Rules
Clarified that a Brevet Warchief (still holding the permanent rank of Warlord) can only apply for the appointment as Brigadier in their current brigade.
Removed birth complications.
Money Matters
Having returned from his successful cult mission, Baron Rufus was able to settle a debt with the moneylenders. Bvt Warchief Fionn sent a bag of coins from the front to settle his debt with them.
Appointments and Cult Promotions
Hundred-thane Julian was not appointed Brigade-thane of the Guards Brigade. The post was left vacant.
Baroness Ivarenna initiated into the cult of Ernalda.
Titles
King Argrath decided against giving out any titles.
Week 1
Brystan trained the spear at the Storm Bull temple. Baroness Ivarenna brough Silast to the temple of Ernalda to participate in a ceremony.
Week 2
Brystan kept training the spear. Baroness Ivarenna studied Harmony.
Week 3
Brystan took a break from the spear training and caroused at the Red Beaver. Baroness Ivarenna led a ceremony at the temple of Orlanth, where she praised Drighten Erik.
Week 4
Brystan participated in a ceremony at the temple of Storm Bull and toadied to the Chief Priest. Baroness Ivarenna studied the Harmony Rune.
War
Warking Jarnaris announced that all military activities in Early Earth Season (1632-7) will be directed against the Lunar Empire.
1632 - 6 (Late Fire) - Turn Report
Re: 1632 - 6 (Late Fire) - Turn Report
The great square of Boldhome is packed with eager onlookers. The banners of the tribes ripple in the late summer breeze, and the air is thick with the scent of incense and sweat. A herald, clad in a bronze-plated cuirass and the red-plumed helmet of Sartar’s messengers, steps onto the high stone dais before the palace of King Argrath. A hush falls over the crowd.
He raises a staff adorned with the Air Rune and begins to speak in a voice trained to carry over battlefield clamor and temple prayers alike:
"People of Sartar! Warriors, kinfolk, and all who stand against the Moon! The war in Tarsh rages still, but the storm we have sent has shattered the Lunar yoke upon Kordros Island! Hear now the deeds of your kin and champions, as carried on the wings of Orlanth's winds!"
The herald unfurls a scroll and reads:
"By decree of General Esrolvale, the 1st Army has held strong and sent the Moon’s spawn fleeing! Aided by the wisdom of Bvt Warchief Fionn, our warriors struck with thunder, scattering the foe in counter-attacks as precise as Humakt’s blade! His name is sung in battle hymns, his purse swells with Lunar silver—500 in total! Let all men and women of Sartar drink to his name!"
A cheer rises from the crowd, but the herald’s expression turns solemn as he continues.
"Not all tales are of triumph. Lt General Gain, through error or ill fate, saw his own command overrun, his adjutant slain—but Orlanth’s winds are fickle, and still he finds himself promoted. May his next deeds bring only honor."
Scattered murmurs and a few jeers ripple through the assembly.
"Warchief Lelina turned calamity to victory, saving the shattered command. Let her name be honored! Lt Warlord Torben, a true master of war, led his magicians in a strike that broke the foe—400 Lunars his prize! His name shall be weighed for title and honor! But mourn Warchief Terkalrev, who though victorious, met his end alongside his adjutant. The battlefield drinks their blood, but their deeds will not be forgotten!"
More names and fates are called—triumphs and tragedies alike. The Free Men and the Wolf Runners are spoken of in mourning, their names joined to the long rolls of the fallen. Of Goldgotti’s Company, only the Ten-thane remains, and of the Thieves Arm, Garoor alone walks away, neither victorious nor shamed.
Then, the herald’s voice rises once more.
"Let all Sartar know! New Kordros, last of the Moon’s bastions upon the island, has fallen! The Tribal Division struck as storm and flame, and the Locaem Tribal Levy stood firm in siege and stormed the walls! Victory is ours, the land cleansed of Lunar taint!"
A great roar of triumph surges from the crowd, hands raised in exultation. But the herald’s gaze lingers on one last name.
"Yet not all fought with honor. One was seen skulking in the rear ranks as her kin bled. Erinestra, daughter of Sartar, looted 400 Lunars while others claimed glory. Until her name is sung in battle-song, let shame weigh upon her!"
Scattered boos and mutterings follow, and the herald lets the words settle like dust after a charge.
As the cheers from the announcement of the 1st Army’s deeds begin to settle, the herald once more raises his staff, calling for silence. The gathered crowd, still electric with triumph and mourning alike, quiets in anticipation. The bronze plates of his armor gleam in the afternoon light as he takes a deep breath and speaks again.
