Deep blue sea

Sky mirrors sea mirrors sky, as sails fill with wind and ships fly over waves churned up by war.

Mountain and Shore

Spring comes to the mountains. Flowers open, and the clouds are heavy with nurturing rain (and above them the constellations seethe and boil, to those who know how to look at such things). The waters of Redoubt shimmer with Spring magic, the Rivers of Life flow through the streams and pool in the high mountain lakes. As Winter begins to fade, the Pilgrim's Defiance leave the foothills, and head north into Zenith, to fight different battles. The Black Thorns and Argent Sword are joined by the Wolves of War. After a day or so to compare strategy and agree on their approach, the three armies hurl themselves forward into Siluri, without compromise or caution, to smash the Grendel forces occupying southern Redoubt and reclaim the territory.

They find the barbarians of the Broken Shore in full retreat. They withdraw quickly, efficiently, back towards the coast, towards the port of Elos. They are already moving even as the Empire’s armies begin their push south. There are few engagements - perhaps a warband of raiders lingers a little too long in their enthusiasm to loot the spires of Siluri. Perhaps an unfortunate accident sees a cohort of mercenaries stuck on the wrong side of a fallen bridge (things go awry for the just and the unjust alike). Such fights are quick, decisive, and largely one-sided.

My Thorns. The Empire has heard our cry for aid and answered. Therunin will not fall. We are to be unleashed upon the Grendel, a tide of blood that will overwhelm the Salt Lords and push them into the sea. Take pride in what you are Thorns, take Pride in how you fight. Remember, you cannot betray your enemies.

Cadwell Waystone, General of the Black Thorns

Free companies, Redoubt awaits. The Salt Lords squat on stolen wealth, we march to collect their debts. Iron bites, loyalty binds. Cups full, pikes low. Let the surf carry what remains of them out to sea. What they took, we reclaim. What they built, we break. The Bay of Catazar is ours to claim. Let's go take it.

Jean d'Apulian, General of the Wolves of War

This far and no more. Children of the Autumn realm, this season you will work hard for your pay. You are the conduit of my cold rage - no more of my people will die, no more of our spires will fall. The Grendel have pillaged and destroyed as much of Redoubt as I will stand. The Grendel have wounded my siblings in Wintermark and the League with their maggotry. Now we put them to the sword - We smash them with our Iron and steel. We will unleash the merciless fury of the Autumn Realm to annihilate the Grendel and Asavean scum. Death to the Grendel. No Mercy.

Clytemnestra of the House of the Wanderer, General of the Argent Sword

Through Siluri, beneath the shadow of the great mountain that gives the region its name. Into Naris, where the would-be city-port of Elos stands. There are more Grendel in the lowlands, but they hurry south rather than stand and fight. Even as the Empire’s scouts reach the vantage points that will let them see the shore, the Grendel are departing. The last soldiers boarding the azure-sailed ships of the Simoom navy, and then they are gone. The masters of Attar have abandoned the land they claimed in Redoubt.

The scars of their assault will take time to heel. They have ruthlessly raided the spires, especially their libraries of lore and the quiet places where crystal mana is harvested. They leave the Tower of Light and Darkness in ruins, the unique regio tied to it flickering and wounded like a great beached whale.

As to Elos itself… the Grendel intended to destroy this place, of that there is no doubt. If not for the sacrifice of the Fist of the Mountains it would be rubble already, rent apart by the power of Siakha. The destruction of their crystallised storm, stolen from the ruins of the Temple of Tempest Jade, seems to have stymied their scheme to wreck the coastal town. That is not to say that Elos is untouched, Quite the contrary. The invaders have taken everything they can lay their hands on, everything that was not hidden away. Yet wealth can be replenished, art recreated, stores restored. Much harder to replace are the people. It seems that rumours that the Salt Lords are reconsidering their position on slavery may have been a little overstated.

Or perhaps not entirely. They have not taken Urizen at random from their beds. There is no suggestion they are looking to fill their salt mines with tormented labourers. The kidnapping has been precise, disciplined. Two dozen of Elos’ finest arcane scholars, and as much of their families as could be found, loaded onto ships heading back toward the Broken Shore. Half a dozen shipwrights and woodshapers; two glassmongers and a recognised expert in the cutting of lightstone. A pinpoint looting of sages and craftsfolk, as one League captain describes it.

