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.

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.