Western Wilds, the North West coast.

42nd of Amsiel, Second month of Summer.

2139 years since the new gods came.

Captain Garath of the Order of Puppies and Spike, his worg mount and companion, stared in horror at the onrushing horde of things. Long bone white legs, low slung segmented carapaces, huge pincered mouths, and a set of forward facing legs dripping a sticky blueish venom that sizzled when it struck the ground. When the first archer loosed an arrow in fear, the terror holding the army back, broke. Arrows were fired into the mass of things, the lone wizard they had been allotted threw his first, and only, exploding ball of fire.

The fire exploded, throwing charred bug corpses into the air, and lighting some of the underbrush on fire. En mass, the things turned their sickly pale yellow bodies towards the wizard, and advanced.

The ranks of soldiers followed orders as Garath directed them to defend the wizard. He then led a mounted charge to cut at the things from behind. A scream, then several sounded as the ranks began to be overrun. Garath ordered the troops to withdraw. The wizard let loose a gout of fire, then another, and a third, slowly backing up and covering the retreat. Then the swarm reached him, and the screaming started, and then ended. Their moral broken, the soldiers fled.

- - -

43rd of Amsiel,

The puppies had a massive defeat yesterday. 87 wounded and 36 dead, including the Company wizard. The company commander tried to resign his commission. I gave him a pat on the back, a bottle of Bjorn's finest to share with the survivors, and reminded him that he was able to bring them home, and that was better than most first time officers do. I think I can hear them celebrating their life from the other side of camp.

- - -

“Sir Garath, you brought back most of your command, even the wounded!” Max stood looking the disheveled Captain Garath in the eyes, “I would have killed for a first time commander that could do that.” and more quietly to himself, “..and did a few that didn't even try too...”

Garath stared at the man before him, The Heretic, in the flesh, was praising him for combat killing over half his men! He held back his emotions as best he could. “But sir? I lost the wizard. And 36 men. And got almost 90 more killed!”

“There is a difference between 'almost' and 'did'.” Max gave him his full attention. “Listen well, boy. You did better than any unblooded officer has any right to dream of. You. Brought. Them. Back. That is the important thing. They may be wounded, but they lived.”

“Sir?”

“If you live, you learn. If you learn, you get better.” Max kept his eyes on Garath's, “Now take the bottle on the table over there and toast with your survivors to the fact that you lived. And then make a little offering to the fallen.” He broke eye contact, and Garath took the offered bottle and fled.

Once Maxwell sat down, Ivan stepped out of a shadow, “Well done. Better than any officer I served under.”

“Who? Me or him?”

“Both.”

- - -

44th of Amsiel,

Apparently worgs like hard liquor. Who knew? The war is going poorly. Burning the place to the ground is looking better and better. Overall casualties are only 10%, but combat killed, aka unable to fight, numbers are near 50%. The rest of the armies should be here soon.

- - -

Garath awoke with a hangover bigger than the gods. He had drool on his face, and was having trouble breathing. He opened his eyes to see nothing but fur. After a mighty struggle, he freed himself from the pile of Worgs. Worgs that smelled of whiskey. He only vaguely remembered yesterday...

- - -

46th of Amsiel,

They have arrived. We now number almost 70,000 strong. And then there are the elves. 10,000 of the pointy eared bastards...

- - -

“Alright, so why did the Elven nation of Heartglenia sending troops?” Max asked the nervous looking elven general. “Didn't your god deem me 'untouchable' or some nonsense?”

“Um...Well, the archbishop made an exception for this case?” the general replied.

“Fine. Just stay away from me.” Max shook his head. “General Michael will take care of settling you in.” He turned his back on the elf, and walked away. Elves. What in the hells?

- - -

49th of Amsiel,

The things have started raiding our front lines. So far we have been able to fend them off, but there have been too many close calls. Ivan and the Green man have been in deep conversation of late. I find myself a little concerned. Ivan has also been spending a lot of time on the front lines. His weapons are devastating. He is also responsible for the troops having such high moral. He is much better at it than Tristan ever was.

50th of Amsiel,

We got torn up today. It...it was bad.

- - -

Several thousand of the things came chittering over the small rise. Ivan took aim at the largest one, some ten yards long, and fired. The boom of his rifle signaled the rest of the unit to fire their arrows. The beast he had shot flopped for a moment, then lay still. He aimed a second shot, and fired.

Twelve fell. Two dozen. Over a hundred. They kept advancing, ignoring their fallen companions. When the archers ran out of arrows and the wizards were out of spells, the things surged forwards. They hit the front line of soldiers and were only slowed for seconds, before the still thousand strong swarm over ran the position.

Breathing hard, Ivan yelled over the sounds of war, “Fall back to position C! Fall BACK!” Those that heard the call, repeated it, and those who could fell back the two hundred yards. Those that couldn't get away made the things pay with their lives.

As the soldiers regrouped at point “C”, the creatures did a similar thing. Kind of. They gathered around the dead, and ate them. All of them.

The wizards, somewhat recovered, dropped balls of fire on the old position, hoping to burn as many as they could while they were eating. Another dozen of the things burned. Then a second, larger, swarm came over the hill.

Ivan knelt down in the front, took aim, and fired. One shot, one kill. He emptied his magazine, reloaded, and repeated. The reinforced swarm scuttled across the open battlefield. Arrows held at point C were loosed. Ivan kept up his fire. When the things reached the halfway point, He called for a slow retreat.

What began as a slow retreat quickly descended into a route as a third swarm came over the hill. Soldiers lost their nerve. Horses reared. Worgs howled. They fled from the field of battle. Only eight minutes had passed.

The route ended at a shallow river, a line the things did not seem willing to cross. Ivan had started the deployment with eight hundred soldiers. The horses were gone, and he had less than half his soldiers left when they finally arrived at camp.

-

Ivan staggered into the command tent, and stared Maxwell in the eyes. He started his report with “It was worse than the trenches.” and continued his report until the end. “I do NOT blame the men. I was taken by the fear as well. We need to do something. Anything. To pare these devilspawn down to size.”

“I agree.” Max frowned and broke eye contact with Ivan. “I've heard the same report from all the commanders. I will be putting forth the idea of burning the whole place to the ground to our joint command.”

“Thank you, Maxwell. Thank you.”