Shaman Mul the Silent’s Journal

Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War

I made a scouting pass on Fort Westmarch last night. There are far fewer men there then when I placed the gunpowder loaded sled outside the wall. That hole was still there, so I took a chance and peeked inside. Past the burned out husk of a building was a dark area. I had no idea that the gunpowder that I had left behind had damaged a building, much less that it had set it aflame! I did note the location of other buildings around the edges of the wall. The Army of the Jeweled Cities Sentries were giving them plenty of space, even going so far as to not patrol along the top of the wall. Could those buildings be laden with additional stockpiles of gunpowder? And if so, could a charge placed outside the wall set them off? That would create a massive breach in the wall, and scatter flaming parts of building over a much wider area.

I already have a sled ready to go for tonight. With any luck, I will have answers to my questions by the time the sun rises again.

Lord Ochen Shagari’s War Journal

Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War

Delays plague my efforts to reorganize my forces. They come in part from the departure of the additional forces that I have been forced to dispatch to the Northern Outposts that I do hold. The other factor that lends itself to a slow reorganization is the low morale among the survivors from the first assault on the Ironbark-held northern outpost. That formation is utterly combat ineffective. Additionally, it cannot be reinforced back to full strength and made combat effective again without time for its morale to rebuild. But it cannot be broken up to reinforce other formations either, lest its low morale spread like a virus.

One night. One night without an attack is all I need. If I can have that, then the assault column will be ready to depart.

Why do I suspect that I won't get even that?

Chronicler Vian's Log

Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War

The Ironbark Mercenary Company and the Westmarch Militia are taking the field as a cohesive whole for the first time in this war. The Glacierheart warbands were ready to move forward faster, but we are following as fast as we can march in these conditions. With any luck we will reach the Northern Outposts held at such cost by Sgt. Gork and his squad in two days. I can but hope that they will still be alive when we get there.

I have already begun to compose a song about their stand, but it is woefully incomplete. I need to see the place for myself, and speak to those who were there and lived. But I can already hear something of the beat in the war drums of the Glacierheart orcs and the melody in the pipes of the Westmarch Militia. In peace, it will be a sad reminder of the cost of duty. In war, I imagine it will take on the role of a call to arms and war march when there is no quarter to be given.

Shaman’s Records

Ninth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War.

Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart recording

The dead are stacked beyond the walls of the outpost. The supplies are stocked into the available space. The war drums are out and their song of defiance beats upon the winter wind. Banners are unfurled to the sky. Almost without a word being spoken, the banner of the Ironbark Company flies preeminent, despite there being only five men and women of Ironbark present. Sgt. Gork's warband as a whole are largely silent about that night. The ghosts of it still haunt their eyes. It takes only one look at the neat line of shallow graves they spent the better part of yesterday digging for their fallen friends and brethren in battle, Ironbark and Glacierheart alike, to see why. The mounds of frozen corpses stand in mute testament to their bravery, their heroism, and their sacrifice.

Reth Nakima’s Journal

Tenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War

I have seen hell. It is a frozen and blasted place, scorched by flames and pierced by the screams of the burning dead's last breaths. Snow howls on the bitter wind, your spit freezes before it touches the ground, and there is no place or time to rest in the battle against the merciless flames that encroach from every side. I was granted the precious time to write when a burning timber fell across my legs. I can't feel them in the cold, and the healers have tucked a blanket over them. I suspect that I will lose them in the end, to the burns or to the frostbite that has probably set in already.

I was awake, listening to the wind howling through a broken shutter somewhere when the first explosion came. It was on the far side of Fort Westmarch from where I was resting, but the sound of gunpowder exploding is unmistakable. I had heard it twice before, and had the great good fortune to survive unscathed both times. I went rushing forward with the others, ready to put out the flames before they could spread, when the second explosion began. I say began, because it seemed to go on and on and on like the roll of thunder before the end of the world.

The rebels had placed their charge with care just on the other side of the wall from a building that the Ruby Siege Corps was using to store their powder. I will never know for sure, but I think that they just put a dirt-covered tarp over the powder instead of burying it the way Lord General Ochen decreed. In any case, the fire started by the rebel's charge set something alight, and the Ruby gunpowder caught quickly enough. Not so fast as to detonate at the same time, which would have been better. Instead it (or more likely the aforementioned tarp) smoldered for just long enough for the firefighting parties to gather about and begin to douse the flames. Then it detonated, catching all of them in the blast. For some it was a merciful and messy end to their lives: snuffed out like a candle in a storm and torn apart like a rowboat before a hurricane. For others, like the pour nameless soul who lays next to me, that second explosion was only the beginning of the horror. Burning debris scythed out across the night and came raining down on heads and limbs. At least two other buildings caught flame before I arrived. The healers were already swamped with burn and blast casualties.

I set about helping put out the fire on one of the other buildings before a Ruby Siege corps engineer appeared. He grabbed all of us and pulled us away from the building as fast as he could. And for good reason. Another store of gunpowder was inside, and the roof was beginning to collapse where a burning timber had fallen through it. He saved my life, and lost his own when that store detonated in a third explosion. The burning splinter took him in the back, just below the ribs, when he tackled me into a snowbank. I was knocked unconscious until a healer pulled his body off of me to see if I was still alive. While I was being dragged to the healers' work area, I could see the holes in the wall where the buildings had been. They are at least twenty feet wide each, and despite the burned-out rubble filling the gaps, they will be obvious weak points. Another charge of gunpowder will clear the ruble away before an attack strikes home.

For me, this war is over.

For Lord General Ochen Shagari, commander of the Army of the Jeweled Cities, this nightmare is only just beginning.

Lord Ochen Shagari’s War Journal

Tenth of December, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War

Fort Westmarch is now clearly untenable as a primary defensive position. I am still forced to use it as my forward supply dump, particularly in light of the present immobility of the Siege Corps. This in turn will require a heavy guard presence, because I can ill afford to lose any more food or equipment this winter. In turn, this makes taking the last Northern Outpost even more vital.

I would almost prefer falling back to the southern outposts, but that was never a viable option. For one, they are far too small to hold even half of my army under anything resembling proper winter quarters. For another, the Westmarchers and Ironbarkers had done all they could to sabotage those buildings. The windows never quite shut, leaving cold air to blow through. The doors would all but fall out of their frames, or stick so tightly as to refuse to open. The shingles leaked at the slightest provocation. And most tellingly of all, several of the support beams were cut into. Not quite enough to make the buildings fall down under their own weight, but close. I suspect that they were intended to cave in under the weight of accumulated snow, or a man standing on the roof trying to clear the snow away.

Either way, a cave in would likely kill all them men inside the building in question, or at least render them permanently unfit for service. It is a devious tactic, and one that speaks volumes as to the amount of preparation and foresight that the Westmarchers and Ironbarkers put into their positions. They fashioned a noose of abandoned and sabotaged positions, and I put the necks of my entire army into it, just in time for the weather to yank the lever and drop the trapdoor out from under their feet.