“People of Sartar, hear now of the storm that is the 2nd Army! The hammer of our people has struck, and the enemy lies shattered! The 2nd Army has crushed the foe beneath its righteous fury, leaving no doubt of Orlanth’s wrath upon the Moon’s lackeys!”
A great roar of approval rises, banners waving in celebration. The herald presses on, his voice steady and unwavering.
“The Magical Division, the wielders of storm and sorcery, crushed the enemy with their divine might! Yet within their ranks, some blows struck true, others faltered—the Magical Union Brigade, the Eaglebrown Warlocks, and the Eleven Lights could not claim decisive victory. But let none doubt their strength, for the enemy did not dare claim victory against them!”
A murmur runs through the crowd—acknowledgment of powerful magic wielded, even if the results were unclear.
“The Snakepipe Dancers, in their dread glory, drove the enemy from the field! Fear their name, for they dance with death, and the foe flees before their steps!”
Cries of admiration rise from the warriors present, honoring the elite warband.
“The Heavy Brigade rode to battle, but their strike did not break the enemy ranks. The Twin Spears stood strong, yet the field did not tilt in their favor. The Fellowship of Death, undaunted, fought, yet the final blow was not theirs to claim. But hear this—though these battles were inconclusive, none yielded! None bowed! None broke before the Moon’s wretched spawn!”
The herald slams the staff against the stone, punctuating his words.
“But mourn now, for not all stood to fight another day. The Cavalry Brigade rode hard, yet the outcome was uncertain, and their Brigadier fell in battle, leaving his warriors leaderless in the charge.”
A hush falls over the crowd, heads bowed for the fallen.
“Yet where others faltered, some found glory. Bvt Warchief Afur, though unable to lead his Colymar Cavalry to a conclusive victory, stood firm! His name rings in two battlesongs, his deeds weighed for honor! Let it be known—he shall be considered for a title! As shall Lt Warlord Harold, whose own valor earns him renown! And from the field, Afur claimed a hundred Lunars, proof of his steel!"
There is a mix of cheers and murmurs—victory, yet not triumph. But then, the herald’s voice lifts once more, fierce as a battle cry.
“But let all Sartar remember the name of Tosti’s Company! Though leaderless, though abandoned to fate, they fought like the storm itself! When others wavered, they stood! When the enemy pressed, they struck! And it was they who saved the honor of the Cavalry Brigade, driving the foe from the field!”
A thunderous cheer explodes from the gathered warriors, fists raised in salute.
“Thus stands the tale of the 2nd Army! The enemy lies broken, yet the storm is not stilled! The Moon yet lurks, but the flame of Sartar burns bright! Honor to the victors! Glory to the fallen! And vengeance yet to come!"
The square erupts in cries of triumph, warriors pounding their shields, voices lifted in song.
“People of Sartar! Hear now of the 3rd Army, who faced the foe with steel and storm! The battle raged, the omens were unclear, and fate held its breath—yet in the chaos, some names rose to glory!”
A wave of anticipation ripples through the crowd. The 3rd Army’s fate is not yet known, and they hang on his every word.
“The 3rd Army’s battle was inconclusive, its victory not yet claimed, its defeat unacknowledged! Army Adjutant was Bvt Warchief Quatlu - the spoils of war filled his hands - 550 Lunars looted from the vanquished foe!”
The assembled warriors nod in approval. To permanent a rank in the storm of battle is no small feat.
“But the Guards Brigade has suffered a loss. Its Brigadier fell in the chaos of war, and his men fought on without clear command! The Royal Foot Guards stood their ground, but the battlefield remained in the balance. Yet among them, two names shine—Grumbold, whose deeds were sung in battle, and Hundred-thane Julian, who claimed 400 Lunars from the fallen foe!"
A mix of cheers and murmurs follows—victory was uncertain, but riches were won, and warriors gained honor. The herald’s voice presses forward, filled with new strength.
“But let none question the valor of Mularik’s Company! For in the heart of battle, the storm returned! Warlord Baron Rufus led his warriors and drove the enemy from the field! His name now echoes in song, and in his hand, he holds the prize of war—500 Lunars taken from the foe! His sword was true, his strike was certain!”
A great cheer erupts for the famed warrior, and the herald is not yet finished.
“Lt Warlord Drighten Erik, too, stood at the center of the fray! Twice his name is sung, twice his deeds are honored! 300 Lunars he claimed from the foe, and his renown rises with every verse!”
The warriors of Boldhome pound their shields in approval.
