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The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 18 Jan 2007 06:43 PM |
After a long silence, word has come from the White Throne of Midor. Midor has formally declared war on Ferein in response to the brazen aggression shown by Ferein in the recent attacks Brandibuck, Port Royale, Bregodigm, and now, Midor.
The White Bishop calls up on all the powers of the world to join him in punishing Ferein for the wanton devastation is has caused. He particularly calls upon the Hin of Brandibuck to rise up against the occupying army of elves, and pledges his support to the Hin liberation effort.
Furthermore, the White Bishop denounces the involvement of the heretical Aristi, declaring them enemy sympathizers. He specifies that, while Midor will not seek out Aristi, if they are found on the field of battle they will be treated like enemy combatants.
Victory to Midoran. Death to the enemy. And long live His Holiness, the White Bishop Vidus Khain. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 18 Jan 2007 06:56 PM |
The White Bishop, Vidus Khain, nodded slowly in approval as the boy ran from the temple. The council had been brief, with all present defering to Vidus's demands. Midor would go to war, and Ferein would be crushed.
Unnoticed by anyone, Lord-Bishop Gabirel Certos sat, pale faced, his fists clentched so tightly his fingernails cut into his hands, drawing blood. It has finally happened, he thought to himself, and I could not stop it.
Forgive me, but I could not stop it.
And this time, he did not pray to Midoran. He did not know who or what he prayed to. His thoughts were on Cedrych, and the letter he had recieved that very day. He gasped in surprised as the others around the table rose. The meeting was apparently over.
He left quickly, not wanting to see anyone or answer any questions. News of the White Bishop's decision would be known soon enough. He retired to his sparten quarters in the Vestry, he had refused the offer to live in one of the many fine manors in Midor as a sign of humility.
Certos closed the door quietly and walked slowly to the dresser beside his bed. He opened it,and withdrew two items. A flask, and an vial filled with a white, powdery substance. He considered them, and for a long while did not think. He did not dare to think. His only thought was the flask, and the vial. Years ago, he would have prayed, but he has no prayer left in him. He thought of Kruvious Seyon, the Lord-Bishop that came before him, the last of the old priesthood, and wondered if he was still alive. He thought of Ancri, the young priest who he taught all those years ago, who had made him her mentor despite his misgivings. He thought of how she had shown him the joys of teaching, and lit in him a lifelong passion for passing on knowledge to the younger generation. He thought of the endless young faces he had taught, and it finally struck him just how many had died at the hands of Khain's "New Order."
But most of all, he thought of Cedrych, the reluctant paladin, once his most promising student. Forgive me, Cedrych he whispered. Without another word, he poured the white substance into the flash, admiring how the crystals fell over one another on their way to the clear liquid.
It has been a long life, he thought, Forgive my weakness.
He returned the empty vial to the drawer and sealed the flask. He shook the flask, mixing the powder with the liquid, and opened it. He inhaled, smelled nothing, and sighed.
It was time. He brought the flask to his lips. And even now, at the end, he could not bring himself to pray. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 09:26 AM |
At dawn they lined up in neat and orderly rows, like so many times in recent past when they had proudly set out in the name of Midoran to crush his enemies and those who would aid them. The Elves had revealed once more their bloodthirsty tendencies, daring to think that they could commit their evil deeds and escape the justice of the One True God.
Today they would learn.
Today blood would be paid in blood.
With solemn dignity now the reviewing party made its way along the ranks, Lord-Bishop Thomas Carline and High-Paladin Johanas Uvanle laying their blessings upon the brave men and women who stood arranged, rank and file, in perfect formation on the Plains.
A trumpet sounded. Banners flared, the colours of the New Order flying for the first time, no longer silver on white, but white on red.
It was time.
~*~
The rising sun flared red over the tranquil lake.
Aira'le toyed with a slender orchid, the first to bloom ever since the passing of an abnormally long and bitter cold season. Glacille was only now just starting to brighten into Lumenox, and despite the death and horror of the past few weeks, the world still turned and life still breathed. From the far north songbirds had begun to migrate back to the southern lands, and flowers were beginning to tentatively put forth blooms of glorious colour.
The sun sets but the sun also rises. And life goes on.
Strolling now along the slopes of Elbereth's Tears, she paused occasionally to touch the young flowers and encourage them to unfold their petals. In her wake, colour blossomed. In her wake, nature awoke to the murmur of her voice, recognising the touch of The Mother.
