposed to enemy attack and easily cut off from reinforcements (which was my primary objection to capturing said outposts earlier) and so must be drawn from my ''heavy'' eight-hundred-man strong battalions, probably reinforced up to full strength by disbanding depleted squads and platoons. I hate to send out these formations into this weather on their own, but it has become unavoidable.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Sixth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I don''t know who I hate more: Lord General Ochen for ordering my platoon disbanded to reinforce an Opal battalion and then sending us out to take one of the outposts in a near-blizzard or the damned rebels for making those orders necessary. At least we got to draw extra winter uniforms to bundle up in before being sent out, which is no small thing in this weather. I expect half of the battalion to have frostbite by the time we get to our assigned outpost. And just my damn luck, we drew the outpost with the Ironbark flag over it, which means we may have to actually fight when we get there. I''m not expecting a real fight, but we have no information on how many rebels are going to be there to greet us. If they have half a brain and see us coming, they''ll probably run away without a fight. I kind of hope they are stupid enough to try and fight however, It''s time to get some payback against those bastards.
Aris Cretu''s Journal Seventh of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Another winter day, cold and clear. The snow stopped last night, which means Shamans Mul and Koroc should make good time to the clanhold. If the weather continues to hold, then they should also get back with the food we need faster too. It would be nice to see some reinforcements too, even if it means more mouths to feed on a limited stockpile of food. It feels kind of lonely out here with the Army of the Jeweled Cities not even half a day''s march away. Tam''s banner is still flying, storms be damned. We''ve taken to calling her the standard bearer, even though that''s an honor she''ll probably never receive. Or if she does it will be some years in the future. Contact. Enemy battalion incoming. No time to run away. Chapter 23 Aris Cretu''s Journal Seventh of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Fire in the frigid cold. Ash and snow floating on the wind. Corpses frozen in the snow. Only death stalks this killing ground now. Eighteen stood against eight hundred. We were so far outnumbered it wasn''t even funny. But we were warm from sitting about fires, fed on desperation, and backed into a corner. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Our foe had numbers and the embers of vengeance on their side. It wasn''t enough. It wasn''t even close to enough. The winter wind had reaped a harvest of carnage before the battle had even begun, sapping will and freezing flesh from bone. They tried to rush the gate when the sentry called out the alarm. Gonukk the Dark and Bumob the Cold of Clan Glacierheart met them in the gateway, using it to limit the number of foes they had to face. They died hard, buying the rest of us enough time to gather our wits and our wargear, and took thirty-four foes with them to the grave. Sgt. Gork lead the counter attack that pushed them back out of the gate, but Mourn the Vicious and Imvel the Forsaken of Clan Glacierheart died in the doing. Kuro Dall, Zoni Manur, and Alzaren Syllahne of the Ironbark Mercenary Company died in the same assault. But they took back the gate and slew eighty-six more men in the process. The Army of the Jeweled Cities assaulted the gate two more times. They slew Arovo Corros, Nyako Khatiti, Oni Ife, Roho Sarda, Ifama Danlami, and Ladi Seghen of the Ironbark Mercenary Company. In exchange for their lives, they slew one hundred and seventy four soldiers of the Army of the Jeweled Cities. Between the cold, the dead, and the undying defiance of the five of us who remained, the Army of the Jeweled Cities broke. It more then broke, it shattered. Those who survived threw down their pikes or swords and staggered back into the oncoming night. The banner of the Ironbark Mercenary Company still flies over this outpost. We five yet stand to defend it. Oh misty eye of the mountain below / Keep careful watch of my brothers'' souls¡­[4]
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Eighth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I had my first taste of proper battle happened yesterday. Chilled to the bone despite wearing enough layers of clothing to make moving awkward. Hungry because the rations were frozen solid. And faced with an implacable, impossible foe. There couldn''t have been more than twenty rebels in the outpost when everything began, and there were a damn sight fewer when the killing was over. But the casualties¡­ the ground was covered in bodies, enough that the rebels had built barricades from their slain foes. The snow was stained crimson all about the area. I thank the gods that I never even came close to striking a blow myself, because that would mean coming into the reach of the rebels'' blades. The medics are still triaging the wounded, almost a day after we came stumbling back out of the night. What few of us are left. The rebels slew many of us, and wounded many more. What they started, the cold night finished for all too many of us. Looking about the barracks and counting the empty bunks, I estimate that no more than four hundred and fifty of us made it back. That number will fall like a sinking ship as the ones the healers can''t save pass on to their final rest. We lost at least twenty men for every rebel Ironbarker we killed. I had thought their reputation had been inflated with time. I had thought that that Company had faded from its glory days during the Seminal War. It didn''t fade. It hasn''t lost its fury. And they aren''t standing alone. Why do I feel as if I am on the losing side of a meaningless war?
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Eighth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Despite horrific casualties, we have secured two of the Northern Outposts. I have already detached the needed numbers of men to the outposts we do control, and in doing so freed up sufficient space inside Fort Westmarch that men are not stacked like wood while they sleep.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. But the outpost in the center of the valley remains defiant. Reports are muddled, as they always are after a desperate fight, but I believe it to be only lightly defended given the casualties its defenders must have suffered in their stand. I will take today to reorganize my men once again before we resume the assault. This time, I intend to commit almost two thousand men, a full third of my total remaining forces, to the attack. We will carry through and take that outpost, even if we must climb over the bodies of our own dead to do it. I would like to commit the siege corps as well, but their equipment is hopelessly impeded by the snow. The ten-inch siege cannons weigh several tons each, and even the catapults are almost a half-ton each when fully assembled. This limits them to defending Fort Westmarch, and means that I must send my assault columns in unsupported. I hate doing so, but I see no other option. Not with the Serene Dominas having pushed a messenger through the storms confirming their earlier insane orders. I''m beginning to think that they have never seen snow, much less the small mountains of it stacked about the place here in Westmarch. Reading between the lines of their command yields a more worrying message. They need a victory in the field, and quickly, to bolster public support. Why I do not know. What guesses my mind makes, I dare not commit to the written word, for they disturb me so.
Editors Notation: What Lord General Ochen is hinting at here may be the uptick in pirate and privateer raids on all of the Jeweled Cities. The scale of the manpower commitment to the Army of the Jeweled Cities limited the number of ships that Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal could commit to anti-piracy operations due to lack of marines. It is possible that the Serene Dominas of Sapphire in particular were eager to present a military victory to offset the destabilizing effect that the pirate attacks were causing. In the end, Emerald and Ebony ended up doing most of the heavy lifting where clearing out that particular nest of pirates was concerned in early 770.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Eighth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I made it back to the outpost today, leading a group of fifteen warbands numbering nearly four hundred men and orcs. We were just in time to help with the clean-up of the previous battle. I was glad to see that Sgt. Gork, Tam, and Aris Cretu all made it. The haunted look in Aris'' eyes made me want to weep, but we only set about stacking the dead like wood until the ground thaws out enough to bury them in a few months. Shaman Koroc the Singer has sent a runner back to the Clanhold asking for more reinforcements and supplies. I would have gone, but I am needed here. Even with all of the precautions we took, there are still too many cases of frostbite and chills. I will be sure to spend time with Aris, to let him cry on my shoulder if that is what he needs, and to make sure that he eats something. I know he can''t keep anything down after a fight, but it has been almost two days and I could hear his stomach growling from seven feet away.