“And last, but let none say least, Ten-thane Ararg! No vacancy awaited him in rank, but his deeds outweigh mere titles! Twice mentioned in song, twice praised upon the battlefield! And let all Sartar know—he looted 700 Lunars! A king’s ransom, taken from the foe by his own hand! Let his wealth be matched only by his deeds!”
The crowd erupts. The name of Ararg spreads like wildfire—wealth, song, and honor entwined.
The herald lowers his staff, his voice booming in final proclamation:
“The 3rd Army stands unbroken! The foe is not yet vanquished, the battle is not yet won, but names of glory rise from the field! The Moon has not triumphed! And neither shall it! Honor to the victors! Glory to the fallen! And vengeance yet to come!”
The square explodes in cries of celebration and sorrow, victory and defiance. The war is not yet done, but Sartar stands strong.
Later, the armies come marching home, in time for harvest.
He raises a staff adorned with the Air Rune and begins to speak in a voice trained to carry over battlefield clamor and temple prayers alike:
"People of Sartar! Warriors, kinfolk, and all who stand against the Moon! The war in Tarsh rages still, but the storm we have sent has shattered the Lunar yoke upon Kordros Island! Hear now the deeds of your kin and champions, as carried on the wings of Orlanth's winds!"
The herald unfurls a scroll and reads:
"By decree of General Esrolvale, the 1st Army has held strong and sent the Moon’s spawn fleeing! Aided by the wisdom of Bvt Warchief Fionn, our warriors struck with thunder, scattering the foe in counter-attacks as precise as Humakt’s blade! His name is sung in battle hymns, his purse swells with Lunar silver—500 in total! Let all men and women of Sartar drink to his name!"
A cheer rises from the crowd, but the herald’s expression turns solemn as he continues.
"Not all tales are of triumph. Lt General Gain, through error or ill fate, saw his own command overrun, his adjutant slain—but Orlanth’s winds are fickle, and still he finds himself promoted. May his next deeds bring only honor."
Scattered murmurs and a few jeers ripple through the assembly.
"Warchief Lelina turned calamity to victory, saving the shattered command. Let her name be honored! Lt Warlord Torben, a true master of war, led his magicians in a strike that broke the foe—400 Lunars his prize! His name shall be weighed for title and honor! But mourn Warchief Terkalrev, who though victorious, met his end alongside his adjutant. The battlefield drinks their blood, but their deeds will not be forgotten!"
More names and fates are called—triumphs and tragedies alike. The Free Men and the Wolf Runners are spoken of in mourning, their names joined to the long rolls of the fallen. Of Goldgotti’s Company, only the Ten-thane remains, and of the Thieves Arm, Garoor alone walks away, neither victorious nor shamed.
Then, the herald’s voice rises once more.
"Let all Sartar know! New Kordros, last of the Moon’s bastions upon the island, has fallen! The Tribal Division struck as storm and flame, and the Locaem Tribal Levy stood firm in siege and stormed the walls! Victory is ours, the land cleansed of Lunar taint!"
A great roar of triumph surges from the crowd, hands raised in exultation. But the herald’s gaze lingers on one last name.
"Yet not all fought with honor. One was seen skulking in the rear ranks as her kin bled. Erinestra, daughter of Sartar, looted 400 Lunars while others claimed glory. Until her name is sung in battle-song, let shame weigh upon her!"
Scattered boos and mutterings follow, and the herald lets the words settle like dust after a charge.
As the cheers from the announcement of the 1st Army’s deeds begin to settle, the herald once more raises his staff, calling for silence. The gathered crowd, still electric with triumph and mourning alike, quiets in anticipation. The bronze plates of his armor gleam in the afternoon light as he takes a deep breath and speaks again.
“People of Sartar, hear now of the storm that is the 2nd Army! The hammer of our people has struck, and the enemy lies shattered! The 2nd Army has crushed the foe beneath its righteous fury, leaving no doubt of Orlanth’s wrath upon the Moon’s lackeys!”
A great roar of approval rises, banners waving in celebration. The herald presses on, his voice steady and unwavering.
“The Magical Division, the wielders of storm and sorcery, crushed the enemy with their divine might! Yet within their ranks, some blows struck true, others faltered—the Magical Union Brigade, the Eaglebrown Warlocks, and the Eleven Lights could not claim decisive victory. But let none doubt their strength, for the enemy did not dare claim victory against them!”
A murmur runs through the crowd—acknowledgment of powerful magic wielded, even if the results were unclear.
