The War in Mukarrem has become as ubiquitous as the weather, a constant that will always be present for empty, cursory discussion.
“It's supposed to rain tomorrow.”
“Are you going to see the new bard at the tavern?”
“Did you hear the latest news from the war in Mukarrem?”
And so on.
Of course, for the people living there it is anything but routine. The Trade Principality and their Artebazzani allies have been able to rotate their forces, bringing fresh warriors to the fight season after season, while The Concord has marched troops up and down the length of southern Esterra to simply hold onto what they have.
But the state of emergency hopes to change all of that by bringing fire and steel to the hearts of the Concord's armies. To push its people to the very edge of defeat in the name of victory.
Only time will tell if this has brought success.
The Bloodglass Roar
"We are warriors of the Salir, and we are your death!"
The Huscarl's challenge rang across the battlefield. His banner-cloak was already stiff with blood, his axe dark with it. Then came the answer.
Hundreds of the Valley's Own took up the cry. Painted in the colours of their Salir, bearing the ancient signs of clan and valley, they roared their defiance toward the Artebazzani lines stretching across the plain.
They had marched far from home. More than a year had passed since many had seen the valleys that birthed them. They had bled and killed for lands not their own. Yet they carried the Valley with them; in their customs, in their hearts, and now, with the blessing of the Church itself, upon their tongues. For the first time in generations they called upon the old ways before battle, invoking the names of their ancestors as they swore to drink the blood of those they slew.
The cry was not universal.
Most of the Valley's Own stood in grim silence, shields marked instead with the symbols of the Spheres. Priests watched with uncertain eyes as warriors reached back toward an older, heathen Iron Valley. Many questioned the wisdom of such rites. Yet the Council of Six had given its blessing, and the priests of the Concord had not forbidden it.
The battlefield was no place to settle matters of doctrine, It was a place for killing. And for dying.
To the Artebazzani, it was merely another army of heretics on another nameless plain in another imperial war. If the Concordians now embraced even older blasphemies than before, then so much the better. Whatever hesitation remained in the hearts of the legionaries vanished. Perhaps it made the march to their deaths easier.
The Valley's Own did not stop to ask.
Already stretched thin, Questor Vikandius struggled to advance his front. The desert harried one flank while the sea demanded soldiers on the other, leaving his line brittle when the Valley's Own struck.
Outnumbered, exhausted, and overwhelmed, the Artebazzani host collapsed beneath the assault. Once more upon the grasses and sands of the Priado Expanse, Questor Vikandius suffered defeat. Only this time, there was no convenient lie beneath which to hide it. His banners fell bearing his true colours.
When the battle was won, the victors gave thanks to the Spheres for granting them strength enough to seize victory, and comrades enough to share it. Even if, in that hour of triumph, some spoke different names.
In the days that followed, the Valley's Own buried nearly nine hundred of their dead. Great words were spoken over fresh graves. Strong warriors wept without shame. They had died for the Valley. They had died for the Concord. They had died for Andash. And they had died for their faith, whatever name they chose to give it.
Game Information
Over the past winter season, the Valley’s Own moved into the wide Priado Expanse, with orders to hold the territory against the approaching Artebazzani Legion led by Questor Vikandius. It was there that they met the cautiously approaching army with stone and steel, the warfront quickly becoming a brutal bloodbath.
Though the Bloody Defence order resulted in many deaths that a more cautious defence could have avoided, the Valley’s Own stood firm against the Artebazzani. By the season’s end, the Valley’s Own stood strong with a strength of 4300.
But they would not fight alone.
Malediction’s Due
As the two stood next to each other, fatigued from their battles but alive, it could not possibly be any clearer that they held themselves to different martial beliefs. One stood, eyes alert, back straight, sweat beading down their face while blood poured from a nasty wound to their arm. The other could barely catch their breath, back bowed and hands on their knees as they vomited from the excessive intensity of their recent physical foray.
