The Battle of Helfi Pass
"Bah! Don't by into Crefrey's stories. Its all bluster and aggrandizing that puts plenty of bards to shame."
Boris De Mire, upon hearing a recruit talk about the late Captain Greyhawk's deeds at Helfi Pass
Your divine eminence,
As I said, the lads were restless, Mattias more so than the rest. Poor lad’s heart is too pure for this place. He is most frustrated by the local’s cold nature. They showed no hospitality, our host is camped outside their walls, only those of rank allowed entry. Their elders and scouts hold tight to blighted information like children to a foolish secret. When they are forthcoming, the reports appear exaggerated. They act like a the blighted are in numbers to rival the First Blight War. Blackheart thinks little of these rumors, but I would be a fool to not give the locals credence. It's my estimation that a powerful Synad gathered a large horde of corpse eaters and maybe a Darmas(). A horde that size would appear apocalyptic to these back water folk. I’ve started marshaling the men for an excursion. Scouts were dispatched this morning.’
As the Captain mention, we were greeted with suspicion by the villagers, who in retrospect were clearly In a state of shock. I tell you this O holy one, because these Tinglunders are hardy folk, not easily scared by such dark creatures. The captain wasted no time erecting fortification in the pass, a cautious man by nature, Greyhawk’s wisdom was nothing short of divine influence.
A dead eagle, was seen when the commander dispatched his scouts. I didn’t register the meaning of such a symbol. I recalled too late that a Fallen Eagle heralded the last Blight War, when Gerald Rowa sacrificed his army in shameful martyrdom.
25th of high solstice 532, I have scant time to write, but it must be done. Of the dozen scouts only three returned, haggard with blighunds dogging them all the while. Their arrival prompted worse news, and worse revelations. Over Magi Yana was the first to feel the shift, even before the scouts arrived. The regions aura darkened to ‘a blinding darkness’ with corruption. The scout’s tidings were only confirmation. There was a massive host nearby, controlled by a Synad. In short, their tactics and organization are a dark omen.
I still remember the terrible dreams. They came to me the moment the surviving scouts staggered into the fortifications. Unaware of their arrival I woke in a cold sweat and wandered out of my tent. The creator guided me to the scouts as I was late party to their arrival. I’ve not seen me more terrified than those poor souls. They reported a convergence, the gathering of a dark host. I am unawares as your knowledge to such dark rituals, for few know of their existence outside of Tinglund.
These rituals, lead by a Syand (A magi whose heart is black with sin corrupted by the blight and survived.) call forth the corpses of their victims and the bodies the ancient dead to horrible animation. Aside from the results, we know little of how these are performed. This Syand, possessed a power of the Decadent Oppressors! He raised a dozen Darmas, formless monsters double the size of the largest horse that shift and twist in unnatural ways! I swear every corpse eater, marauder, Synad, and corrupted beast martialed to this Synad’s dreaded call. A horde that extended to the horizon march south.
One of the scouts, a magi by the name of Merrick, reported coordinated movements and organization. The thralls, those poor souls raised from The Creator’s Rest, stood in organized ranks, while marauders equipped them with foul arms.
Their Blighunds hunted our scouts with unparalleled intellect and coordination. If not for the heroic sacrifices of the Scouting Party, Merrick wouldn’t survive his ride. It was at this moment that I saw doubt, if not fear in the eyes of all present. It struck terror into my bones, seeing those hardened men afraid. I’ve seen their battle prowess and resolve during my mission, these men, warriors all, despite their former stations were the bravest men I’ve ever seen. Most remained in shock, but Greyhawk spring into action, barking orders as he mounted his white steed, plate etched with the symbols of Saint Marcus! He penned a missive to the High Marshal, before organizing the defense.
Martial the troops, otherwise I fear even the mighty fortresses of the First will fall to this horde.
Captain Greyhawk
Holiness, I understand that my claims of sainthood may be far-fetched, but you must understand the miracles I was party too. Soldiers, especially those bartered for in trade are lowly men, cowardly by nature. It takes years of conflict to breed any sense of backbone into them, and often they only fight out of fear of desertion. Do not mistake me holiness, there were brave men, righteous men who volunteered for such a holy task, but they are rare. You see, many of Greyhawk’s men were green recruits, save for a handful of hardened veterans. Most of the host only heard of these monsters from myth, its not uncommon that such soldiers flee their posts or drag their feet. Yet when Greyhawk spoke, these men moved in such a manner to match the enemy’s foul purpose!