She rounded a bend, stepping over the oversized roots of a marvellous ancient tree that had stood since before Midor had even been called Midor, pausing to let a butterfly alight atop her fingertips and laughing a lilting musical laugh.
The laugh died in her throat, became a strangled agonising scream as a sudden, shooting pain flared in her chest. Then another, and another, as crossbow bolts flew through the air and thudded, one after another, into her body.
Arrayed at the foot of Elbereth's Tears, encircling its southern and western slopes, the Midoran forces had arrived.
"Burn the witch."
"Yes, sir."
Her lips moved as she mouthed a prayer to The Mother, the whispered words becoming another shriek as a volley of magical flame arrows arced unerringly towards her, stabbed into her, caught alight, seared through her simple garb of leaves and scorched skin and flesh and bone. One last, blinding flare of light exploded in her face. The Dryad crumpled to the ground, a charred and bloody mess by now almost unidentifiable.
Swiftly now the contingent began its methodical destruction of the grounds, demolishing trees that had stood longer than their precious city ever had, putting to torch the bushes and flowers that had only just begun to recover from the cold season.
They paid no heed to the stormclouds gathering overhead, the quiet warning growl of thunder. The Just Hand had decreed war. The Just Hand would defend them and give them the strength to overcome their enemies.
On the western face of the hill's slope they discovered a gaping entrance leading to a dimly lit cavern, a faint sound of sobbing emanating from within it. One of the Captains made a sharp, sweeping gesture with his arm, motioning his Section to enter.
And all hell broke loose.
There was a deafening clap of thunder, the clouds overhead now black, roiling and angry. The heavens opened up and loosed a deluge of water upon the troops below, a wailing and mournful howl escaping the Cavern of Sorrows, adding its melody to the percussion of the storm. Down poured the rain, extinguishing the fires, soothing the wounded land, caressing the fallen corpses of ancient trees that would never spread their aged arms to the sky again. A sudden tremor in the ground knocked most of the detachment off its feet.
At the entrance to the cavern, a blurred white shape tossed its head, stamped a hoof against the ground, sending up brilliant green sparks. A shimmering curtain of light glittered into existence before the dark cave's entrance.
His dignity bruised, the Captain rose angrily to his feet, plodding furiously through the mud towards the spot where the stag had stood.
And ran smack-bang into the barrier, bouncing off it and slipping on the mud to land on his back with an unceremonious squelch.
The others were beginning to get to their feet now, their bewilderment obvious even with their faces covered by helms.
Two hours later, after every dogged attempt had failed, they had to concede that there was no way past the barrier into the Cavern of Sorrows. In the meantime, it was wet, it was muddy, and they'd only succeeded in vandalising a fifth of the area they'd set out to demolish. Between the mud and the torrential rain, there was no way they'd be able to complete the task of defacing the remainder of the area.
Disgruntled and embarrassed, the contingent of Midoran troops shuffled back to The Great Plains. The trilling of a songbird in the rainy gloom sounded like a woman laughing. |
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Re: The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 04:49 PM |
It was the first time ever since the voluntary split that the Conclave members had met face to face. Although some of the faces had changed, for the most part, surprisingly, they'd managed to stay the same.
At one end there was Lillian Carol Villanova, who'd kicked and fought against having a rank awarded to her, only just three days ago accepting with ill grace a field promotion to General. Flanking her, Major Trent Kelten and Major Madeline Sanner, fast-tracked through the ranks as of late last year for all their efforts and hard work in serving and defending their people and well on their way to assuming the role of General Officer in the near future.
Having arrived from the far-flung northern outpost was Gwendolyn Whitehall, still looking bedraggled from the long and hasty journey south. There were in the world a great many adventurers who could afford to simply sail or even walk on foot across the Lands of the Kobai on a regular basis, but they were not amongst them: being powerless Humans with no resources to speak of, even something as simple as a desert crossing was a rough challenge requiring fortitude and resourcefulness.
Corinne Melles of Aerie was there, that place having narrowly escaped disaster, meteoric hope flaring brightly before darkening again. They'd been this close to improving their situation from a struggle for survival to a simple self-sufficiency. Tentative negotiations with Gladden, trade opening up in Icy Vale and Brandibuck, and then Shifter and long term plans to go scouting for some existance better than this, something they could call their own. It was not to be.