They stood at watch, having drawn the short straw from their commanding officer mere minutes after the ‘end’ of the battle. They stared across the bloody field at the foe and carefully watched for any action that implied aggression. For now, it seemed they were simply gathering their wounded and claiming their dead. This boded well. Perhaps, the fighting was coming to an end.
As the sound of retching finally ceased, the exhausted warriors would share a look, but no words. They hated each other, that much was clear. Both wished to be anywhere else, perhaps as much due to the ‘comrade’ across from them as for the circumstance of war they found themselves in. It was hard to say, but no words could be spoken that would ease that burden. They both knew it, and neither cared enough to work to change it. They were given a job, and it was their duty to see it carried out.
Perhaps, their stubborn inability to speak to one another would have saved their lives. Or perhaps they were always destined to have a Lerona Mere blade dragged across the soft flesh of their necks.
-=-=-=-
“The orders are given, the raiding parties are away.”
The ship gently rocked in time with the tides, but there was no concern to be had for the captains present on its deck. The view of The Priado Expanse was vast, but everyone aboard only had eyes for the dozens of rowboats that steadily pulled away.
“Do you think our alleati in The Valley can hold long enough for our Marines to arrive?”
“They must, no? Otherwise why are we here?”
“We are here to kick the living shit out of Artebazzan! What more do you need!”
The sound of laughter echoed across the deck, as the most senior of captains amongst the naval might of Lerona Mere clapped and cheered for the bloody battles to come. Here stood leaders of The People’s Gift and The Liberties Fist, allied in purpose and cause to see a mutually hated enemy beaten and broken.
The sound of mutually believed and early-celebrated victory would finally be broken by one simple question.
“Mon amis, was there any order for raised anchors?”
Met with puzzled expressions, the captain could only point at the lone ship that began to sail away from the mass forest of masts. Flying a Concordian flag, the ship was heading in much the same direction as the rowboats, though clearly heading slightly north of them. It was a large thing, clearly used for hauling cargo at one point in time but now repurposed with a more martial intent. The captains squinted, trying to make out the now distant form of the captain at its helm.
“Wait, is that the fucking Warmaster?”
-=-=-=-
The Free Captain watched as the hordes of Lerona Mere raiders smashed into the unsuspecting backline of the enemy Legion, and waited. He had fought in enough battles to know that this should be a death sentence, but numbers so rarely play out as they should on the field. He stood back and watched, his crew patiently waiting beside him, keeping their eyes peeled for the same opportunity that their captain would surely be looking for.
And sure enough, it came. The foe began to retreat, in scattered numbers but good order. They found a weakness in the crush and managed to escape it. If given the chance, and a competent battle-leader in the moment, the enemy could turn this escape from luck into advantage. Or at minimum, reduce the advantage that the marines had gained from the unexpected raid from behind their lines.
This could not happen. If this retreat went well, it would mean the enemy force would live to fight another day. Beaten, but still a threat to The War.
“Time to go, eh Captain?”
Warmaster Pierre Capulet smiled at his bosun and nodded. It was time to make the long jog that would take his crew around the newly placed backline of the Artebazzani soldiers. What to do when they got there?
Well, hunting for officers would be a good start, but he figured he would make do with what he finds.
-=-=-=-
After a vicious and brutal battle against The Valley’s Own, Vikandius’ Legion would find itself set upon by Lerona Mere raiders. Barely given a chance to breathe, the Legion would begin its fighting retreat North, with barely enough strength to support its failing structure. It would nearly crumble entirely, unable to hold against the onslaught of fresh and bloodthirsty marines, but luck would see a small breakout in the crush provide the greatest chance for a successful retreat.
At least, it would have if it were not for the actions of a single hero. One man, who supported the Fleets of Lerona Mere, and by his assistance alone tipped the scales and changed the outcome of this war. One man, whose presence decided the difference between an army that was beaten and an army that was truly broken apart. One man, who through luck or vicious tactical acumen would possibly begin a turning point in the war in Mukarrem.
