Discord
Changelog
01-17-2014, 09:53 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-17-2014, 09:54 AM by The Philosopher.)
A hastily written entry follows a few more pages of dull days and bleaker nights of army camp life, with several spots of skirmishes with fangs of berserkers.
Nightal 8th, 1359
Our jagun is in disarray. I warned Yamun - I warned him, yet still he presses on, determined to stomp the Rashemi under the hoofs of his mounted horde. The Witches of Rashemen should never be underestimated; look now upon the result.
The spirits attacked in the late afternoon, after long hours of horse-riding. With them came the clouds of magical smoke and fire. Absolute chaos. The first charge was broken on a line of earth elementals far stronger than any wall of pikemen. The telthor stroke after, leaping from the earth itself, shimmering in swirling colours as they cried in outrage at the invaders. There wasn't a single fang of berserkers among them. We stroke at phantoms well into the wolf hours of the night.
I saw men screaming with their horses as the clouds of fire caught them. I saw men crying for their mothers as they were torn apart by telthor bears. I saw blood-brother turning on blood-brother as they lost their minds to the witches' magic, entire companies attacking one another in a confused frenzy.
I had to subdue Batu Min Ho before he stroke down Yamun's blood-brother.
The Khahan is determined to press on, though now it's clear we will be facing opposition throughout. Heralds from the other jagun in the Horde tell us the same story; terrible spells and demon spirits striking at them from all sides, their own men turning against them.
And yet, it's barely keeping us from rushing right over all territories of Rashemen.
The sacking has already begun, but where Yamun can only see victory and setback, I see only the raw terror of my mother's bedtime stories. It's the Witches of Rashemen we're fighting, here. Maybe we are a thousand times their number, but every man, woman and child in this Horde rides into Rashemen with terror in their hearts.
And I am one of them.
Nightal 8th, 1359
Our jagun is in disarray. I warned Yamun - I warned him, yet still he presses on, determined to stomp the Rashemi under the hoofs of his mounted horde. The Witches of Rashemen should never be underestimated; look now upon the result.
The spirits attacked in the late afternoon, after long hours of horse-riding. With them came the clouds of magical smoke and fire. Absolute chaos. The first charge was broken on a line of earth elementals far stronger than any wall of pikemen. The telthor stroke after, leaping from the earth itself, shimmering in swirling colours as they cried in outrage at the invaders. There wasn't a single fang of berserkers among them. We stroke at phantoms well into the wolf hours of the night.
I saw men screaming with their horses as the clouds of fire caught them. I saw men crying for their mothers as they were torn apart by telthor bears. I saw blood-brother turning on blood-brother as they lost their minds to the witches' magic, entire companies attacking one another in a confused frenzy.
I had to subdue Batu Min Ho before he stroke down Yamun's blood-brother.
The Khahan is determined to press on, though now it's clear we will be facing opposition throughout. Heralds from the other jagun in the Horde tell us the same story; terrible spells and demon spirits striking at them from all sides, their own men turning against them.
And yet, it's barely keeping us from rushing right over all territories of Rashemen.
The sacking has already begun, but where Yamun can only see victory and setback, I see only the raw terror of my mother's bedtime stories. It's the Witches of Rashemen we're fighting, here. Maybe we are a thousand times their number, but every man, woman and child in this Horde rides into Rashemen with terror in their hearts.
And I am one of them.