While a bandit-turned-warlord steals from Concordian merchants and baggage trains, a warlord-turned-cultist masses in the desert. Steel for gold and steel for a just cause pass each other in the night, both eager to be wet with the blood of fallen Concordians. There is no love lost between these foes, but there is a greater opportunity afoot.
The people of Andash joined The Concord to reclaim the glory lost to the sands and have instead found themselves cast as the bulwark against raiders and marauders alike. There was a time when Janissaries were a valued export but as the land of sun and moon readies itself for another winter campaigning season, it seems that the children of Andash will be needed at home. The wars in Andash will not wait.
Hook, Line, and Sinker
The supply carts for the Desert Whisperers were light things with two wheels intended to be pulled by two labourers if a good oxen could not be found. They were well-designed to handle the scrubby paths of the True Wilds and The Crescent, even if they could not conquer the dunes of the Tanebar Sea. They were well-built and perfectly suited to resupply the fast moving warfare that the Whisperers specialised in. This made their absence all the more keenly felt.
Replacing them were heavier double-axle wagons from Lerona Mere. Originally intended as transports for wine casks and other goods from the Madre Campo, they were heavy set and well-braced against the ruts and bumps of the roads that crisscross Lerona Mere. While they carried a great bounty of supplies, they often found themselves bogged and lost in the sands and stone of Andash’s rugged terrain. This made their absence frustrating but hardly unsurprising.
Now they were reduced to walking supplies overland from Civisello. The Red Lady and the other officers of the army tasked with defending the Andashi heartland had to engage and defeat market prices exacerbated by the drought in Obregon. They skirmished with local gangs of labourers asking for higher and higher wages to account for the risks. They besieged the Civil Service to release their purse strings. Each battle was an embarrassment for the General, as she had been here before.
She had watched as The Warjackal had brought this same tactic to the fore a year prior against her predecessor. There were those voices in the War Chamber that had worried about this outcome; going to the Senate, hat-in-hand was hardly a powerful stance for The Concord’s military leaders. But the risk of a powerful flank attack into Obregon was too dangerous to be ignored.
And now she was spending her evenings controlling her steadily diminishing supplies. Spending her morning reading reports of more stolen wagons. Spending her days screaming into the canyons of her homeland, praying for Arcadian to bring her a battle. But The Spheres and canyons were silent, save for the distant laughter of enemy greed.
Game Information
Last season saw The Concord field the Desert Whisperers army in Tanebar East, part of The Tribelands, to defend against a possible attack by Trade Principality Forces.
Unfortunately, the Blockade Runner order from the Warjackal, Luis El’Corvarrais, was not a deadly flanking strike. Instead it was a drain on Concordian supplies as enemy forces refused open battle and instead struck out at the logistics and mercantile efforts of the region.
The Desert Whisperers have had their upkeep for the last season doubled as attempts to assault the Warjackal have been fruitless. Missing supplies plague the army and it has also gained the ‘Undersupplied’ status. This status will fade as new supplies are made available after the next season. The Desert Whisperers have not recovered casualties this season as rushing up and down the desert has left them weary and spent.
For his part, Luis El’Corvarrias has suffered light casualties against Concordian counterattacks and police actions.
There will be decisions regarding these events for the General of the Desert Whisperers.
To the Towns Where There Was Plenty
The Tanebar Sea is a difficult place to live, never mind to thrive. Even on the mildest of days, when the sun is high in the sky it is unbearably hot and bright, leading to burnt cheeks and stinging eyes. Even on the most temperate of nights, when the moon is overhead it is gelid and desolate, leading to frostbitten noses and spasmodic, shivering sleep.
Yet people still travel to this inhospitable land, despite its apathy for the condition of the living, in the hopes of uncovering the secrets of the dead - each rasping gust of wind that skates over the dunes has the possibility of uncovering a remnant of Grand Andash thought lost to time.
For Tamadur Al’Mukhtar, the brutality of the Tanebar Sea was a beast worth battling with if it meant that some part of her lost culture could be found - what were nights of fitful, freezing sleep when compared to days of discovery and reclamation?
And after nearly three years, she had done it - she had found another ruin. Not nearly to the scale of Kodiri - there were seemingly no winding passages deep below the sands needing to be uncovered by Heroes of The Concord. But there were carvings and mosaics of what could be old magic - remnants of parts of culture thought lost here, in the stone, where they could be brought back to life.
She had already penned a letter to her Senator with careful illustrations and descriptions of what herself and her crew had found, hopeful that the history of her ancestors may be ready, at last, to come to light - she would leave in the morning, to deliver it into Obregon herself.
When she awoke, it was to more movement than the site had seen in some time - her crew had found something else. Clambering out from her tent to join her fellow Delvers crouched around the entrance of the site, she adjusted her eyes to look at the objects in hand.
“Arrows?” she stated, though it came out more questioningly than was intended. “We’ve found no other indication that any kind of battle occurred here - did the sand uncover them this morning, or during the night?”
She held out her hand to her second, moving to grab the arrow to look at its head for any marks or distinguishing features - the feathers that made up the fletching clearly did not survive their journey under the sands.
As she stood, however, she did not have to take it in hand - the arrow that shot through the neck of the Delver next to her still retained its green and yellow fletching, splattered with blood as it was.
Tamadur did not have time to turn, to react to the gurgling scream and the scarlet blood that erupted from her friend’s punctured throat, before he fell, along with the others around her.
