Wide azure skies

The storm clouds roil and rage, but behind them the sky is a deep azure blue.

War Between Land and Sea

Mareave is a dry land. There are areas where the ground will nurture crops, but they are few and jealously guarded. The fertile valley of Clisearn knows the gentle touch of fresh water, but even the Brine Turtles must rely on their purified waters to sustain their sept. In the north, the soil is dry and arid and easily blown by the winds. The Unshackled are working to bring water to the north, with their great aqueduct, but it is a slow process. For most of the people of the southernmost land of the Empire, the only fresh water they know is dragged up from deep underground, or falls unpredictably from the sky during the violent Spring storms. This year is no different; dark clouds gather above the Bay of Catazar as Winter fades. They rumble and grind against one another, portending the tempest to come, and the waves that will crash once more against the western cliffs as they do every year.

That tempest has already started, in a way. During the Winter solstice, the Grendel forces performed a risky ritual. Using power contained in the Hawser of the Damned, they let loose Winter magic and brought down the Blood River Colossi - and the entire coastal cliffside of Fleisardh as well. There are not a great many witnesses to exactly what happens when the magic is released. It takes a week or so for the effects to become visible; the rate of decay of the giant weathered statues accelerates until first the one and then the other collapse entirely, great hunks of crumbling stone plunging down into the rough waters off the coast of Mareave. From there, the decay set in motion by the Haulers of the Tide gathers speed. It spreads inevitably north and south bringing down the cliffs into the churning waters, themselves whipped up by the powerful magical working. A fortnight after the Winter Solstice, the coastline of Fleisardh is unrecognizable. The sea has taken great misshapen bites out of the land, and a rocky shore now spreads where the cliffs once were. The statues are vanished from sight, and the waterfall that once flowed between them is now barely a weir, with blood-red foul water already pooling along the shore poisoning the waters.

This was no mere act of vandalism - the Grendel are not the Druj after all. This was all done in the service of a greater strategy. As the Towerjacks leave Mareave for Spiral, and the Seventh Wave and the Winter Sun prepare for a final push into Fleisardh to drive the barbarians of the Broken Shore out of Mareave again, the fruits of that strategy become apparent.

Though the invaders have been pushed back into Fleisardh, they do not intend to remain there. The Brine Turtle and the Iron Gulls; the Storm Sharks and the Naguerro push back against the steady conquest of the Imperial forces, and they push back hard. Nor are they alone. Even as the new shoreline of southern Mareave is settling into place, the naval forces of the yellow-sailed Golden Winds and the crimson-sailed Shamal are sailing south from Redoubt. They sail past the cliffs of Icarion and Sinfoyard, through the waters of Beoraidh, to the rocky beaches of Fleisardh. By themselves, they would be bad enough, their marines well versed in the art of the shore offensive, but they also bring with them the Black Eels, the Bone Nautilus, and the Hamsin. The latter are supported by a a cohort of heavily-armoured Asavean soldiers, mercenaries paid by the Plenum itself to make war on the Empire. The Grendel of the Hamsin - it is a rare army of the Broken Shore that is made up of the rich and powerful inhabitants of the cities and ports rather than the sun-hardened inland septs - are more than happy to fight alongside sell-swords they do not need to pay themselves. While the armies already here bleed and struggle to slow the advance of the Empire’s soldiers, the newcomers disembark, form up, and ready themselves to join the fray.

On the Wings of the Storm

Seventh Wave! There are those who say we leave, or to hold a line. When our enemy bleeds we keep the knife in and twist, our shields are scarred but will not break. Our swords are strained with the Grendel's blood. We don't fall back, we don't let them take one step, Walk with loyalty for our Imperial Orc siblings, My beloved wave my pride for you shall light a thousand lamps. Step forward. Step True. Step with Virtue.

Wildfyre of Balthazar’s Vineyard, General of the Seventh Wave

Orcs of the Winter Sun, this season we stay in Mareave. With clarity and strategy to protect the lands we call home, and to push out those that have bitten the hand we reached out to them in friendship. Guard your comrades, protect your flank as we steadily conquest Fleisardh and the rest of Mareave.

Sand Viper Ikk, General of the Winter Sun

The Empire are not without allies of their own. As the harbingers of the storm blow from the west, two frozen citadels rise in Mareave - one in Nadir to the north, the other over the foothill of Clisearn. The latter is a sight to behold; a massive wall of ice stretching across the eastern end of the valley where the Ohwinn river winds through the foothills. The Fundindelve is sealed away behind great gates of living frost; the waters of the Ohwinn cascading through the wall made frigid-cold, colder than any waters have ever been in this arid land. This is no random citadel from the Summer realm; it is the Isjättens Väggar, and the garrison that issues forth is composed of massive frost-armoured warriors and a dozen immense ice giants drawn from the domain of Cathan Canae to protect the lands of the Unshackled.