The Great Harbour is mostly untouched, the piers and cranes, the docks and the quays intact. There is, however, something in the air. A pressure, as if a storm were about to break, as if the clouds pressed low even in a clear sky. Perhaps the Grendel are keen to be away before whatever tempest is coming breaks. At first there is no explanation for it, but then night falls and a partial explanation becomes apparent. The harbour is marked by thirty-six obelisks topped with pristine lightstones, marking out the astronomantic constellations of the Stallion, the Door, and the Great Wyrm. As the last light of the day leeches away from the horizon, the lightstones explode into breathtaking prismatic displays of light across Elos. Imperial soldiers fear at first that this is some terrible trap left behind by the Grendel, a destructive force waiting in the stones to be unleashed. But the newly liberated Urizen explain that it has been happening most nights for the last several months. The light brings strange dreams, and makes it difficult to sleep, but does not appear to be dangerous. Some glance quickly upwards, shake their heads, put forward their own theories about what is happening. With the coming of the sun in morning, the lightshow falters and breaks apart and the lightstones return to normal. Until the next sunset at least.

The Grendel are gone. Siluri and Naris are once again in Imperial hands. They are diminished - so much has been taken in the six months the barbarians held the port. For now at least, however, the Grendel are gone.

We fly now on the winds of victory to Madruga, where the arrogant Freeborn play at being sailors. Our rich prize shall be the Red Wind, named in mockery of the winds of Sheanduir. We will take their ships, and what we choose not to claim we will sink. Whether they be at sea, or hiding on the unprotected docks of Calvos, we will bring them to ruin as the brinetalon brings ruin to the rockpools. We will remind them once again that our mastery of the Bay is not to be questioned and perhaps this time the lesson will sink in...

Azshur Alasdhar, Admiral of the Tempest

As The Gull Flies

Even as the armies of the Empire are moving into the foothills of Siluri, the Grendel are on the move. They are joined by five Asavean warships, allies sent by the Plenum to make war on their enemies in the Empire. ‘’Wind Tamer’’, ‘’Venger’s Blade’’, and ‘’Balo’s Grace’’ are joined by the priests of the Red Goddess aboard the ‘’Blade of Tides’’, and by ‘’Sacpia’s Wrath’’, the flagship of that militaristic Plenum family. Five warships and their auxiliary vessels, a devastating fist of maritime war that together is a match for the destructive power of the green-sailed Tempest and the blue-sailed Simoon that they sail alongside.

Past the shores of Necropolis, and the vigilant watchers of Reumah’s Redoubt they come. Through the southern waters of Sarvos, where the Chain against Chains keeps guard. Could these mighty fortifications withstand this legion of ships, should they turn their eyes shoreward? Today, at least, the Empire does not need to find out. A few merchant vessels are caught up in their swift advance, like krill in the maw of a great whale, disappearing as if they were never there. But they do not slow their breakneck pace. They seem single-minded, focused on their destination.

They come then to Madruga, to Calvos Sound. The Grendel ships raise their warflags, their sails filled with the winds of war. The Asaveans begin to pound their drums, deploying their slave-driven oars. Into Calvos Sound they come, spreading out like a net to catch a very particular fish and… they find their prey has already sped away already.

There’s no doubt what their aim is here; their scouts quickly seek out the town of Calvos but do not come closer than the spyglass forces them. They are looking, searching, but they are too late. The Red Wind Corsairs are not here. Through the lenses of their own glasses, by purest chance, a Freeborn from Calvos marks the moment when the admiral of the Tempest learns that the Red Wind has blown south. If their story is to be believed, the Admiral punches the messenger in the jaw and must be restrained from doing further violence by two of their own lieutenants. A pretty story, and of doubtful authenticity, but it spreads quickly.

Even as the Grendel navies began to move, the Red Wind was calmly sailing south through the coastal waters of Lightsea, and across the Bay of Siroc into Feroz. There, they began to put-to-port at Oran. The ships dock, the soldiers and the corsairs disembark, orderly, almost leisurely. The naval force becomes an army once more, corsair vessels scattering until such time as they are called upon again to serve their people.

At first the Grendel look as if they intend to pursue. Their armada pushes into the narrow passage between the beaches of Lightsea and the chaos of Free Landing, but then they pull back. The winds are against them, and the risk of becoming overextended apparently too great. The Asavean warships continue a little further, under oars, into Siroc bay, but then they too turn back. The invaders rest at anchor off Calvos Sound - far enough away that they are not in danger of attack from any landborne defences. Perhaps they are hoping the Corsairs will return north for some reason. Perhaps they are arguing about whether to assail the shores of Madruga - shores that are broadly unprotected after all. But it seems the commands of the Salt Lords are clear, whatever they may be. Watchers on the shore, and in the higher towers of Calvos, observe the Grendel force day and night. They mark the great sharks, and tempest heralds, and dozen or so pirate vessels that issue from Free Landing on the night of the new moon to pick at the outermost vessels of the fleet - and note how the disciplined navy quickly dispatches these arrogant attackers. Likewise, barbarian scouts draw close to the coast. A few Madrugan merchant vessels fall foul of them, but most quickly divert their path to take them first south then east. While they may show a great deal of interest in the construction site of the municipal docks at Calvos Sound, the armada remains at sea, their allies with them. Once it becomes clear there will be no attack, at least not this season, the Freeborn of Madruga go back to their day-to-day lives.