Shaman¡¯s Records Eighth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording The Stand of Sgt. Gork''s Warband is an event that will be woven into the clan-songs of Clan Glacierheart and Ironbark alike. Less than twenty men holding off over forty times their own numbers and winning? Such a last stand has no precedent in the clan-songs that I can recall. I borrowed Aris Cretu''s journal to glean the names of the dead, with his permission of course, and I will endeavor to ensure that they are not forgotten or overshadowed by their comrades who survived. But our foe, the Army of the Jeweled Cities, will not sit idle and allow us to hold this outpost uncontested. I expect them to try again as soon as they can, and to do so in greater force. Accordingly, I''m going to see about getting another gunpowder sled prepared. We need to keep inflicting a steady trickle of losses on our foe to keep his numbers and supplies pruned back. I''ve already sent a messenger back asking for more warbands to be sent forward to this outpost, and recommending that attacks be organized against the other northern outposts. They have been captured, and are probably being reinforced, but they still represent a number of men separated from the rest of their friends and ripe to be surrounded and picked off. Fighting in these winter conditions heavily favors the defender, if simply because he can stay by his fires longer instead of marching about in the cold. It will make storming those other Northern Outposts incredibly costly, but perhaps we can use sharpshooters and skirmishers to whittle away at our foes instead? That would probably inspire them to fall back into Fort Westmarch where we would have a hard time getting at them. It would be the smart move, and we could do little to stop it. Unless¡­ if Shaman Mul the Silent can breach Fort Westmarch''s wall in enough places, then perhaps the commander of the Army of the Jeweled Cities would consider the outposts more secure then the fort? It is a long shot, to say the least, but anything we can do to disrupt his decision making process is worth considering. Chapter 24 Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I made a scouting pass on Fort Westmarch last night. There are far fewer men there then when I placed the gunpowder loaded sled outside the wall. That hole was still there, so I took a chance and peeked inside. Past the burned out husk of a building was a dark area. I had no idea that the gunpowder that I had left behind had damaged a building, much less that it had set it aflame! I did note the location of other buildings around the edges of the wall. The Army of the Jeweled Cities Sentries were giving them plenty of space, even going so far as to not patrol along the top of the wall. Could those buildings be laden with additional stockpiles of gunpowder? And if so, could a charge placed outside the wall set them off? That would create a massive breach in the wall, and scatter flaming parts of building over a much wider area. I already have a sled ready to go for tonight. With any luck, I will have answers to my questions by the time the sun rises again.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Delays plague my efforts to reorganize my forces. They come in part from the departure of the additional forces that I have been forced to dispatch to the Northern Outposts that I do hold. The other factor that lends itself to a slow reorganization is the low morale among the survivors from the first assault on the Ironbark-held northern outpost. That formation is utterly combat ineffective. Additionally, it cannot be reinforced back to full strength and made combat effective again without time for its morale to rebuild. But it cannot be broken up to reinforce other formations either, lest its low morale spread like a virus. One night. One night without an attack is all I need. If I can have that, then the assault column will be ready to depart. Why do I suspect that I won''t get even that?
Chronicler Vian''s Log Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War The Ironbark Mercenary Company and the Westmarch Militia are taking the field as a cohesive whole for the first time in this war. The Glacierheart warbands were ready to move forward faster, but we are following as fast as we can march in these conditions. With any luck we will reach the Northern Outposts held at such cost by Sgt. Gork and his squad in two days. I can but hope that they will still be alive when we get there. I have already begun to compose a song about their stand, but it is woefully incomplete. I need to see the place for myself, and speak to those who were there and lived. But I can already hear something of the beat in the war drums of the Glacierheart orcs and the melody in the pipes of the Westmarch Militia. In peace, it will be a sad reminder of the cost of duty. In war, I imagine it will take on the role of a call to arms and war march when there is no quarter to be given.
Shaman¡¯s Records Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording The dead are stacked beyond the walls of the outpost. The supplies are stocked into the available space. The war drums are out and their song of defiance beats upon the winter wind. Banners are unfurled to the sky. Almost without a word being spoken, the banner of the Ironbark Company flies preeminent, despite there being only five men and women of Ironbark present. Sgt. Gork''s warband as a whole are largely silent about that night. The ghosts of it still haunt their eyes. It takes only one look at the neat line of shallow graves they spent the better part of yesterday digging for their fallen friends and brethren in battle, Ironbark and Glacierheart alike, to see why. The mounds of frozen corpses stand in mute testament to their bravery, their heroism, and their sacrifice.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Tenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I have seen hell. It is a frozen and blasted place, scorched by flames and pierced by the screams of the burning dead''s last breaths. Snow howls on the bitter wind, your spit freezes before it touches the ground, and there is no place or time to rest in the battle against the merciless flames that encroach from every side. I was granted the precious time to write when a burning timber fell across my legs. I can''t feel them in the cold, and the healers have tucked a blanket over them. I suspect that I will lose them in the end, to the burns or to the frostbite that has probably set in already. I was awake, listening to the wind howling through a broken shutter somewhere when the first explosion came. It was on the far side of Fort Westmarch from where I was resting, but the sound of gunpowder exploding is unmistakable. I had heard it twice before, and had the great good fortune to survive unscathed both times. I went rushing forward with the others, ready to put out the flames before they could spread, when the second explosion began. I say began, because it seemed to go on and on and on like the roll of thunder before the end of the world. The rebels had placed their charge with care just on the other side of the wall from a building that the Ruby Siege Corps was using to store their powder. I will never know for sure, but I think that they just put a dirt-covered tarp over the powder instead of burying it the way Lord General Ochen decreed. In any case, the fire started by the rebel''s charge set something alight, and the Ruby gunpowder caught quickly enough. Not so fast as to detonate at the same time, which would have been better. Instead it (or more likely the aforementioned tarp) smoldered for just long enough for the firefighting parties to gather about and begin to douse the flames. Then it detonated, catching all of them in the blast. For some it was a merciful and messy end to their lives: snuffed out like a candle in a storm and torn apart like a rowboat before a hurricane. For others, like the pour nameless soul who lays next to me, that second explosion was only the beginning of the horror. Burning debris scythed out across the night and came raining down on heads and limbs. At least two other buildings caught flame before I arrived. The healers were already swamped with burn and blast casualties. I set about helping put out the fire on one of the other buildings before a Ruby Siege corps engineer appeared. He grabbed all of us and pulled us away from the building as fast as he could. And for good reason. Another store of gunpowder was inside, and the roof was beginning to collapse where a burning timber had fallen through it. He saved my life, and lost his own when that store detonated in a third explosion. The burning splinter took him in the back, just below the ribs, when he tackled me into a snowbank. I was knocked unconscious until a healer pulled his body off of me to see if I was still alive. While I was being dragged to the healers'' work area, I could see the holes in the wall where the buildings had been. They are at least twenty feet wide each, and despite the burned-out rubble filling the gaps, they will be obvious weak points. Another charge of gunpowder will clear the ruble away before an attack strikes home. For me, this war is over. For Lord General Ochen Shagari, commander of the Army of the Jeweled Cities, this nightmare is only just beginning.
Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Tenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Fort Westmarch is now clearly untenable as a primary defensive position. I am still forced to use it as my forward supply dump, particularly in light of the present immobility of the Siege Corps. This in turn will require a heavy guard presence, because I can ill afford to lose any more food or equipment this winter. In turn, this makes taking the last Northern Outpost even more vital. I would almost prefer falling back to the southern outposts, but that was never a viable option. For one, they are far too small to hold even half of my army under anything resembling proper winter quarters. For another, the Westmarchers and Ironbarkers had done all they could to sabotage those buildings. The windows never quite shut, leaving cold air to blow through. The doors would all but fall out of their frames, or stick so tightly as to refuse to open. The shingles leaked at the slightest provocation. And most tellingly of all, several of the support beams were cut into. Not quite enough to make the buildings fall down under their own weight, but close. I suspect that they were intended to cave in under the weight of accumulated snow, or a man standing on the roof trying to clear the snow away. Either way, a cave in would likely kill all them men inside the building in question, or at least render them permanently unfit for service. It is a devious tactic, and one that speaks volumes as to the amount of preparation and foresight that the Westmarchers and Ironbarkers put into their positions. They fashioned a noose of abandoned and sabotaged positions, and I put the necks of my entire army into it, just in time for the weather to yank the lever and drop the trapdoor out from under their feet. Chapter 25 Shaman¡¯s Records Tenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording Shaman Mul the Silent put on quite the show last night! I''m not quite sure how she did it, but she managed to set off a chain of three explosions. They tore apart the peaceful night with flames and blasts fit to wake the dead. The first one was a muffled thwump on the wind. Not particularly loud or flashy at this range, but enough to let the sentries know that the show was beginning. The second explosion announced itself soon after the first, and this one was much larger. We couldn''t see much of the fireball itself through the snow, but we could hear it. The rumbling krump of the detonation arrived some time after the muted flare of light, but we all felt it. The ground shook slightly, and you could see the shockwave in the brief eddy of snow carried sideways by its strength. The ominous glow on the horizon spoke of a great fire set by the glowing embers left in the wake of the first two explosions. Not long thereafter a third explosion shook the night. It flared as brightly as the second, and again the shockwave moved the snow and earth briefly. I saw Tam and Aris Cretu standing on the wall looking south as the explosions shook the night. There was a look of grim satisfaction on their faces. It is far from an honorable way to fight, blowing up things in the night, and it should shame any warrior worth his ax and scars. But this is war. More than that, it is a war against a foe who has already committed betrayals low enough to sacrifice his own men just to see the blood flow. Tam and Aris clearly do not like the fighting and the killing. Just as clearly, they have no problem seeing to the defeat of the Army of the Jeweled Cities. This war has left scars on all of our souls. Tam will be crying in her sleep tonight, Aris Cretu won''t be eating in the morning, and Shaman Mul the Silent will spend the day staring at nothing in particular. I suspect many of the other warriors soldiers that survive this war will be much the same. I intend to withdraw to the valleys and streams among the peaks of the Glacierheart Mountains once this war is over. The wilds call to me, just as the vicious practicality of this war repulses me. But for now, I am needed here. We are needed here, taking these scars upon our minds and bodies, that others need not suffer as we do. We fight so that others need not bleed. We kill so that others do not die. It does not come without a cost almost to dear to pay. We have bled out our innocence on the snow, sacrificed our pride for practicality. But we are willing to pay it. I can only pray that we do not lose so much more in the doing. Did you lose what won''t return? / Did you love but never learn? / The fire''s out but still it burns¡­[5]
Aris Cretu''s Journal Tenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I can never go back to being a simple fisherman sailing Sapphire Bay. I don''t pretend to be a font of all knowledge, nor a seer staring into the future. But if I have learned one thing about myself since joining the Ironbark Mercenary Company, it is that I am good at killing other people. I was always just a slight bit stronger, faster, and tougher than other people my age. I drank as much as anyone else, and got into my share of bar fights and back alley brawls. I always had a slight air, one that made other rowdy drunks think twice about picking a fight with me, once I walked away from my first few brawls. Well, drunkenly staggered, at any rate. The drills put an edge on those traits, and combat has honed it to a deadly killing edge. The gateway stand on the night of seventh polished it to a lethally graceful mirror bright finish.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Killing a man in battle is one thing. Living to tell about it is another. Doing both puts you in a place that few go, and none can come back from, not sane anyway. I have done so on several skirmishes up in the goat trails of the Westmarch Valley, and now again here in this outpost. In doing so, I have lost count of how many men I have killed. Of the two hundred and sixty dead men of the Army of the Jeweled Cities stacked about the gate, fifty-four were killed by great swords. Only Tam and I were wielding such blades on that night. I don¡¯t know how many of them fell at my blade, or how many of the ones I wounded succumbed to the cold. And this war isn''t over. If I live through it, I will have done so by putting dozens, perhaps hundreds, more men in early graves. Some would call me a veteran of the hardest school imaginable, heated in the fires of battle, shaped upon the anvil of war, and quenched in the blood of fallen foes. I do not disagree, but there is more to me than simply being a mercenary for hire. But perhaps that is the safest job, both for me and for those around me. There was a code of honor in the bar room brawls down on the Sapphire docks: no blows to a man''s bits, no daggers or broken bottles, and no killing on purpose. If I ever got into another such brawl, I fear the blood would be running ankle deep by the end. Unlike so many, I do not simply think I can kill another person. I know I can and have done so again and again, and I have the nicks in my blade and scars on my soul to prove it. Somehow, I think that whatever gods may be out there, none of them will look upon me with pride. And If they do, then I have no desire to follow their creed.