As well as magical castles, there is the fortress of Rucraic’s Redoubt. Named for one of the Sannite ancestors, shared with the Grendel, the newly completed redoubt is enchanted with the Ramparts of Ashlar. Giants of bronze, as well as giants of ice, are abroad in Mareave this season it seems. The constructs drawn from the Fire Mountain of Shikal fight with the orc garrison of Rucraic’s Redoubt while the walls themselves burn with brass sigils evoking strength, fire, and stone.

Where the Grendel have Asaveans, the Imperial Orcs have mercenaries of their own. After negotiation between the senator and the people of the mountains, a force of Skouran battle-engineers comes down through the narrow passes to the Redoubt. Perhaps five hundred in number, every soldier is equipped with magical arms and armour. Three hundred bear magical shields alongside their powerful warhammers; the remaining two hundred are empowered with talismans that keep them on their feet even as they press the hardest part of the fray with their massive thundering mattocks. They barely rest at the Redoubt - although many spend their time there approvingly exploring the new citadel - before marching south to join the battle against the Grendel.

On the Lakeshore

And what a battle! Both Imperial armies are woven with Day magic, granting their soldiers and captains that supernatural clarity that allows them to cooperate easily with other forces - no matter how strange - to complete their objectives. Giants, and war-engineers; Highborn and Unshackled. They fight together to push the barbarians south, and even in the face of a much larger force they do not falter for one step of the way.

After the Winter Solstice, the Empire is pressing south and west into Fleisardh. At first they continue to make headway - slowly, but inevitable pushing the Grendel back. Then the tide starts to turn. By themselves, the defenders of Fleisardh struggle to hold the Empire for more than a week or so - but that is all that is required. As the forces out of Redoubt, maritime and terrestrial alike, join the fray the Imperial advance slows. They hold the lands they have taken… but then the forces against them become too much to resist. For all their allies, the Empire’s forces are simply too badly outnumbered. The Grendel press them hard, and step by step they are forced to retreat.

The armies of the Broken Shore are potent, but the presence of the Shamaal and the Golden Winds adds even more pressure to the Empire. Their vessels take every advantage of the new shoreline, depositing soldiers and marines across the western coast, providing supplies and reinforcements at every turn. This would have been impossible if the great Blood River Colossi still stood, if the cliffs had not been brought down, but even with the south-western waters still hungry with Winter magic, the navies and their payload of armoured barbarians prove too much for the Empire.

They fall back, and it seems as if the storm clouds flow in to fill the space they have left. The sky above the Grendel armies is low, and heavy with the threat of rain and worse. The winds from the sea pick up speed, raising dust clouds and wiping away the bootprints of the Imperial soldiers as they retreat, slowly, back into Clisearn, yielding the ground they have claimed in Fleisardh to the Grendel.

A Wall of Ice and Steel

Fleisardh is lost; the Seventh Wave and the Winter Sun pushed back. As the weather worsens, they make a stand in south-western Clisearn. With the Isjättens Väggar and Rucraic’s Redoubt at their backs, with the magicians of the Golden Pyramid at their Grand Lodge offering what support they can, they erect their own wall of ice and steel between the valley and the arid flatlands of Fleisardh.

The two sides have manoeuvred around each other, the Grendel grinding forward and the Empire attempting to take ground with as few lives lost as possible. Here though on the border between Fleisardh and Clisearn, the skirmishing thrust and counter-thrust comes to a head. Blood soaks into the sandy soil, blood of orcs and human and supernatural warrior alike, and the ground swallows it thirstily. Thundering cries of battle, a storm of swords and shields, a furious tempest… and what is below is echoed in the skies. The storm breaks, the clouds tear open with a peal of thunder that deafens and dazes many Highborn naga with its sheer violence. Rain begins to pour down, and the soil drinks it just as greedily as it drinks the blood.

It lets something loose, this Spring storm. The fury in the clouds is echoed by the soldiers fighting below. In a different time, in a different place, it would be chaos but not here, and not know. The Imperial armies are bound by the clarity of Day; the Grendel armies may be barbarians but they are disciplined barbarians. A mad dance of strike and counterstrike unfolds on the border between Fleisardh and Clisearn. Each manoeuvre is met and countered, each counter turning into a riposte. Here three landsharks fight human and orc warriors with a towering ice-giant; there a bronze colossus is beset by a dozen Stone Born and just before it is brought down Unconquered arrows force the Grendel to withdraw.

The Sannite on the battlefield hear the voice of Rucraic himself roaring in the storm winds, urging them to strike without fear and show their former masters who they are. Their war cries are echoed by the Black Eels, the reaver-army that roars the name of Rucraic even as they strive to steal the bounty of rich Clisearn and the Fundindelve. Sannite and Grendel clash like never before in that liminal space, that shore between the dry land and the mountains.

The Highborn hear no voices in the storm, but they hear the voices in their hearts just as loudly. They fight Courageously alongside Loyal allies - not human, but Imperial nonetheless - and they fight with Pride. They will not withdraw save that the enemy forces them, and if the line breaks they will draw a new line and stand it, and again and again if that is what is required of them.

Do they know they can’t hold back the Grendel? The captains and commanders must suspect. Do the soldiers know? Do they care? Or are they in that moment the defenders of the Empire, of the Unshackled legacy, and fighting only in that moment. Let the future take care of itself.

