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.

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.