Dour Thanados Torvell was present, leader of Team Lunaris, a place tucked away and hidden and perhaps one of their absolute last contingencies. Then Gareth Eugene Lindeville, Euphemia Alcarin and Victoria De La Rosa, stationed in the dreary west, keeping watch over strategically positioned chokepoints where Midor had once stood guard looking outwards, but now they stood looking inwards. Only Reginald Marshall was absent, adhering strictly to the communications blackout policy that was necessary to protect Team Hammerhead, stationed in Midor itself.
"There are three likely routes they'll take overland: the Great River, Icy Vale and Mirghul."
Businesslike, concise to the point of being brusque, these days it seemed that Villanova only ever opened her mouth to deliver briefings or issue commands. Then again, that went for all of them: no one ever spoke these days. Delivered reports, discussed strategy and survival, yes; but small talk had been completely obliterated. Somewhere along the way, field signals and their newly-developed Battle Code had replaced verbal communication.
"Icy Vale by now likely knows the news. If they didn't heed Marcelle, the Aristi stationed there have likely passed it on by now. I haven't yet heard back from her as to whether she was able to gain an audience at the Ice Palace. Regardless, that's out of our hands. If they wish to tempt fate and face the Cold Lands again, that's their choice. I think it unlikely."
"Even if the Atalan strike?" Alcarin pointed out.
"Even so, just as last time. If Midor don't wish their army to become ice sculptures, they'll stay away.
"Mirghul is vulnerable, as well as Nihillan Moor. The swamp could bog them down but it won't stop them. Mirghul is capable of defending itself, but not against an entire army. They'll simply clear the trees and cleave a path through the woods to Wastwater.
"Once past the woods, though, we have Aerie stationed over Skarfell Pass. We could repeat the Death Trap Gauntlet here. However, Mirghul is as unlikely as Icy Vale as a route they'll pass through, since it would mean attempting to forge a path through the Divider Chain, and again into ice territory where they aren't welcome. The Gauntlet can be set up rather quickly and they have the disadvantage of being a large and slow moving target, which means that if they move towards that direction, we'll have plenty of advance notice. So there isn't any point yet in setting anything up there.
"There is the possibility though that they will still turn their attention that way. Resources are scarce, and what Mirghul lacks in cultivated resources, it makes up for in natural resources. The Midoran Army might still send sections in that direction in the near future to harvest meat and wood."
Sanner frowned, the expression bringing out the family resemblance to her brother. "What chance do the Rangers stand?"
"That probably depends on how strongly they object and how much of a threat they represent to the army in doing so. They have the advantage of knowing the woods and being able to hide within them. That's not going to be of much use if Midor simply razes the forest to the ground.
"Mirghul itself, though, is out of our hands. Short of providing warning to the locals, there's nothing else for us to do but sit tight and watch over Skarfell Pass."
Villanova tapped a finger against the map that Marcelle had drawn in her regular and extensive patrols of the areas around Midor.
"That leaves The Great River."
"Unlikely." Kelten spoke up. "That's hardly the sort of territory you'd march an army of thousands through, even if they are dedicated Midorans."
"They would have gathered on the Farmlands if they'd intended to take that route, not camped out in the Plains," De La Rosa added.
"The last time, they took a route through the mountains, quite unexpectedly going over the top of the Mineath Caverns and skirting the Divider Chain. It's a path already known and tested, I can't see them trying to find a new one," said Torvell. "However, this was before their presence was unwelcome in the Cold Lands."
"If they wish to avoid the Cold Lands completely, that leaves only The Great River, but it will be slow going." Torvell frowned. "I just don't see it working."
"You could load up ships," said Villanova, "and send them west up the river. Perhaps bypass it entirely and sail around the coast on the former shipping route. Much faster than travelling by foot and somewhat less hazardous."
"It still doesn't explain their presence on the Plains," Sanner pointed out.
"The Plains make for a much better camping ground than the devastated farmlands, and they still need to muster their forces and gather up supplies and resources. That places them within reach of Sunix, Mirghul and Midor Woods. It's also a visible show of strength." Villanova shook her head. "No, but I doubt they'll take the River—what they might do is travel along the southern border of the Cold Lands through the Hardknott realm, then cut across to Gladden, bypassing the Cold Lands completely. It's not a well-travelled route but there are ways to do it, and if you have an army on hand, it would be quite possible to forge ahead and create a route."