By the time she did turn to face their attackers, shaking hand reaching for the blade on her hip, she wished that she hadn’t. She wished that she couldn’t hear her crew, her friends, bleeding out in agony upon stones that should have brought life to things long dead. She wished that they had all left the day before, even if they had not saved as much of the site, if it meant that they could live. She wished that the figure in front of her, flanked by Eagles, wasn’t one that she recognised from stories told in hushed, frightened voices.
The Eagles moved silently on the sands, crossing the site to scrutinise the precious mosaics and priceless carvings, now splattered sanguine. Sister Oak, bedecked in her Thunder Oak armour and giant ram’s horns took a step closer. She gestured southward with her club.
Out in the distance, the blurred shape in the horizon shifted and began to move as Oak’s army continued their march, too distant to be heard. The weak cries of the figures on the floor eased into quiet as their life soaked into the sand and stone, and, except for Tamadur’s sharp breaths, all was still.
Oak’s eyes scanned Tamadur, landing on the Delver’s belt wrapped around her waist, then surveyed the rest of the scene, pausing briefly on the mosaics of the City of Spires.
A step closer.
“P-please - we-I won’t try to stop you.”
Another step.
“W-we just wanted to dig. W-we’ve lost so m-much.”
Another step.
“P-please, we-we need to - it-it’s for o-our f-families. Our an-ancestors.”
Another step. Now only a few paces apart, Oak’s face was clear, even through Tamadur’s tear-filled vision. She wished that she didn’t recognise the sentiment present in the Zekartaal’s eyes - shadows caused by months and months of interrupted sleep, and a grief caused by the loss of something greater than the self.
Sister Oak nodded, and for a moment there was hope.
Then the blade of the Eagle behind her slid through her ribs, and she could only gasp quietly as the others began smashing the carvings around her. Her body fell and she clutched her torso, unable to stop the sticky blood leaking through her fingers like spilled ink.
She watched through blurred vision as her site - her hope - was crushed under Zekartaal clubs. Then her vision was overtaken by a face filled with both mourning and conviction in equal measure.
“We need to - for ours,” Sister Oak said, no louder than a whisper, raising her club. Then the world was no more.
Game Information:
Sister Oak has marched an army into Tanebar South. It is unclear if her intentions are bloody vengeance, or the conqueror’s axe. Regardless of her hopes, it is the first time that a Zekartaal army has crossed the borders of The Concord in some time.
The War Chamber will have to respond.
Until I Wake, I Dine on Old Encounters
She is coming.
The thunderous sound of Abqala’s waterfalls, even as distant as they were, nearly drowned out the simple statement. Spoken in hushed tones and furtive glances, almost as if She could hear them and see them even now. There was fear in these words. A fright based on committed action and known intent.
She has waited too long. Now, She moves to lift their burden.
A different voice, melodious and rhythmic, no stranger to the eyes and ears of a crowd. The tale to be told is one of horrific loss, a cause to action and a call to arms for a people oh so brutalised. Still, a tale of villainy in short few words, betrayed by the one who would tell it.
Look to the West and She will show. Watch for those that grasp the skies and know that She will bring them low.
The final voice, clear and concise, no words to be wasted and no time to spare. Words as cryptic as they are meaningful, their very existence the result of fair trade and a hard decision made. There would be consequence, in ways that can only be assumed and foretold. There would be suffering at the hands of one, or perhaps another.
There would be vengeance.
-=-=-=-
It would not be the words of scouts and travelling nomads that would warn the people of Abqala about the coming Zekartaal army. It would not be the cautions of Concordians that would first tell of Sister Oak and her intent. No, it would not be the citizens of Andash as it stands who step forth to speak, but those who still claim a place in its past. The Lost Clans of Villacres, those of the Peaks, Old Seas and Hawk, would each find their way once again to Abqala to tell of impending doom.
They would speak of her in cryptic words, seemingly guilty but nonetheless warning those that accepted them of what is to come. They would speak of how they must repay kindness with kindness, a debt owed and now paid. They would speak, morosely and in roundabout ways, of Sister Oak and how she fights. They would warn, perhaps too late.
There would be nothing the people of Abqala could do but watch from a distance as Zekartaal cross the border of Villacres. They could do nothing but send letters and reports to those in power as Oak marches south, raiding whatever fell in her path. They could do little but be thankful that Abqala remains as yet untouched, saved from a repeat massacre of years past.
Oak marches with glaring intent, a goal to be realised and a duty to be fulfilled. The words of the few from Villacres answer some questions, but as always give rise to many more.
Game Information
In response to their allowance to continue trading within Abqala, The Lost Clans of Villacres warn the Andashi people of Sister Oak’s invasion into The Tribelands, though perhaps one step too late. While information on Oak herself is given quietly and cryptically, it is nonetheless given freely to the people of Abqala, a great and unexpected boon for the coming military Season.
The people of the Lost Clans have made the following trait* of Sister Oak’s army available to The Concord. It is not her army's only trait.
| Trait | Effect |
| Warlord of the Zekartaal | +15% Casualties Inflicted / +500 Claim when campaigning in territories that include Schools of Magic or Monasteries. |
There will be decisions and information regarding The Lost Clans of Villacres for The Shepherd of the Reeds.
*Specific numbers within traits are subject to change, pending the War Chamber System review
Further reading at Winds of the World - Autumn 225