We spent almost two weeks in Apple Lane, repairing the stable after the fire and securing the harvest. In the afternoon of Freezeday a group of riders stopped at the courtyard before the Tin inn, their horses worn and their visage grim. The leader carry a handful of black arrows in his right hand and each of the other four riders held torches burning with the elemental colours. As the villagers gathered around them the leader announced that Leika Blackspear summoned the fyrd to war, an army was marching south from Tarsh to invade our lands.
Early next morning we left for Clearwine together with four men from Apple Lane. A light blanket of snow covered the ground and a chill wind came from the north as we rode towards Clearwine. In the afternoon the next day we arrived at Clearwine. Outside the Clearwine fort the combined force of Colymar and Malani had assembled. Many hundred warriors were training, packing and preparing their equipment.
At the centre of the camp Leika and Amalda, the queen of the Malani tribe were planning the defence against the Tarshites. The general plan is to block the Tarshites from crossing the river Creek at the river crossings at Two sisters and at Dangerford, these were both natural defensive positions and the only viable crossings over the Creek. Next morning we march north under the command of Asborn Trueborn and Amalda of the Malani to guard the river crossing at the village of Two sisters. While the rest of the host left for Dangerford.
A special order is given Geiri, he would accompany Kallyr Starbrow together with some chosen healers. Kallyr were only a shadow of her former self, she had failed the Lightbringer’s hero quest she set out to do and received a magical wound that bled continuously. Most likely another hero quest were required to close the wound.
1625, Dark season, Death week, Windsday.
After two days of marching we reached the twin village of Two sisters at noon. Asborn and Malani stayed at the south side and set up camp on a small hill overlooking the river bank, if there is a battle they intend to push the Tarshites back into the river. Soon after the tents and camp fires has been set we began to practice for a large scale battle. Jarolar ran our group through drills where we practiced fighting in a shield wall. There were a solemn and sombre tone among the thanes as they direct the drills in the cold winter air.
For lunch we get mutton soup with cabbage and dark bread, this seemed to lighten the hearts of the clansmen and the usual banter started. Rumours are spreading like wildfire within the camp. Some say that Jar-eel the Razoress were heading towards Dangerford, others whispered that the Malani tribe were loyal to the Lunars and would betray us. After lunch Asborn asked for volunteers to scout the north side of the river. Jarolar raised his hand and Asborn grunted in approval and pointed us at a scarred thane with some horses. We were to observe the road from the north side of the river and warn the main force with a bonfire if the Tarshites approached.
An hour later we crossed the river on a barge we found on the river bank. No Tarshites could be seen so far and we wandered the woods for a bit until Jarolar spotted a suitable hilltop to set up camp. Night fell and I wrapped myself into sheep furs to keep the cold out, dreaming of a warm tavern in Notchet with mulled wine and discussing the latest politics among the matriarchs. I drifted to sleep longing for a proper bed.
After two hours of sleep I was woken by a crash and a huge red flame that roars past Brioc as he hid behind the trunk of a tree. A dream dragon slowly swept over the trees, content with setting the tree where Brioc had been keeping watch afire. Everyone scrambled, Jarolar and I lit the bonfire, but neither the dragon nor any Tarshites were to be seen.
We ran back to the barge and crossed the river during the night. Back at camp we report to Asborn and he called off the preparation for battle. There were plenty of grunting and complaining in the camp. A group of Malani thanes taunted Brioc by hissing and flapping their arms like very very tiny dragons. Brioc smirked but remained calm, some burnt pine needles still in his hair.
Next morning Asborn told us he has received a message that the main attack appears to come at Danger ford. Jarolar were ordered to lead the Ormath Hiortling‘s tribe to Dangerford while the Malani remain and guard the Two sisters. All in all our group and about 100 men marched west. I think we got lost for a while, but Jarolar seemed mostly annoyed at this suggestion and ordered us to hurry up. We reached Dangerford two days later.
Duels at Isle dangerous
1625, Dark season, Death week, Godday.
At Dangerford a large encampment had been set up south of the river and at its centre Leika and her commanders held a meeting inside a large tent. After the meeting Asborn gathered the hird and announced that the Tarsh army was camped at Alda Chur, a city a day’s march north of us. Leika would try to attack the invaders before they could cross the Creek at a hill named Orlanth Victorious. After the announcement Asborn approached us and told us to gather 12 men from the hird and to guard against any break away forces that might try to cross the Creek during the battle.
As Leika’s hird crossed the Creek to intercept the Tarsh army we started to look through the village of Dangerford for straw and clothing to create fake guards. The villages itself were deserted in case the fighting spread this far. We found straw and clothes to create eight fake guards and placed them at battlements of a small watch tower at the north side of the river.
While we searched we also found a drunk scribe sleeping under the hay in a barn. After I had talked to the scribe for a bit we slipped into a conversation about the history of Empire Wyrm Friends, one of our common interest. He told me about Forang Forosh from the village Tink that appeared to be reborn from the time of the Empire Wyrm Friends. I told him that I was a sword sage and traveling to meet this man would be very interesting indeed.
“A sword sage, alight, alright.” he said as he looked me up and down, “Do you know that there is a Humakti spirit living at the Isle Dangerous that could teach the art of the sword?” I was bit stumped and asked why the spirit had chosen that location. The old sage gave a cunning if somewhat toothless smile and told me that the island had been an duelling ground for generations and Skall the Arkating, as the spirit was called, guarded it against any foul play. We hid the old sage in the cellar under the inn, which he was more than happy to occupy since it contained several barrels of beer and wine.