Chronicler Vian''s Log Twelfth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War The Ironbark Mercenary Company is reunited again in all our martial glory. From a strength of one thousand men at the beginning of June, we are now down to just over four hundred and fifty. Four hundred and fifty-four men to be exact. The list of honored dead grows ever longer and heavier. Some of the names on that list have no story to go with the body, only the howling caress of the icy wind. The Westmarch Militia are militia in name only. They had perhaps five hundred spearmen when this war began, and they can still muster almost two hundred and fifty of them. Each and every one of them is a veteran of bitter fighting. In fact, the greatest concern for most of their officers is that some of them have nothing left to lose. Their homes have been looted by the invading Army of the Jeweled Cities, or destroyed by the winter snow and winds after they fled that same army''s approach. Those unfortunate souls fight like they have nothing left to lose, which makes them incredibly dangerous to friend and foe alike. The Glacierheart warbands, man and orc alike, are well represented in our formation. In addition to the four hundred souls who arrived ahead of us on the eighth, another six hundred came with us. Their morale is high, even after the brutal winter, the fighting on the goat trails, and the raiding in the southern half of the Westmarch valley. Their discipline may be a little less than sharp on a parade ground or drill field, but it has yet to waver in combat. Equally true, they have yet to see a large-scale battle, but I expect them to do well. In total, there are one thousand seven hundred and five soldiers ready to defend this outpost. Adding up the numbers from all of the scouting reports and after battle reports, The Army of the Jeweled Cities has between four and a half and five thousand men in the field, spread across two of the Northern outposts and Fort Westmarch. The odds are not in our favor for an open-field battle, but there won''t be one with four feet of snow on the ground in most places. No, the Army of the Jeweled Cities is going to come and try to dig us out of this outpost. And we intend to break them against the walls when they do. Chapter 26 Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Fourteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War It took four days to accomplish, but the Army of the Jeweled Cities is ready to take the last Northern Outpost. It is clear from what few reports I have that the rebels, Westmarch, Ironbark, and Glacierheart together, have no more than two thousand men left in the field. They probably have a few more in reserve up in the Mountains, but they have left them there to ease the strain on their supply line. It makes a certain amount of sense that they aren''t fielding their full strength as they must strike a balance between manpower / orcpower available for combat and available to transport the food and supplies their warriors need. With conditions the way they are, they have chosen to reduce their strength in the field and to concentrate it in one location to simplify their logistics and shorten their supply lines. Earlier in the year, any force that they would have put into one of the Northern Outposts would have been easily surrounded and cut off. With the snow limiting mobility the way it is now, the roofs and walls of those same outposts are warm weathertight refuges for man, orc, and foodstuffs alike. But just as they have turned Fort Westmarch into a trap for my Army of the Jeweled Cities, I will turn their Northern Outpost into a trap for their forces. I have set the Siege Corps to manufacturing the same kind of sled that they have used against our walls to such great effect. I dare not dispatch independent raiders under the cover of night and storms in the same way: there is too much chance that they would either get lost or fumble their strike. I intend to send them in just before dawn on the same day that my main column is ready to storm the outpost. Let us see how they like dealing with unexpected explosions, fires, and breaches in their walls, followed by a four-thousand-man assault of those breaches.
Shaman¡¯s Records Fourteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart recording I cast the runes this morning. The Fate rune landed in the middle of all of the others. Much hangs in the balance this day. War, Death, Glory, Battle, and Despair fell interlocked, twisted across, above, and below. A battle will be fought, and its outcome will determine the path this war will take. Great moments of Glory and Despair will come to pass in this battle, each a turning point for the people involved. Death will abound, and the battle ground will be as a killing field and bleeding place. Shaman, Warrior, and Soldier fell intertwined. All present will fight without exception. Blood landed across Victory and Defeat. The outcome of this battle, win or lose, will be drenched in blood and bought or sold by many lives. This, then, is the turning point. This is the knot where all of Fate''s threads twist about each other. Some continue unmarked. Some are frayed but refuse to break. And still more snap or are snipped, sheared away to an abrupt end. I look to the one outpost north of Fort Westmarch still held by the combined forces of Westmarch, Glacierheart, and Ironbark. Come the dawn, the banner that flies over that place of death will fly over all of Westmarch and Glacierheart in the fullness of time.
Aris Crtu''s Journal Fourteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. It has been too quiet for too long. The Army of the Jeweled Cities has done nothing but take its lumps since we drove them back from this outpost. They could have taken this place that night, had they made even one more attempt. They had the numbers to soak up the casualties and keep coming, walking over our corpses to claim their prize. I guess their morale broke. I image we must have looked like lords of war with the torches casting their pitiful light from behind us and the field of dead before us. I certainly didn''t feel like one. As soon as they left, I heaved my guts up. We have been reinforced, but the numbers are still stacked against us. If the Army of the Jeweled Cities does come in full force, then it will be the same as before: a slaughter. Seventeen hundred men cannot hope to stand indefinitely against four or five thousand. If nothing else, they can afford to lose two or three men for every one of ours, particularly if they just want to keep us bottled up in here for a week or so. Our supplies can''t last forever. But I don''t think the Army of the Jeweled Cities can afford to besiege us either. The winter itself would see to that. Without proper cover against its fury, they would quickly freeze. If they do decide to come at us, they will attempt to storm the outpost. It is their only viable option. They could also sit on their hands at Fort Westmarch, but Shaman Mul the Silent has already showed them the folly of doing just that. The Army of the Jeweled Cities will come, and it will come soon. They have no other option. They have no other choice. It is win or die for both them and us.
Shaman¡¯s Records Fourteenth Fifteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Mul the Silent of Clan Glacierheart recording in haste Today is the day of decision in this Westmarch War. I can smell it on the wind. I can feel it in the ground. I can taste it in the water. The sun lies just below the horizon. When it rises, the fires of battle will be lit. By the time it rises again this will be a place of blood and ash.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. The Sentries are shouting alarms. The war drums beat the drumbeat of death. As Aris Cretu would say: hostile contact imminent.
Chronicle Vian''s Log Seventeenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Old Leon, acting as the scribe for Chronicler Vian due to injury. Where to begin? With the alarm, and the sundering of the wall. The Second battle for the Ironbark Outpost, as the men have come to call it, began when the Army of the Jeweled Cities used our own tactic against us. Three teams of men, probably drawn from their Siege Corps, emplaced charges of gunpowder at the southwest, southern, and southeastern sections of the wall. They lit the fuses just before dawn, and it was the light from their torches when they did so that alerted the sentries. Several sentries fired on the engineers, slaying most as they fled. The ones at the southern wall managed to heave some snow onto one of the fuses and extinguish it, but the damage was done. The charges detonated and tore holes in the walls. The splinters from the explosion cut across the open spaces beyond the breach and scythed through many men and orcs. The Army of the Jeweled Cities threw assault columns into the breaches as soon as the smoke had cleared enough for them to see where they were putting their feet. Once again, Sgt. Gork lead the defense of the southern breach. Shaman Mul the Silent led the defense of the southeastern one, and a Westmarch Lieutenant by the name of Kione Kareem took command of the southwest one when his superior officer was cut down by an arrow. The situation was fluid and chaotic for the first few hours, until the sun had cleared the horizon enough that the battlefield was lit by anything besides torchlight. In that time, I think the individual superiority of our soldiers and their training in small unit / warband tactics helped immensely. By the time the Jeweled