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?

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.