After conferring with Jarolar and the others about what the sage had told me we formed a plan to engage any enemies into a duel at Isle dangerous and thus creating a magical barrier that only a handful invaders could pass by duelling against us. We searched for a suitable sacrifice to summon the guardian spirit and eventually settled for the black spear Leika had gifted Jarolar. Geiri performed an hour long ritual and Skall the Arkating emerged from a snowy mist.
He looked confident and solemn at us, his two handed sword resting with a casual grace on his shoulder, his was body covered in death and truth runes glowing with a blue shimmer. Geiri asked him for protection while we challenged any invaders to a duel. With a curt nod he agreed and faded away. The hair on my armed raised and my heart pounded heavily in my chest as I felt magic flood the duelling area.
We spent a couple of hours of calm eating and preparing the duelling area before the first Tarshites arrived. Korl spotted some scouts on horses, but these were not Pharandros troops rather they look like the came from Koldros, the Island where General Fazzur Wideread rule. When the riders got to the middle of the shallow water between the northern shore and isle Dangerous we stood up and approached them.
They instantly turned around but Jarolar and Korl threw their javelins and one man fell from his horse. When we dragged him back to the island he convulses from the magic and passed out. After giving him first aid he told us that general Fazzur was approaching with 2000 men while Pharandros army were engaged at the hill Orlanth victorious.
An army of 2000 thousand men were alarming news, we planned to guard the crossing as long as possible, but had to warn Queen Amalda at the Two sisters. I tried to use Speak to mind to reach her, but I failed. We sent a four of the men that came with us with a message to Amalda.
Two hours later a regular company of riders approached us. When they came to the shore of the Isle Dangerous five of them could continue, the rest convulsed and turned away visibly hurt. The leader demanded that we should let them pass and we said we would, if they defeated us in a duel. It was a short battle. After we had landed some blows they yielded and limped back to the north side of the river.
A while later the main army had arrived at the flood bank. A group of five infantry men crossed the river in a small makeshift boat. As the men paddled towards us we could see the soldiers at the opposite shore pointing and waving while there were some betting going on.
The second group used some kind of company magic that made their spears glow red and marched towards us. This was a fierce battle where Jarolar’s right arm got severely hurt, but he managed to heal himself with rune magic. Brioc felled the first one with his axe and one of them almost punched through my shield with his spear. When Geiri cut down the second one they yielded.
We could see Fazzur Wideread and his officers gathering on the small hilltop squinting and gesturing in our direction. Underneath the hill something more menacing was happening, seven young men were fighting in what appeared to be fights to death in single combat, while three priest where chanting. When a man fell a shadow appeared to rise from the slain body and were absorbed into the victor. Maybe this is how the dream dragon was created?
A young man in a beautiful white armour boarded a boat and paddled towards us. The betting among the soldiers resumed, it was clear that this was an important person, but maybe not a popular one considering the betting seemed to go both ways. The man introduced himself with a clear voice as Prince Orontes of Tarsh and called on us to step aside or face him in a duel.
Jarolar stepped forward and the prince glanced him up and down, swallowed, and said in a muted voice that he wished a duel to first blood and offered Jarolar 2000 silver if he made it look like a good defeat. Jarolar declined, “Your blood be enough for me” The duel was over almost as quick as it started, Jarolar cut across Orontes right arm and a gush of crimson blood ran over his armour. Orontes almost seemed to smear the blood over himself while he fell into the snow, yielding.
From the snow he plead, “Capture me for ransom, I have information for you.” We bandaged his wound and tied him to a tree. A heavy snowfall started and we lost sight of the army, even the sounds became more muffled, for a while it seemed as there was nothing but us in a sea of white.
The snow stopped and so did the cheering and betting among the soldiers. A man with four arms and black skin walked down to the shore, the soldiers scrambling in silence to keep out of his way. As he travelled over the river we could see that even the whites of his eyes were black as obsidian. He is wearing two curved sables and two parrying daggers in his four hands. Korl stepped up to challenge him. At our left side Skall the Arkating stepped out, Skall’s eyes locked on the four armed man, his sword placed firmly in front of him in a two handed grip. With a strange silence where nothing but the heavy breathing and faint creaking of leather and metal against metal the fighting began.
The four armed man hacked relentlessly at Korl landing several blows. Korl stood steady and countered, where his axe connected a green liquid oozed out of the wound. The four armed man hardly took notice and continued to hack at Korl while the oozing wound seemed to close up by itself. Skall thundered, “Chaos! Attack!” and charged the chaos beast, swinging his two handed sword with stunning grace and speed. Skall’s first blow cuts one of the chaos beast’s arms clean off. We all rushed in to aid Korl. Jarolar ran behind him, while the rest of us engage him directly.
Jarolar seemed to pray for a moment and then drove his spear into ground, at the same time the spear bursts into flame and he shouted, “Storm tribe, push!” We all pushed the beast unto Jarolar’s spear. The spear pierced through the neck and out through the beast’s mouth, the flames hissed as green goo sprayed out through the mouth. The beast trembled and died.
Fazzur slowly walked down the edge of the water, behind him were the priests from the ritual kneeling. Fazzur shouted, “A single man cannot stand against and army and win, but this day you have won.” Jarolar roared back in defiance, “Have you ever seen a Sartarite back down from a fight?” Fazzur ruefully replied, “That may well be. Take these priests, their chaos magic is nothing I want part of.” Fazzur turned and walked back, his army closing ranks behind him, heading north.
Later Korl prepared to pass judgement on the priests in a foreign language that I assume was the Tarsh native tongue. The priests looked up at him with a bewildered look as he cut their heads.
We returned to Clearwine a few days later. Leika had thwarted Pharandros and his army, it had been a hard battle. She thanked us for holding Fazzur back at Dangerford. We return to Apple Lane with the old drunken sage from the barn.