The battle is bloody, and the Empire is forced to retreat… but they do not give up. They don’t take the easy route, don’t fall back any farther than they must. They trust to the physicks and the healer-mages that fight alongside them, and they keep fighting.

Uncertain Victory

As the Spring Equinox draws nearer, Imperial forces in Mareave remain engaged with the Grendel. The Grendel armies continue to press into Clisearn, with the Brine Turtles and the Black Eels in the vanguard. The Empire holds, but they are outnumbered. Even with the Isjättens Väggar, it is a struggle to prevent the barbarians overrunning the valleys. Without the presence of that magical citadel in particular, its possible the wealthy region would have already fallen.

Yet the fighting has achieved something, perhaps something a little unexpected. Two armies remain to fight, against massive odds, to keep Mareave. This has not - can not have - gone unnoticed by the orcs of Mareave who were once Grendel or subject to them. Highborn and Winter Sun alike find those among the families of Clisearn ready to offer provisions and water to their soldiers. What the Grendel demanded last season, they give freely to the defenders. It does not hurt the Imperial cause that the Black Eels are raiding the wealth of Mareave, and it seems that they are not taking any great pain to differentiate between Imperial Orc and former Grendel. The orcs of Clisearn do not invite Imperial soldiers into their homes... but neither do they slam their doors against them.

Likewise, when the enchantment settles over Rucraic's Redoubt, the orcs of Eoradal and their cousins in Nadir and Icarion come to see the magical sigils, to watch open-mouthed as the forces summoned from the Autumn realm defend against their former masters. Quietly, and without fuss, a few more would-be warriors approach the Sannite with queries about the Unshackled, and the Empire. Pebbles are tumbling; the heavens hold their breath to see if the mountain will subside again... or if the avalanche will sweep the old world before it and perhaps leave something new in its place.

For now, in the south, the Empire holds, and the Grendel press, and the weather remains tumultuous as it will through the Spring Equinox before the rains die down and the soil dries once more. For all the lives lost on both sides, nothing has been resolved. The Grendel show no signs of giving up, but neither do the Empire. At least the threat of the Shamal and the Golden Sails is contained to the coast… but even as the Spring Equinox dawns, the scouts of the Seventh Wave bring a worrying report. There are sightings of hitherto unknown Grendel ships sailing in force up the coast from the Broken Shore, with sails of deepest amethyst, to join the battle in Mareave.

Game Information

• The Empire has been forced out of Fleisardh and the Grendel are making inroads into Clisearn

The Empire has been pushed back; they have lost their foothold in Fleisardh, and the Grendel are halfway to conquering the whole of Clisearn. The presence of two magical citadels, and the enchantment on the garrison of Rucraic’s Redoubt, hindered the barbarian advance here. The presence of a thousand strength force of well-equipped Skouran mercenaries attached to the Redoubt further impeded the Grendel ability to push north from Fleisardh. Without one or more of these additional forces, the Grendel advance would have been much more rapid.

Participation : Military Units

• Characters whose military unit was fighting in Mareave this season may qualify for an aura on their weapon depending on their motivation

Between the presence of the ice-warriors and giants of the Isjättens Väggar, the rousing words of both the Imperial generals, and the strident address of the Throne, anyone whose military unit supported the Winter Sun or the Seventh Wave may find themselves especially inspired by the fighting in Mareave. This may take the form of a temporary item aura that will persist through the Spring Equinox.

If your character’s military unit supported one of the armies, or you are the general of either force, you may experience such an aura, if your motivations make you eligible. To qualify, your character must have been present with one of the following three core motivations.

If you are an orc, you would qualify if your inspiration was:

• To keep Mareave free of the Grendel; you took it and you will hold it
• To face the Grendel boldly in battle and show yourself better than them
• To impress the people of Mareave with your cunning and audacity

If you are a human, you would quality if your inspiration was:

• To face even the most overwhelming odds in pursuit of what is right
• To show your solidarity with the Imperial Orcs against the wicked barbarians
• To demonstrate the superiority of the Empire over the Grendel; there is nothing they can claim that the Empire cannot take from them

If your character had different motivations in Mareave, that’s fine but you won’t qualify for an aura. Which might be for the best - these auras arise spontaneously so they won't be one of the known auras that a priest can create with hallow. To gain an aura you must email plot@profounddecisions.co.uk before midnight on the 25th May with your CID and which of the three motivations best describes your motivation for fighting in Mareave this season. Your pack will contain a ribbon for a one-handed weapon aura that you can attach to your own phys-rep.

Battle Opportunity

• Prognosticators have identified a major conjunction of the Sentinel Gate leading to Clisearn during the Spring Equinox

The prognosticators associated with the military council have identified a major conjunction of the Sentinel Gate leading to Clisearn during the Spring Equinox. They are cautious about what it might portend, but they cautiously speculate that it might involve an opportunity to strike a stinging blow against the Grendel and perhaps demonstrate conclusively the sincerity of the Imperial claim to Mareave.