Lines of bristling pikemen marched in perfect step pikes glistening in dawns light! Scores of archers worked like bees, loading crossbows and preparing defenses. The Heavy Infantry, including Greyhawk’s elite Warhawks marched towards the enemy, armor transforming from battered and destroyed to the image of a heavenly host in the dawning light. It was magnificent, the horses did not fret or scamper, nor the camp followers whimper and hind. They were guided by The Creator, through Greyhawk! No other explanation can be made for such a change!
Our position is superb, a narrow pass that leads down into a large canyon, north of the village. Most of the lower sections are flooded this time of year from Gerald’s Folly, creating a narrow gap on this choke point. The Canyon itself is about half a league wide. We defend a natural rise that can fit nine men abreast at its narrowest point, and a company at each end.
In theory, we would’ve shattered a majority of the host, before we needed to withdrawal to the First Shields. However, as mentioned, this was no normal Host. The Blackhearts were first to receive contacts as their skirmishing positions ranged just outside the pass. These positions were of the standard type, light palisades garrisoning a section of crossbowmen and heavy foot. These sections were reinforced by Lieutenant Windswept’s Cavalry as a skirmishing force. David2(blackheart) reported four successive waves, each with a different tactic, ranging from a sparse skirmishing to a concentrated assault on an exposed gap. The enemy’s chance in tactics prompted a change of our own. I ordered the Talons to reinforce the second line, and the Shields to send out extra sections when they relieved the Blackhearts.
The assault began at dawn, just after the rotations started mobilizing to relieve their charges. Half the Talons were still crossing the bridge, and most of the Shields were still donning armor. Their forces extended into the far horizon. The force was of Marauders, those weak-willed barbarians supported by two Darmas.
Blackhearts men were pinned in their fighting positions by hordes of Blighunds and marauders, as more rushed passed the lines, threatening to surround the isolated sections and press into the second line. The timing of the shift changes managed to save us, for the few sections of Shield infantry charged forward, despite most of their number still mobilizing. Their efforts, their sacrifice plugged the gaps, and provided two needed opportunities. The first was for Windswept to reorganize his scattered horsemen, the second was the opportunity for Blackheart’s surviving warriors to fall back to the hasty formation.
I called for the magi, as many as we could gather on short notice, and ordered my personal guard to sally from the gates with the rest of the Shield relief force. My restless nature worked in my favore as I didn’t doff my armor the previous evening to sleep, but I only annotate this fact, because many of us charged wearing the minimum protection, gambesons and perhaps a breastplate, whatever armor they were able to throw on after their restless sleep.
I admit to my arrogance at this folly. I hadn’t prepared my men for the threat that we faced.
Those heroes held against an endless tide of rage and hunger for longer than anyone expected. Their line was buckling and their progress to safety minimal, as the overwhelming numbers of monsters threatened to snap their formation like a twig.
The Magi were the reason we saved most of the survivors. Terra, our Over Magi unleashed an array of battle magics that I can scarce describe, her two colleagues channeling their crafts to revitalize our soldiers and enhance their strength. We capitalized on the enemy’s stumble as drove ourselves against them with the force of desperate men.
I don’t know how long we fought, but we managed to retreat behind the second line’s palisades. It was there the battle stabilized for a time. Conrad, my Lieutenant marshaled our company to the walls by the time we reached the gates. Their pikes, swords, and bolts halted the enemy’s assault, as the rest of the companies withdrew to the third line.
The Thirdline was located at the opposite end of the canyon. The natural bridge’s base, wide enough for a company to rotate on to the bridge was fortified by the remained of Blackheart’s men. It was at this time, I ordered Theresa, our resident alchemist, to rig the bridge with explosives. However, that process was long, and the enemy onslaught pressing. I lost many friends holding that end of the bridge. Johan, my Warhawk’s Sergeant, fell during a collapse of the left palisade. One of the Darmas crashed into the timber fortification and slaughtered a dozen men in seconds. If not for Mattias, Johan’s adjunct, we would’ve died to a man, then and there.
The man, once a child not long ago, innocent by any standards charged into the breach. The terrified and scattered Talons surrounding him, moments from breaking rallied behind him, as he flung himself at the Darmas. They slew the beast and drove the enemy back long enough for the rest of the company to retreat across the bridge.
Then, for the second time in an hour, the lad risked his life as a rearguard at the bridge’s center. Theresa wasn’t finished and our men were still retreating, and the lad, without order or request stood on the bridge with a handful of warriors and his greatsword. I’ve naught seen such skill with the blade, before or since. The youth held for a quarter hour by my estimation, before fighting another few acres to safety.