Brave Corsairs! The Empire Salutes your victory and your courage! Now the true work lies before us. Take to land in Oranseri, Quit the Bay, Deny the Grendel blood and Victory, forever sow doubt in their dominion of the Bay of Catazar.

Joaquim i Erigo, Admiral-General of the Red Wind Corsairs

Feroz

The Red Wind Corsairs disembark at Oran, becoming an army once more. There is a celebration in the streets, the soldiers and sailors are feted by the folk of the port. A night of revelry puts a little colour back into the battered town, lifts spirits. Tales swirl around the town of how the Red Wind slipped out of the grasp of the Grendel, laughed at their strategies, and waits ready to once again take to the waves when the Broken Shore least expects it.

A few more dour heads, sunk in their cups, talk about how close death was on their heels. If the Red Wind had sought to disembark at Calvos, things would have been different, they say. Two full Grendel navies and five elite Asavean warships… there might have been a bloodbath. Vulnerable while betwixt land and sea, even with the support of Imperial fleets they might have faced destruction at the hands of their enemies. Their pessimism is largely drowned out by toast after toast raised to the cunning of the Admiral-General, to the cleverness of the corsairs, to the wily ways of the soldiers of the Red Wind.

There are orc soldiers from the Protectorate of Morajasse in Oran, and with them the potential for violence blossoms. There are those on both sides who have lost friends and comrades to the other. The air turns chill when soldiers of the Red Wind and the veterans of Commander Gallum’s protectorate meet. The orcs hold themselves apart from the festivities, for the most part, and if they are excited by the news of the Grendel armada to the north, they do not show it. The garrison soldiers returning to Mora’s Rock no doubt bear news of the Red Wind’s presence, but if Commander Gallum is concerned about the presence of an Imperial army in Feroz… well that is his business. For their part the orcs keep to their agreement with the Senate, patrolling the shores of Feroz and keeping watch and ready to engage any incursion from the Children of Wrecks or the Suranni.

Across the straits from Oranseri, the Iron Confederacy remains impassive. A few civilian ships visit the ports along the Brass Coast of Feroz, looking to trade. Likely there are a few spies among them; for the most part though their interest seems purely mercantile. Where they can they buy provisions and gewgaws with carefully rationed handfuls of Imperial coinage, then return to the isles of Cazar. There is speculation about what might happen if the Grendel armada had tried to come south. Would the Iron Confederacy have fought them? Would the barbarians have sought to engage the Suranni? Would their pinpoint focus on the Red Wind have left them vulnerable? Hard to say.

The Children of Wrecks are gone; hunted and driven out by the Suranni and with no berth along the shores of Feroz that will take them. The territory is… if not peaceful, at least quiet.

Game Information

• The Empire has reclaimed the conquered regions of Redoubt
• The Red Wind Corsairs have successfully returned to being an army

Imperial forces have reclaimed Siluri and Naris, in Redoubt, returning the territory completely to the Empire's control. While the spires in these regions have been looted, and several dozen Urizen have been kidnapped by the Grendel, the territory is mostly undamaged. The exception is the Tower of Light and Shadow which was devastated by the Grendel during the Autumn Equinox. The Tilphussian Reach which provided power to the tower has been disrupted by Day magic and if and when it settles back down again it is unlikely to do so in the same configuration.

The Hesychian Docks and Great Harbour at Elos have both reopened. The Quaymaster of the Hesychian Docks and the Elosian Architect will both be able to use their ministries following the Spring Equinox. The normal election cycle for these titles resumes.

The Red Wind Corsairs have completed their take to the land manoeuvre and are once again an army, in Feroz. The Iron Confederacy continues to control the Cazar Straits, and the Protectorate of Morajasse remains in the west. The Empire maintains overall control of Feroz.

There is still no sign of Eilian Sweetwater; the prognosticator remains missing.

Opportunity : Fist of the Mountain

With Elos once again in Imperial hands, there is an opportunity to raise the banner of the Fist of the Mountains in the port-town in honour of the Wintermark soldiers who gave their lives to protect it. Further details will be provided nearer to the event.