Discord
Changelog
01-05-2014, 09:31 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-07-2014, 12:36 PM by The Philosopher.)
The present journal seems to be a very detailed account of Sergeant Daxos Zoavaro of the Priador Legion, and his exploits as strategic liaison for the Tuigan Horde after Szass Tam's selection. The following are some of the most relevant excerpts.
Uktar 30th, 1359
I'm still unsure whether to celebrate this as one of the best Feasts of the Moon I have had, or the worst.
The Tuigan force made mincemeat of the berserkers. Citadel Rashemar, as I told Yamun Khahan, proved to be just as irrelevant for a force of this magnitude as I expected - leaving behind a contingent of five thousand was more than enough to leave them neutralized. I don't usually favour throwing men into a problem, but I have to admit - the sheer numbers of Yamun Khahan's force make wasting even that many men a trivial matter.
We are making camp, now, over fifteen miles west of the Citadel, coming down the main road and the High Country in preparation for an onslaught. We were sent word that over fourty thousand Thayans are leading a simultaneous assault of Rashemen from the Gorge of Gauros, a prodigious army by any means, though I am fairly sure the Rashemi will be able to contain it. If all goes as planned, the Rashemi forces will be diverted to the Gorge, making way for the Horde to overwhelm the entire country.
Credit be given to them, they at least know to listen to counsel. Yamun revealed himself fearful for the first time when I explained to him the nature of Rashemen and its spirits, the telthor. Facing the berserkers in their own land is difficult, without a doubt, but one of the main reasons Thay has never succeeded in invading the nation is connected to the mysterious forces that pervade its very soil, something that Tharchion after Tharchion keep on ignoring in their efforts. The land rises up to defend itself - any conventional tactic is out the window when the mountains, the rivers and the trees themselves wake up to strike out.
Yamun heeds, however, due to fear, it seems clear to me; the Tuigan are deeply afraid of magic, and their shamans are few and far between. It no longer seems so amazing that the diplomatic force, along with Szass Tam, succeeded in convincing them to turn from Thay. The prospect of facing the unbridled might of the Masters must have frightened some inner core of their being much more than the simple common sense in avoiding a long, drawn-out war. His other generals are made of even softer stuff in this regard. They respect, and fear, Thay - it makes them excellent pawns in the Zulkirs' plans.
Yamun and his generals still look upon me as some manner of servant, even though any of their success would have been limited at best without my knowledge of Rashemen's geography and its people's combat capabilities. Up in the High Country, a massive cavalry force is absolutely useless - the rugged terrain, the wintry conditions, the telthor earth spirits, the fangs of berserkers wandering the hills and the crags make it almost hilarious to try and mount a proper cavalry, especially one of this size. As a result, advance is slow and ponderous, the forward force being the only one in any position to strike forward. The rest of the Tuigan are still flooding in by the thousands, braving the snows.
At this rate, I won't be back to Thay in months.
The others seem to be of like mind. I barely see Kallien and Daeris, busy in their own matters, and my role as what amounts to surrogate general keeps me in the tents or in the company of Yamun and his brutes. I won't even mention Barry - were it up to him, he would be running to the Wychlaran, spilling all our plans to the Witches. He probably will do it, the disloyal fool, if only to avoid a berserker's sword down that skull of his. Luck of Tymora indeed - without it he'd have been dead ten times over. Would that I could watch over the foreign prick.
I wonder what my mother would say if she would see me, now. I honoured her in my personal Feast of dried horse meat and water, wondering how everyone else celebrated their own holiday. Here I am, camping in the arse-end of Rashemen, waiting for a massive horde to finish spilling into the country while enemy forces rally to delay us for as long as they can, while at home there's wine and song and some other man in the company of my lovers. Worst Feast of my life, and yet, the chance of a life-time.
I might return home a hero if I pull this off.
I obey, for the honour and glory of Thay, but gods damn if I don't feel miserable right now.
Uktar 30th, 1359
I'm still unsure whether to celebrate this as one of the best Feasts of the Moon I have had, or the worst.
The Tuigan force made mincemeat of the berserkers. Citadel Rashemar, as I told Yamun Khahan, proved to be just as irrelevant for a force of this magnitude as I expected - leaving behind a contingent of five thousand was more than enough to leave them neutralized. I don't usually favour throwing men into a problem, but I have to admit - the sheer numbers of Yamun Khahan's force make wasting even that many men a trivial matter.
We are making camp, now, over fifteen miles west of the Citadel, coming down the main road and the High Country in preparation for an onslaught. We were sent word that over fourty thousand Thayans are leading a simultaneous assault of Rashemen from the Gorge of Gauros, a prodigious army by any means, though I am fairly sure the Rashemi will be able to contain it. If all goes as planned, the Rashemi forces will be diverted to the Gorge, making way for the Horde to overwhelm the entire country.
Credit be given to them, they at least know to listen to counsel. Yamun revealed himself fearful for the first time when I explained to him the nature of Rashemen and its spirits, the telthor. Facing the berserkers in their own land is difficult, without a doubt, but one of the main reasons Thay has never succeeded in invading the nation is connected to the mysterious forces that pervade its very soil, something that Tharchion after Tharchion keep on ignoring in their efforts. The land rises up to defend itself - any conventional tactic is out the window when the mountains, the rivers and the trees themselves wake up to strike out.
Yamun heeds, however, due to fear, it seems clear to me; the Tuigan are deeply afraid of magic, and their shamans are few and far between. It no longer seems so amazing that the diplomatic force, along with Szass Tam, succeeded in convincing them to turn from Thay. The prospect of facing the unbridled might of the Masters must have frightened some inner core of their being much more than the simple common sense in avoiding a long, drawn-out war. His other generals are made of even softer stuff in this regard. They respect, and fear, Thay - it makes them excellent pawns in the Zulkirs' plans.
Yamun and his generals still look upon me as some manner of servant, even though any of their success would have been limited at best without my knowledge of Rashemen's geography and its people's combat capabilities. Up in the High Country, a massive cavalry force is absolutely useless - the rugged terrain, the wintry conditions, the telthor earth spirits, the fangs of berserkers wandering the hills and the crags make it almost hilarious to try and mount a proper cavalry, especially one of this size. As a result, advance is slow and ponderous, the forward force being the only one in any position to strike forward. The rest of the Tuigan are still flooding in by the thousands, braving the snows.
At this rate, I won't be back to Thay in months.
The others seem to be of like mind. I barely see Kallien and Daeris, busy in their own matters, and my role as what amounts to surrogate general keeps me in the tents or in the company of Yamun and his brutes. I won't even mention Barry - were it up to him, he would be running to the Wychlaran, spilling all our plans to the Witches. He probably will do it, the disloyal fool, if only to avoid a berserker's sword down that skull of his. Luck of Tymora indeed - without it he'd have been dead ten times over. Would that I could watch over the foreign prick.
I wonder what my mother would say if she would see me, now. I honoured her in my personal Feast of dried horse meat and water, wondering how everyone else celebrated their own holiday. Here I am, camping in the arse-end of Rashemen, waiting for a massive horde to finish spilling into the country while enemy forces rally to delay us for as long as they can, while at home there's wine and song and some other man in the company of my lovers. Worst Feast of my life, and yet, the chance of a life-time.
I might return home a hero if I pull this off.
I obey, for the honour and glory of Thay, but gods damn if I don't feel miserable right now.