Cities assault columns were repulsed for the first time, the defenders numbered only one thousand three hundred and eighty or so. I (Chronicler Vian) estimate that the Army of the Jeweled Cities lost just over five hundred men before they fell back to try again. Lieutenant Kareem had been wounded sealing off a breach in his line, but refused treatment. His forces had taken the brunt of the losses, but still held strong. Sgt. Gork at the southern breach had seen almost no serious fighting, once our foes had realized who lead that set of defenses. Shaman Mul the Silent was in the thick of the fighting at the southeast breach, but had managed to get orders to a reserve unit to get the gunpowder out. It wouldn''t be of much use until there was a lull in the fighting, but she was clearly thinking ahead. Shaman Mul the Silent''s forethought paid off when the Army of the Jeweled Cities launched their second attack just after breakfast. She had ordered the approach to her breach studded with barrels of gunpowder. Such improvised charges would be of limited use without a reliable way to detonate them, but she found one. Details on that matter are still unclear, but the next attack to approach her position was broken before it came to grips with her forces. Lieutenant Kareem also used the time to re-arrange his forces somewhat. He sent his bowmen and skirmishers into whatever elevated positions they could find, with orders to fire freely at any target that presented itself. When the second attack wave came in, they inflicted more than a few casualties. Their practice as snipers on the goat trails and in raiding the supply convoys proved useful. A disproportionate number of the men they killed were junior officers and standard bearers. The attack came in disorganized, and spent its efforts over too broad a front to break through again. At the southern breach, Sgt. Gork found himself again skirmishing more than fighting. He suspected a trap, and so pulled some of his men and orcs back, as if to reinforce the other breaches. That movement was what the Army of the Jeweled Cities was waiting for. They stormed forward in earnest, only to be met by Sgt. Gork''s returning squads mounting a counter-charge. The fighting was close and savage, but Sgt. Gork once again broke the back of the attack by raw stubbornness and a refusal to give ground despite all odds. Both sides came to an uneasy truce for lunch. Fighting in these winter conditions expends energy at a furious rate, and hot food is essential to keep fighting. The head count from units as they rotated through the chow lines comes in at one thousand two hundred and sixty-five. It is hard to estimate the number of men that the Army of the Jeweled Cities lost in this second attack, due in large part to the mess that Shaman Mull had made of one of their formations. What reports we do have estimate the foe''s losses as ''almost total'' for that portion of their attack, so I (Chronicler Vian) place their total losses at about two thousand men up until that point in the battle. When the Army of the Jeweled Cities mounted their third attack shortly after lunch, they clearly had abandoned attacking Shaman Mul the Silent''s breach. They sent forward just enough skirmishers to keep her forces pinned in place, and concentrated their efforts against Lieutenant Kareem. He had continued to refuse treatment, and his forces were hard pressed indeed. Their line broke shortly before nightfall after three hours of fighting. At that point Sgt. Gork and Shaman Mul the Silent had to pull back from their breaches or be overwhelmed from behind. The fighting carried on amid the buildings of the outpost, and I (Chronicler Vian) was wounded in that time, having taken a cut to the right arm. It will recover with time and care, but I (Chronicler Vian) cannot allow myself to relax at the moment. The fighting once again became fluid and chaotic. Unit cohesion broke down on both sides. Once again, this favored us, as our men and orcs were used to such fighting. By the time night fell fully, the fighting had died down in large part because there was no one left able to fight. The final headcount leaves The Ironbark Mercenary Company with two hundred sixty-two men, of which Sgt. Gork ''the Scarred'' Burling, Assistant Chronicler Aris Cretu, and Standard-bearer Samantha ''Tam'' Fiskr are three. Of the Westmarch Militia, only one hundred and twenty-two men remain. Sadly, Lieutenant Kareem is not among them, having died attempting to once more seal off the breach in his lines. Of the Glacierheart orc warbands, two hundred and thirty-five, including Shamans Mul the Silent and Koroc the Singer, survive. Those losses are brutal. Beyond brutal, they are devastation incarnate. No formation can stand up to those kind of losses and not have to reorganize. Counting from the beginning of this whole mess, Ironbark has taken almost seventy four percent casualties. The Westmarch Militia has taken nearly seventy-six percent casualties, and the Glacierheart warbands have taken just over ninety percent casualties. They have more reinforcements available, freshly raised and trained warbands to come forward, so their numbers are expected to climb again in the near future. But if our losses are horrific, the Army of the Jeweled Cities'' has lost even more. They lost almost every man that they committed to this attack, which leaves them with only the men they left at the other outposts and Fort Westmarch. Reports put their total numbers at no more than one thousand eight hundred across all three locations. We may not have the manpower available to storm any breaches, but we do have the numbers to isolate exterminate what is left of the Army of the Jeweled Cities. This war is not quite finished yet, but it is all over but the dying. Chapter 27 Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Seventeenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War This war is lost. Oh, I have men left, almost three times as many as my foes if what reports I have are accurate. But they, and I, have no more will left to take the offensive. To ask them to attack our foe once more is pure folly. If I did ask this one last attack of them, we may indeed take the Ironbark Outpost¡­ but only by climbing over a mountain of our own dead. Of the six and a half thousand men, including in that count all of the reinforcements and the siege corps with which I set out, only one thousand eight hundred yet live. Of that number less than a thousand can be considered truly combat ready. Even if Ironbark, Westmarch, and Glacierheart have only that number of soldiers left they still have their morale and collective spirit. I could yet fight on. I could choose to pool all of my strength together and attempt to hold out until the Ebony and Emerald regiments arrive. But what is the point? It would only cost more lives on both sides and not change the outcome in the slightest. Even if I did successfully grind out such a ¡®victory¡¯, then Sapphire would hold ownership over a field of corpses and salted ground. There would still be Glacierheart Orcs, well trained and motivated, waiting for any force foolish enough to put their feet upon the Glacierheart mountains. I shudder to think of the cost to Sapphire, to Ruby, and to Opal, of this failure. But I refuse to spend good lives reinforcing such failure. It may cost me my lordship, my wealth, and my Sapphire estates. It may even render me outcast. But I cannot in good faith continue this fight. As soon as the weather clears, I will ask for what terms I can expect were I to surrender.
Aris Cretu¡¯s Journal Seventeenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I yet live. I cannot even begin to count the dead, much less how many of them I made. I cannot fathom how many graves will need dug once the snow melts and the ground thaws once more. How many wives and children will never see fathers and brothers again? How many lovers will never again share a warm embrace? How many souls will never see their homes once more, never know the fate of the cause they died for?If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. My heart is as rubble strewn across the smoking snow. My soul is as beaten and battered as my armor and blade. I need to talk to Shaman Mul. She sees what I cannot, and always know what to say.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Seventeenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War So many minds walk the ragged edges of the Twisted Kingdom. So many souls stained blacker than the void by the killing in this place. So much death stains the fabric of reality in this place. Were I not beyond insane, seeing / feeling / touching / tasting / hearing all of this would make me so. Eight hundred lives washed away in fire in a single heartbeat when I broke the second attack on my breach. They didn¡¯t even have time to realize that they died before they fell. I regret the necessity of igniting so many fuses at once, but at least I had to do so myself. I didn¡¯t have to make another commit the single largest act of calculated slaughter of this entire war. That is not to say that I would not do it again: it was a kill or be killed fight, the kind that only one side can walk away from when the killing ends. Equally true, I did not enjoy giving that order. It needed doing, and she who gives that kind of order should light the fuse herself, but it should never be enjoyable. A mind approaches: one familiar from many a night on the goat trails: Aris Cretu. He needs aid, and as he once helped me, it is my turn to give help to him.
