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.

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:

Warlord Lokk the Brutal of the Blueteeth Clan Warlady Vuggie the Vivid of the Longfang Clan Warlord Otab the Old of the Grimscar Clan Their shamans, and assorted hangers on.

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.