“The Snakepipe Dancers, in their dread glory, drove the enemy from the field! Fear their name, for they dance with death, and the foe flees before their steps!”
Cries of admiration rise from the warriors present, honoring the elite warband.
“The Heavy Brigade rode to battle, but their strike did not break the enemy ranks. The Twin Spears stood strong, yet the field did not tilt in their favor. The Fellowship of Death, undaunted, fought, yet the final blow was not theirs to claim. But hear this—though these battles were inconclusive, none yielded! None bowed! None broke before the Moon’s wretched spawn!”
The herald slams the staff against the stone, punctuating his words.
“But mourn now, for not all stood to fight another day. The Cavalry Brigade rode hard, yet the outcome was uncertain, and their Brigadier fell in battle, leaving his warriors leaderless in the charge.”
A hush falls over the crowd, heads bowed for the fallen.
“Yet where others faltered, some found glory. Bvt Warchief Afur, though unable to lead his Colymar Cavalry to a conclusive victory, stood firm! His name rings in two battlesongs, his deeds weighed for honor! Let it be known—he shall be considered for a title! As shall Lt Warlord Harold, whose own valor earns him renown! And from the field, Afur claimed a hundred Lunars, proof of his steel!"
There is a mix of cheers and murmurs—victory, yet not triumph. But then, the herald’s voice lifts once more, fierce as a battle cry.
“But let all Sartar remember the name of Tosti’s Company! Though leaderless, though abandoned to fate, they fought like the storm itself! When others wavered, they stood! When the enemy pressed, they struck! And it was they who saved the honor of the Cavalry Brigade, driving the foe from the field!”
A thunderous cheer explodes from the gathered warriors, fists raised in salute.
“Thus stands the tale of the 2nd Army! The enemy lies broken, yet the storm is not stilled! The Moon yet lurks, but the flame of Sartar burns bright! Honor to the victors! Glory to the fallen! And vengeance yet to come!"
The square erupts in cries of triumph, warriors pounding their shields, voices lifted in song.
“People of Sartar! Hear now of the 3rd Army, who faced the foe with steel and storm! The battle raged, the omens were unclear, and fate held its breath—yet in the chaos, some names rose to glory!”
A wave of anticipation ripples through the crowd. The 3rd Army’s fate is not yet known, and they hang on his every word.
“The 3rd Army’s battle was inconclusive, its victory not yet claimed, its defeat unacknowledged! Army Adjutant was Bvt Warchief Quatlu - the spoils of war filled his hands - 550 Lunars looted from the vanquished foe!”
The assembled warriors nod in approval. To permanent a rank in the storm of battle is no small feat.
“But the Guards Brigade has suffered a loss. Its Brigadier fell in the chaos of war, and his men fought on without clear command! The Royal Foot Guards stood their ground, but the battlefield remained in the balance. Yet among them, two names shine—Grumbold, whose deeds were sung in battle, and Hundred-thane Julian, who claimed 400 Lunars from the fallen foe!"
A mix of cheers and murmurs follows—victory was uncertain, but riches were won, and warriors gained honor. The herald’s voice presses forward, filled with new strength.
“But let none question the valor of Mularik’s Company! For in the heart of battle, the storm returned! Warlord Baron Rufus led his warriors and drove the enemy from the field! His name now echoes in song, and in his hand, he holds the prize of war—500 Lunars taken from the foe! His sword was true, his strike was certain!”
A great cheer erupts for the famed warrior, and the herald is not yet finished.
“Lt Warlord Drighten Erik, too, stood at the center of the fray! Twice his name is sung, twice his deeds are honored! 300 Lunars he claimed from the foe, and his renown rises with every verse!”
The warriors of Boldhome pound their shields in approval.
“And last, but let none say least, Ten-thane Ararg! No vacancy awaited him in rank, but his deeds outweigh mere titles! Twice mentioned in song, twice praised upon the battlefield! And let all Sartar know—he looted 700 Lunars! A king’s ransom, taken from the foe by his own hand! Let his wealth be matched only by his deeds!”
The crowd erupts. The name of Ararg spreads like wildfire—wealth, song, and honor entwined.
The herald lowers his staff, his voice booming in final proclamation:
“The 3rd Army stands unbroken! The foe is not yet vanquished, the battle is not yet won, but names of glory rise from the field! The Moon has not triumphed! And neither shall it! Honor to the victors! Glory to the fallen! And vengeance yet to come!”
The square explodes in cries of celebration and sorrow, victory and defiance. The war is not yet done, but Sartar stands strong.
Later, the armies come marching home, in time for harvest.