Shaman¡¯s Records Seventeenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War. Shaman Koroc the Singer recording So much blood and fire and death. So many gave all for their cause, and so many gave more. Most of the dead will rest peacefully. Some will not, and it will fall to the shamans to ease them on to their fate. So many of the living need comfort. Some of them need aid, some a shoulder to cry on, others simple time for their scars to heal as much as they can. I can already name warriors who will never fight again after today. For some, it is because their bodies cannot stand it, for others it is their minds that have been rendered fragile. Some will break, and build themselves back up. Perhaps not as strong as they once were, but wiser. More aware of themselves and of others, of the price a fight like this one extracts, and why it is to be avoided when possible. And equally true why one cannot flinch from a fight when such a war is inevitable. Flinching only makes the price dearer in the end. Chapter 28 Aris Cretu''s Journal Eighteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War ¡­Legends never die / They''re written down in eternity / But you''ll never see the price it costs / the scars collected all their lives¡­[6] And I am blessed and cursed to be one to contribute to the writing of those legends in the Logs of Vian. In large part because Old Leon needs to rest and eat, but Chronicler Vian has naught to do but sit about all day and dictate. He''d do the writing himself, if he could, but with his right hand in a cast that¡¯s just a tad bit difficult to do. It will be a few years yet before I make the transition to writing a Log of my own, though I suppose this diary is practice for doing exactly that. Sgt. Gork turned down a promotion to Lieutenant, as it would take him out of the ranks of the Ur-handers. I think it''s more because he feels more comfortable in the thick of a fight with blood on his face then sitting back and commanding others to die in his place. He had a taste of independent command out on the goat trails, and we could all see that he was grateful to have a shaman around to aid him. He got another taste of command at the southern breach, and found it much too weighty for his liking. Or so he told me, when we were both deep in our cups trying to drown the night terrors. Tam did get the position of Standard Bearer, which suits her nicely. A bit of a backhanded compliment as well, as it was her running a flag up the pole in the outpost that damn near got us all killed the first time. She isn''t exactly comfortable with that, but that fight and the one that followed it was coming on anyway. All she did was pick the place and bring it on a bit sooner. And while I could wish for fewer casualties, that was only ever going to be a fever dream, a fragment of delirium. If the Army of the Jeweled Cities didn''t come out and attack us, then we would have to go and dig them out of Fort Westmarch. That would have been just as costly, if not more so. I had a long talk with Shaman Mul last night. We spoke at great length, but I recall little of it. I know we were speaking in the Old Tongue for a good part of it, speaking of places long forgotten, of the thorns of a twisted kingdom, and a place I was wandering too close to entering. I still look back on the actions of the last few days, but some parts of them, the worst of the killing and the bleeding, are¡­ hazy. I can recall them in perfect, excruciating detail if I try. And yet it is as if I am preventing myself from looking to closely at those hours in order to stay, well, me. This is more than a little disturbing on some levels, but I think it is a part of human nature. We see our rewards and our glories all to clearly, but not our failures, our pains and agonies. When I write my logs, I will make sure that all such events are included, the good and the ill. Chronicler Vian is already doing exactly that, and I can now see why such details are needed. They are not pleasant, but without them the Ironbark Mercenary Company would keep making the same mistakes over again.
Editor''s Note: It is clear to me (as a practitioner of magic) that Mul the Silent definitely used some sort of magical mental manipulation on Aris, but it appears to be quite minor as Aris can still recall all of the memories in question. I am actively attempting to locate Aris again to confirm this, as I was only able to speak with him briefly before Ironbark took a contract further south. Chedal I believe the town was called. I am also looking for Mul the Silent, to ask her exactly what she did and how she did it. Having a means to stave off depression and / or post-traumatic stress would be quite handy, but only if it is safe for the patient and stable in the long term. Otherwise it would only end up doing more harm than good. And as any magic practitioner knows, messing with a living mind is among the most dangerous things that one can do. The fact that Mul the Silent managed to do it untrained, unassisted, and without the subject being actively aware of it (at least after the fact) is quite impressive. If her method is safe and effective, then I would very much like to applaud her. If not, then she had best hope that I never find her.
Shaman''s RecordsA case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Eighteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording A courier arrived today under a white flag of truce. He bore a message from Lord General Ochen Shagari, Commander of the Army of the Jeweled Cities, asking for terms of surrender. That this war might end in peace is something of a minor miracle to me, but Captain Rivoril Syllynn of the Ironbark Company was less surprised. He did send the runner back with a letter that the Elders were discussing those terms, and that he should expect a messenger with details, also under flag of truce, within a day or two. What followed was a ferocious debate among the Elders. Not over whether or not to offer terms, but what those terms should be. Warlord Elder Otab the Old wanted to hold out for quite punitive terms, great sums of gold and weapons to be paid to Westmarch and Glacierheart both. Mayor Bilal Muhktar responded by pointing out that this Lord General Ochen would have to get any terms approved by his elders, the Serene Dominas, and that any set of demands that punishing would likely be discarded out of hand. In the end, it was Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart that came up with the terms that all could agree on. Not because they were particularly punishing in terms of coin or iron, but because they would cost the Jeweled Cities in general and Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal in particular, something far more precious: legitimacy. The terms are as follows: The real kicker is that Lord General Ochen probably already has the authority to make terms for the Council of the Jeweled Cities, in order to allow him to issue terms of surrender to defeated foes more quickly. Any bargain he signed in such a capacity would be binding to all of the Jeweled Cities, and neatly outrank anyone short of the Council itself. From there, we could count on Emerald and Ebony to agree to the terms, at minimum, and they would have the whip hand to enforce that agreement when it came to standing military forces among the Jeweled Cities, now that the armies of Sapphire, Ruby, and Opal have been crushed in the field. And once the two new Republics of Westmarch and Glacierheart are on record as sovereign Republics with the Guild, unmaking that status would be all but impossible. It is a truce that neatly grants every party in this valley as much of what they want as possible. Would Glacierheart like more reparations in coin? Of course they would, and so would Westmarch for that matter. Instead, they get near-instant and complete legitimacy as independent states, co-signed by the largest collective nation in the region. The Jeweled Cities get what is left of their forces back in as healthy a state as is possible under the conditions, plus allow those men get to return home unmolested and in good order. It is a treaty that no reasonable defeated commander can decline, and it is close enough to a white peace that the Jeweled Cities won''t feel like they are giving up too much without good reason. The truce would also give all sides time to regain their strength. It may lead to future conflicts, but I think that is unlikely. Westmarch knows it has a staunch ally in Glacierheart, and both are interested in fortifying the Westmarch valley against future incursion from the south. The truce will also allow time for profitable trade, the lifeblood of healthy Republics, to begin to flow once