"In other words, no matter how you look at it, we've already conveniently positioned ourselves in their path in anticipation," said Kelten. "Unless, of course, they charge in a straight line through Icy Vale, but we'll still know far in advance which direction they head out in."
"That may be so but we haven't had time to build up much of anything to throw at them," Melles said with a grimace.
"We have a handful of sand to throw into the gears of their war machine," Villanova said matter-of-factly. "If they advance—when they advance—it won't be enough to inconvenience them, not even give them a bloody nose. But it might slow them down enough to buy time for everyone else. Besides," she smiled grimly, "officially we don't exist. They can't fight us. They won't even know there's someone else to fight."
The smile faded. "This also presents an opportunity to entrench Hammerhead in Midor, since their attention is entirely on this war rather than focused internally. We've needed for some time now to become self-sufficient but what few scouting expeditions we've managed to put together have wielded no sites suitable for us to settle. In the meantime..." she slid a finger over the map, stopping to rest on Midor Farmlands, "this should do."
There were nods of acknowledgement from around the table, all but Kelten recognising the progression to the next phase of their long-term plan.
"Hammerhead?" Kelten blinked, confused. "Did I miss something?"
She nodded. "There is one member of our Conclave absent from this meeting, as he and his team are based directly within Midor.
"Major Kelten, Major Sanner... it's time you learned about the Hammerhead Project." |
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Re: The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 23 Jan 2007 06:54 AM |
Once more winning the hearts of all loyal Midorans, the Righteous Swords have begun work in earnest to restore the farmlands devastated by vicious and feral Elves.
The damage to the farmlands is not as extensive as it appears, the area covered by these lands so vastly spread out that it was difficult for the Elves to be effective in their assault. The farmlands will recover. Supremists are abroad tending to the wounded and fallen, whilst civilians and guards toil side by side to rebuild those farmhouses that were attacked.
Pointedly, Elven inhabitants such as Gepetto are not revived, their properties confiscated.
In Paws too, construction has begun to fortify this usually-idyllic town which has now been struck twice in short succession by the barbaric Elves. Although most of the Righteous Swords stationed there have left to join the detachment on The Great Plains, they have been relieved by the regular Midoran Army.
Never in the history of the world has the Midoran Army been so overwhelmed with applicants.
Despite Midor's silence, this news leaks out quietly and mysteriously to Icy Vale, Mirghul and Brandibuck Vale from unknown sources. |
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Re: The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 29 Jan 2007 10:21 AM |
"What do you see?"
"White moves brazenly and red moves covertly. This one spends all its resources and that one hoards them, forewarned. This one topples the city it claims to defend. That one struggles to keep it standing even after the city has turned its back on them."
"Forewarned?"
"The Rooks."
"If they close off all the avenues, then the only way left will be through us, Aurora."
"As it should be. All of time's rivers return to the ocean."
~*~
It was a singularly unimpressive bridge, spanning the roaring waters patrolled by savage Gnolls. Crude in construction, made from rope and rotting wood, water on one side and fire on the other.
It took only a single night to cut it down, severing it from both sides.
~*~
The twin bridges at the estuary were more of a challenge. They had not evacuated this locale because, out of all the sites they'd established, this was perhaps the most crucially located.
There was no point in demolishing them now; it had to be an ambush at the right moment, if that moment ever came. In the meantime, there was still preparation and planning to be done.
The quiet eradication of possible routes, like redirecting a river. If there was going to be movement then it had to be movement on their terms, herded in the direction they chose.
With any luck, considering the latest news, there wouldn't be movement outwards at all. But there would be movement inwards. The tightening of a snare set a year ago.
~*~
Dusty with sand and exhausted, Sanner returned from the Lands of the Kobai with a report largely negative. Sixteen of their limited personnel, stretched thin as it was. That was the demand that had been made. To renegotiate would cost time; but to ignore the request would cost them more than just time in the long run.
Whitehall, recently arrived from the north with the remainder of her small team, was immediately dispatched to the desert realm.
~*~
The cold season had barely passed and Aerie was still in the throes of recovery from its recent outbreak. The training that had already been scheduled to happen at this time went on more or less as planned, if significantly more accelerated. At Circus, Kelten and Lindeville handled combat training. At Crag, Edison led survival training. Cut off from the south-central teams, Sanner aided De La Rosa with logistics and tried to work out a battle plan for the estuary. At Spiderweb, work paused on the local project, spellcraft lessons now taking priority under a stern new principle of responsible arcanology.