Warmaster Pierre Capulet was not the reason that the campaign was won. The fighting of Valleyfolk Warriors and Lerona Mere Marines, and the corpses accumulated from their efforts, far outweighed the deaths caused by a single man and his crew. But if it were not for being in the right place, at the right time, the Legion of Vikandius would still stand.
But it does not. And now, the Questor is on the run.
Game Information
The Valley’s Own were not unsupported in the campaign against Questor Vikandius, with the full force of Lerona Mere’s dual Fleets appearing and raiding the shores of The Priado Expanse and the unsuspecting backline of the foe. Unprepared for a war on two fronts, Vikandius’ Legion buckles and breaks, its soldiers slain by Valleyfolk warriors and Lerona Mere Marines with equal aggression. By the end of the Season, more than 3500 Artebazzani lie dead upon the plains, and the remaining soldiers find themselves unsupported and unable to act.
The enemy army would nearly eke out a retreat, beaten but still fighting, if it were not for the supporting actions of Warmaster Pierre Capulet. The presence of his single Naval Investment, the only supporting heroic naval force, reduced Questor Vikandius’ army below 1000 strength, causing its disbandment. The few survivors that remained fled to the north.
There will be a Skirmish this coming Summit to hunt down Questor Vikandius. The Conflux will be available to Lerona Mere and Iron Valley characters, and should be expected to be Low Accessibility, High Danger, and Moderate to High Intensity. The responsible party for this Conflux will be the Warmaster, who will receive more information at the coming Summit.
Gold Flows Into Wine
When the first light of spring breaks over the Salt Road, the weather is comfortably warm.The ever present sun on the Andashi dunes seems to have no effect on the citizens of Nazafeza toiling in the fields and farms outside the city walls. The shimmering haze of heat rises nonetheless, reflecting the golden sands beneath, and starts to take form.
Every traveller through the Tanebar Sea is warned that heat and dehydration can make you see things that aren’t there. A well to refill your skin, a caravan to trade for food; all naught but sand once you approach. When a fortress of gleaming gold seems to block the path of a refugee attempting to travel the Salt Road to see his family again, it is easily dismissed as a trick of the light. It does not take long for word to reach Obregon about the very solid wall that has once again appeared on the Concord’s border, and the warriors of gold that guard it.
Relieved by the blessings of Panoply, The Warjackal and his forces would once again return to the coastal city to rest. To the people of Nazafeza, watching from cleaned streets and organised markets, this could not possibly be the same army that had had its boot upon their necks so recently. This was an army taking a well deserved break from war, resting and reveling in the city they worked so hard to defend in all the plenty granted by the Trade Prince and his daughter.
Across the city, bonfires would light up the night and wine would smooth the friction that remained between the two groups. Nazafeza would celebrate that by the grace of Panoply, no war would touch the city unless it was the Concord that brought it to their walls. The gentle hand of Carine Al’Majiid Del’Majiid and the never-empty purse of the Trade Prince had created an atmosphere of stability and growth in the coastal city. Any attempt to retake or subvert Nazafeza would surely only plunge the city and its people back into its tumultuous history.
The Concord has proved itself capable of holding what they have of Mukarrem, but Nazafeza remains out of reach. To the people within the walls, is that such a bad thing?
Game Information
Empowered by The Magistrate, Majiid’s Panoply priests have once again proved their power. A Fool’s Gold Fortress has appeared in The Salt Road.
What few sources remain inside the city tell tales of extravagant parties and jubilant celebration, by citizens and soldiers alike. The Warjackal’s army has gained the following trait for the duration of the next campaign season:
| Name | Casualties Inflicted Mod | Casualties Suffered Mod | Claim Mod | Special |
| Rest & Relaxation | -50% | -50% | - | This force gains the “Well Supplied” trait at the beginning of the next campaign season. |
There will be additional information about the state of Nazafeza and its inhabitants for members of various Enterprises still based in The Salt Road.
Due to the citizens of Nazafeza becoming more supportive of the Trade Prince’s occupation and willing to inform on subversive parties, the following Enterprises have been damaged:
- The Warren