more. Over time, that flow will become a steady river of mutually beneficial agreements and profit for all involved. It will take longer for Glacierheart to be accepted then Westmarch, owing to the natural prejudice of the world against orcs, but it will not take forever. And with any luck, Westmarch and Glacierheart will be here to see it happen together. Chapter 29 Lord Ochen Shagari¡¯s War Journal Nineteenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War A white peace. I would have never believed it. A white peace! Sapphire, indeed all of the jeweled Cities, doesn¡¯t have to pay a single coin in reparations! For the Serene Dominas, that will sell this truce to them in a heartbeat. I don¡¯t expect them to be happy about not getting the profits and future incomes that they wanted. On the other side of that coin is the fact that they won¡¯t lose any more treasure in this endeavor. They get to cut their losses and recover what they can before having to pour good money after bad. More good money I should say, given how much all of this cost. I do not think that I will enjoy wintering in Fort Westmarch, but it is the only place large enough to hold all of us. And the offer of medical aid is nothing to laugh at either. With over eight hundred wounded to care for, any aid is worth the cost. They are killing us with kindness, yet it is a welcome mercy killing. An end to the staining of my soul with unneeded bloodshed. The breaking of an unquestioned chain of command. I expect the Serene Dominas will listen to their commanders in the field from now on. And if not, they can be made to listen. This is not the first wellspring of dissent to appear, but it is the first one that cannot be capped. There are no voices to be silenced in the dark of night, no ¡®unfortunate incidents¡¯ to be swept under the rug, no ¡®violent criminals¡¯ to be publicly executed for crimes that they didn¡¯t commit because their real crime was to think for themselves. I half expect to find assassins waiting for me when I return home, but they will need an army of them to silence every voice. Each and every man in this army will carry the story back on his tongue, and I expect the Guild will be quietly informed as well. Westmarch and Glacierheart traders will carry the word as well. Two new Republics have been born in defiance of the wishes of the Serene Dominas, and there is nothing that the Jeweled Cities can do to silence them. This may be only the first pebbles bouncing down the mountainside, but every avalanche starts with a single stone. The Jeweled Cities are in for interesting times, and it all began here in this valley. It began when men dared to look beyond skin and find common cause with old honorable foes against tyrannical manipulators. Perhaps I will not go home. Perhaps I can live here instead, if they will have me. I will miss the sea, the wind off the waves, and the salty taste of fresh caught fish. I will dread the winters here, and loath the chill winds that brings on memories of these dark days. But there is something better here that makes all of that worthwhile. There is an unchained desire for self-betterment and the improvement of the community by helping others instead of sucking their economic lifeblood. There is a spark of innovation coupled with a willingness to question the ¡®known¡¯ in search of better ways to live. It is a heady brew, one that will lead to heartbreak and triumph in equal measure. And it is backed by steel strong enough, spines stiff enough, and minds brave and cunning enough to defend that spark of innovation, of inventiveness, against all comers. This little urbino, little city-state, will be is the beginning of a new dawn. A spark set to waiting tinder, a torch held aloft in the night for others to follow. In the dawn, I will go to the Ironbark Outpost in person to surrender my sword and sign the truce that will end this war and usher in a new dawn. It is not the dawn my former masters wished to see, but it is a better dawn despite them.
Reth Nakima¡¯s Journal Twentieth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War I may yet walk again. The pronouncement of the healers stuns me even now. It will not be easy, it will not be quick, but better than either of those things is one fact: it will come if I am willing to work towards it. It would not have happened without the Westmarchers pitching in to help our own overwhelmed healers, and more than a few burn ointments and recipes given freely by the Glacierheart orcs. A week ago, heck three days ago, I would not have believed it possible. We are at peace as of this afternoon, and the medical aid and food came flooding forward before the ink had even dried. It will be a lean winter for everyone, but no one will starve, and no more will be lost from illness or injury if it can be helped.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Already the stories are floating about. Veterans on both sides swapping battle tales. Civilians commiserating over shared hardships like tax collectors and bad management. I can smell the bread rising in the kitchens, fresh-baked for the first time in a month. I may not be able to head back to Sapphire until I can walk properly, and I may not go even then. I would only face scorn from people who weren¡¯t here, didn¡¯t see what we saw, and didn¡¯t have to do what we did. The tales will only grow in time, and already I can hear the people that think they matter dismissing them as lies and excuses by cowards and weaklings. They wouldn¡¯t last two days on the road to Fort Westmarch. I¡¯m not sure I will ever be able to forget this war, or the ones who injured me so. But I can understand them, their causes and desires, and in time I hope that I can forgive them as they have forgiven me. This was never anything personal for them, and to my shame it took days laying helpless in a bed staring at the ceiling to understand that. The Westmarchers and Galcierhearters couldn¡¯t afford to face us in battle, nor could they forfeit their homes. So that had to find other ways. They had no way to know that we had moved our gunpowder stores to the outer walls, no way of knowing that the Ruby Siege Engineers hadn¡¯t taken the proper precautions. Not one soldier in five is going to go home. This war is the bloodiest I know of since the Seminal War itself. And I got to live through it, see it happen. I suppose my journal would be of interest to the chroniclers and history-keepers, and may even fetch a fair bit of coin were I to sell it. But I¡¯ve no desire to paint a target on my own back for the Serene Dominas¡¯ backstabbing ¡®silencers.¡¯ I have enough troubles of my own without drawing any more down upon my head from powers on high.
Shaman Mul the Silent¡¯s Journal Thirtieth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Final Entry of this volume. In these waning days of the year, I have come to think again of my plans to wander abroad. Doing so is as inevitable as the onset of the spring thaw. It is not a matter of if or when I leave, but who I tell, and how I tell it. Of what I leave behind. I have decided to leave this journal, such as it is, behind. I will make only a brief entry in the official Shaman¡¯s Records, noting my leaving and where to find this journal. My full goodbye to Glacierheart and Westmarch I leave here: It had been a long winter, full of new things and ones older than the stars in the sky. I have learned and lost more than I will ever truly know. I will always call Glacierheart Home, even as I cannot stand to be within her borders any more. Know that I will miss this place, these mountains and valleys, and all who dwell on and within them. As to those of you who will read this journal in full, as I Know Shaman Koroc the Singer and Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart surely will, you will inevitably ask yourselves why I did not leave behind a path for others to follow. It already exists in the Logs of Innoch with the Ironbark Mercenary Company. I leave the task of tracing it down and deciphering it in place on purpose: as a safeguard and gatekeeper against any walking the path I walk with eyes closed and ears shut. Shaman Mul the Silent
Shaman¡¯s Records Thirty First of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War Shaman Mul the Silent recording for the last time. My Journal is in my old room, underneath the furs of my bed along with my rune-bag. The last entry contains my farewell. Keep it with these Records, and make it available to any Shaman or Initiate who asks about it in all seriousness. It is not that I desire my story to be lost, only that it be kept from casual lips and ears. Farewell. She who walks through the Thorns to the Stars, Mul the Silent.