~*~
And where orders had been followed, then order followed; where duty had been duly performed without question, answers were now beginning to manifest.
The fate you make is the only fate you deserve.
~*~
The Midor Mountains were left alone, the nearby presence of Duergar deemed to be more than enough to prevent expansion in that direction.
~*~
Mirghul was another matter, indefensible and wide open to attack. The Sunbringers had vanished, perhaps to take defensive posts.
The Nihillan Moor would present a challenge to the Midorans, but there was always the option of cutting across Midor Deep Forest and taking the coastal route, arriving in Mirghul via the deep eastern forest. The Goblins stood no chance. The woods themselves were another obstacle, an impediment to movement and more than enough cover for setting ambushes and traps. All of which was moot if the Midorans simply burned their way through.
But that's what Spiderweb was for.
~*~
Skarfell Pass was a tactician's dream. Narrow pass, high cliffs, only one way in on one end, and one way out the other. Blow up both sides and you could trap the entire army in there.
It would take an abysmal amount of stupidity, though, to pick it as a route, especially with the Divider Chain and Cold Lands waiting on the other side. No, if they were going to pass through Mirghul, they weren't passing that way.
~*~
That left Brandibuck. And in Brandibuck there was a chance to seize vengeance and resources at once. Ferein might be cut off, but in Brandibuck there were Elves, and the town was situated quite indefensibly in the bottom of a valley. If the Midorans chose to turn their wrath towards there, it wouldn't take much. They would have the high ground. They would have the firepower. And really all it would take to wipe out most of the town was to empty the Lake of Mists into the vale and flood it. Then pick off the remainder.
It would gain them vengeance against Ferein and also the resources of Brandibuck.
Marcelle, stranded in Aerie in south-central and cut off from her usual haunts, watched the on-off-of-off flare of distant light from the towers over Whipsnade Pass. After the battle code transmission had ended, she sent her own series of flashes back, then headed on down to Brandibuck.
~*~
Hammerhead's silence was broken as one by one, reports leaked out. In the meantime, the first wave of the expanded Hammerhead team had already slipped inside. Midor was spread thin; but now more than ever, so were they.
~*~
And it occurred to Sanner one day while she was out inspecting the estuary bridges that they weren't as shorthanded as they thought. She'd received a vague and rather odd offer just last month that she had almost forgotten about. If there was a time to mention it, it was now.
~*~
A pair of ice-blue eyes narrowed.
"I see the Rooks. They've come out from hiding in their corners." |
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Re: The Red March and a Time for War
Posted: 05 Feb 2007 04:04 PM |
Either she was a poor scout, or there truly was no overland route remaining to the western lands save for the hazardous Divider Chain now that the Midoran forces had planted a stockade in The Great Plains. After a fifth prowl of Icy Vale's surrounds, it was time to call it a day. Lyn ascended the southern slope of Whipsnade Pass, trekking all the way to Kobold territory with only a brief stop to deliver a report to Onyx.
The talk with Aurelya, priestess of Helkris, had been only slightly productive. More than anything else, it had been informative. Helkrisian conceit worked in Lyn's favour; if she was underestimated as stupid, so be it. If she was tagged as the sort of person who talked of getting things done without actually getting anything done, all the better. Especially in light of the demands that had been made in return for the opening of safe and lawful passage into the Cold Lands.
The first step would have to be renegotiation: as it stood, the terms were unacceptable, and there was absolutely no way she was going to post a public announcement about them and encouraging people to agree to them.
And if that failed, then it was a race.
Once at the Wastes, it was on to Dragon's Tears Pass rather than Wyrmtongue Estuary, where Crag loomed over the territory of the Gnolls.
She never drafted the public note. Instead, she drafted a letter and gave it to one of the resident trained raptors to deliver.
Lyn spent the night in Crag, foraging for food in the surrounds with ex-military personnel and civilians in training, an exercise that was half out of necessity for survival and half training lesson for the civilian refugees. Despite having more practice than most of the rest of the world with living under mean conditions with the ever-present threat of a large force waiting to kill them, it still was no easier now than it had been then to survive.
With a sort of quiet dismay, she noted that the number of civilian refugees had increased.
It had to be done. Somehow, a route had to be opened up.
But as it stood this deal, under these terms, just weren't the best way to go about it. |
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