Chronicler Vian¡¯s Log First of January, Seven Hundred and Sixty Nine Seventieth year since the Seminal War It is a new year. The associated celebrations went off without a hitch, and good faith is blooming among all of the survivors of the Westmarch War. I expect word of the truce has reached Sapphire by now, even with the continued snow storms. Given that we haven¡¯t heard anything back (although I don¡¯t expect to) the Westmarch war is officially over, with only the formal steps of the Army of the Jeweled Cities withdrawing with the thaw yet to occur. Ironbark has quietly put out word that anyone who wants to join up is welcome with almost no questions asked. I expect that Lord General Ochen¡¯s quartermasters are going to be accepting a few more resignations from soldiers who don¡¯t want to go back to the Jeweled Cities as well. Lord General Ochen already plans to resign and move back to Westmarch just about as quietly as he is able to. I half expect that he will simply have his agents sell off his Sapphire holdings without ever returning to Sapphire, even if that means he takes quite a loss on the sale. Shaman Koroc did ask me if I¡¯d Seen Shaman Mul recently. I told him that I had not, but he didn¡¯t tell me why he is looking for her. Perhaps she just needed some time to herself. I for one have no intention of prying in further. Ironbark needs time to recover, to regrow her formations, and an actual quiet garrison post far from here. With any luck, our contacts in the Guild will be able to find just such a contract. So ends this section of the Logs of Vian. Chapter 30 A Note from the Editor: The Westmarch War ended without any further conflict, but its geopolitical ramifications were felt for quite some time. Sapphire fell from its perch as the Head of the Council of the Jeweled Cities and lost its status as the First among Equals in the doing. With the backing of the Guild, the artisan guilds in all of the Jeweled Cities helped organize the citizens of that area. The Jeweled Republics have yet to officially form, but their government structures are inexorably moving in that direction. I expect the Great families of the Jeweled cities will either lead that reformation process, or be swept aside by the rising tide of reform. As for the people whose writings I have included here and the places they mentioned¡­ Lord General Ochen Shagari¡¯s decision to retire from military life and Sapphire politics left something of a power vacuum in those areas. He missed the resulting rounds of political infighting and assassinations by moving to Westmarch, where he lived out his life as a minor landholder and farmer. Many of the survivors of his Army of the Jeweled Cities followed suit in equally quiet manner for their own reasons. These seasoned veterans would play a large part in the formation of the Westmarch Army, along with the survivors of the Westmarch Militia. Private Reth Nakima was honorably discharged from the Army of the Jeweled Cities on the first of February, 770 as a Private First Class with wound medal. He settled in Westmarch and lived happily as a baker, marrying the daughter of one of the healing women. Mayor Bilal Muhktar was elected as the first Prime Minister of the Westmarch Republic. He is still serving in that position, with every intention of continuing to do so until his advancing age or declining health forces him to resign. Garrison Commander Nalo Samirah became General Nalo Samirah of the Army of Westmarch when it was officially formed. So far, he has served as an honorable keeper of the peace, and maintains good relations with Warlord Elder Otab the Old who commands the Army of Glacierheart. Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart became, in effect, the Prime Minister of Glacierheart. The official post is still coming into place, and the spheres of authority attached to it are still being felt out. This was somewhat inevitable, given that he was the original impetus and spiritual heart of Clan Glacierheart. We are fortunate indeed that despite his age, he shows every sign of being in good health and organizing a smooth transition of power when it does come time for him to step down. Shamaon Koroc the Singer was drafted, almost without his consent, to be the Prime Minister Elect of the Glacierheart Republic. For now he serves as Shaman Elder Wolfbite¡¯s Minister Without Portfolio, to use the human title, and roving problem solver. Shaman Mul the Silent vanished almost without trace just before the seasonal thaw had finished. She left behind only her journal and entries in the Shaman¡¯s Records. Reading over that Material has yielded no indications as to where she may have gone. For my part, I doubt that she is still living in the Glacierheart Mountains, despite popular local legends to that effect. Captain Rivoril Syllynn led the Ironbark Mercenary Company back to Sapphire to pick up a new Guild contract as soon as the truce was formalized. That contract is in the small town of Chedal, and Ironbark was last seen marching in that direction. Chronicler Vian Cofaen and Chronicler¡¯s Asistant Aris Cretu stopped by my tower only long enough for true, archive copies to be made of all of the existing Logs of the Ironbark Company. I would have liked for them to stay longer, that I might have recorded their stories in greater detail, but they hurried off to rejoin Ironbark. I did manage to polish up their understanding of the Old Tongue, better known as Primordial by us spell casters.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Old Leon did not accompany the Ironbark Mercenary Company when it left Westmarch. His old age and failing health finally caught up to him as the thaw was progressing. He died of pneumonia, and was buried with full military honors at the Ironbark Outpost Cemetery. The Ironbark Outpost itself has become something of a shrine. The four military graveyards around it, one each for Ironbark, Westmarch, Glacierheart, and the Army of the Jeweled Cities, have become something of a pilgrimage destination for families seeking to know the fate of their loved ones. It also shows promise of becoming a public library and records-house, rather than a closed monastery. Fort Westmarch still stands, although it has both grown and changed. Large portions of its wooden walls have come down. Stone walls are being laid down around what will be the permanent military garrisons. Houses, inns, and trade posts have sprung up as trade begins to flow through the area once more. The outline of new fortifications are being drawn, with an eye towards using proper siege cannons instead of catapults. In a few years it will once more be one of the most difficult fortifications to breach. The Glacierheart Clanhold is becoming a proper city in its own right, though I expect it will keep its current name. Proper farms and mines have sprung up with the thaw. The beginnings of true industrial processes, such as metal casting manufactories, are beginning to emerge. There are also signs of a Druidic circle in the nearby forests, which bodes well for the health of the lands in the area, as well as the people, orc and human like, who live there. I also expect the formation of an organized Wizard¡¯s Tower or similar to emerge in either Westmarch or Glacierheart as the years go by. It may never be as large as the one in Ebony, but the presence of local spell casters in need of formal education will ensure its development in the years to come. Also of interest is the refinements in Westmarch Republic gunpowder beginning to come to light. Obviously, the exact process is a closely guarded state secret, but the results are hard to mistake. What few light cannons they do have, twelve pounder field cannons and two pounder wall guns, shoot further and faster than their Jeweled City counterparts. I expect the Glacierheart Republic will either be let in on the secret, or is already part of the development process. Even if Sapphire or a coalition of the Jeweled Cities does try coming north once more once the truce has expired, I don¡¯t expect them to like the outcome any more the second time around. Thus ends this Work on the Westmarch War. I hope that its contents grant you some insights as to the conflict, the people involved, and the costs and ramifications of the conflict. I expect the ripples will continue to spread as the years progress. The resulting political instability in the Jeweled Cities still needs to play out in full. The Westmarch and Glacierhear Republics are still feeling their way into the web of trade networks that spans the globe, and their willingness to not sign on to existing, or create new, exclusive trade agreements is making some not so small waves in its own right. I am no economist, but already I am noticing some goods are available for a fair bit cheaper, or in better quality, then they were previously. As soon as this work is completed, proofed, bound, and archived with the Guild as well as here in my own tower, I intend to begin traveling once more. It has been too long since I have been out in the world, and I still need to speak with Aris Cretu and Mul the Silent once more as I mentioned earlier. Things are changing in this small corner of the world, and that makes me wonder what other events and changes that I may have missed in other places. The song lyrics quoted in this volume remind me of an old song, and it seems fitting to end with a snippet of it. Blank slate / A trip to begin / Look to tomorrow / Clean plate / A fresh little wind / A road to follow¡­[7] Lady Ilelahne SiDabolo