At this point, sun was starting to set. Yet the enemy forces, flowed towards like the river they crossed. Theresa waited for the Darmas to cross, before her and the other magi detonated their charges.
The bridge’s destruction broke the horde’s assault. We are unsure on their next actions. I’m going to order a retreat on the marrow. Allow the lads to rest a time. Creator knows they earned it.
I shan’t comment extensively on this entry, for it speaks to the ability of his command, better than I could. However, notice the way his men followed his wishes, before he ordered. The way they rushed forward with abandon! His warriors fought like the saints, armor glistening in the light as holy power radiated from their blades!
28th of High Solstice 532
I broke the news to the lads today while some of… The Talons were appalled. Mattias, most vocal of all. I scoff at the common use of righteous, for it doesn’t do the word justice. Most men are considered righteous for speaking, but truly righteous men stand by their beliefs in the face of their betters. I am privileged and cursed to command such men, for it pains me to damage their souls for the sake of their lives.
I ordered the retreat from Helfi, the population, now amiable to our presence flung themselves at our feet, begging that we stay. A faithful man should protect the innocent, aye, but should our forces here be annihilated, more lives would be lost as there aren’t enough forces north of the Defiance (river) to hold such an enemy. Lasharbor would fall and thousands would die, and I dread to think of what this Syand can muster with his power.
Their elders and children were to slow to march with us, and their warriors unwilling to abandon them, thus the choice was clear. It brings me no pleasure to abandon people. The decision brought scorn to the men, Mattias and Boris the two most vocal of my opposition. They wanted to save those people, Boris argued for the tenants of our faith, while Mattias argued from his youthful optimisum. They almost brought a mutiny, A mutiny to stay and fight. It almost baffles me to write this.
The lad (mattias) earned the moniker, Sword of the Voiceless, from the more religious of his following, as we bickered, while our enemy used their magics and monsters to construct an new bridge. The forum lasted for an hour, before they started to see sense. It was Conrad my Lieutenant who came to myside first. I thank the Creator for his pragmatism. It was his Kinship with Mattias that swayed the lad, and the crowd by proxy. ..
The rest of the entry details the brave sacrifice of the Shields and the preparation for their departure. It was all logistics and troop movements I shall summarize here. Greyhawk organized his men into three distinct forces, each the size of a reduced company, approximately 800 soldiers. The bands were spread across the land to divide the enemy forces. They use all manner of wit and guile, from traps to diversions to delay the enemy.
Each time the enemy caught up with them, they made those unholy demons pay in blood. Their formation marched as if machinery, their blades and movements speaking of inhuman efficiency as the ceded their ground. I was with Greyhawk during a number of these as these skirmishes were met with zeal and valor. However, the enemy’s number were too much to bear, and the Divine Shield’s along with many of the brave warriors perished in the fighting.
High Marshal,
The enemy threatens to circumvent us, we’ve lost the right flank. Blackheart’s company was pushed within a league of ours. We cannot complete the retreat to the First Shield. I beg, send reinforcements to the Bog, a days march northwest of Fort Rowa. My warriors and I shall make our stand there.
I fight for life’s creation,
Captain Greyhawk, Commander of Helfi Expedition
Greyhawk lead us to a bog, ground normally untenable to large conflicts, this area contained a large patch of solid ground near its center west, large enough for Greyhawk’s warriors to make their stand. Providence led us there with minimal loss. The bog was traversable in the sun, after we arrived the Creator sent rain filled clouds to flood the surrounding bog. With the Bog drenched and our warriors in position we waited for the enemy.
Those dreaded beasts fell upon us with wrath and fervor, drowning their own to reach us as Greyhawk met them with a typhoon of bolt and magics! Such was the force of their crossbows that the dreaded horde didn’t reach the first formations for hours! Only death waited for those abominations when they met the leveled pikes and sharpened steel of the surviving warriors! I tell you this Holiness, it was a picture of order versus chaos, as the men and women of the Steeltalons and Blackhearts fought in perfect cohesion. The Sword of the Voiceless! Mattias, moved as if guided by that very angle!
We fought for two days, before fatigue overwhelmed even the Creator’s guidance. As they faltered, they gave ground and were pushed closer to the center of the swap. Each time they almost collapsed, Greyhawk sallied out, the man radiated hope and revitalized the soldiers he fought around, as we fought! It was a miracle to witness!
The battle ended with in hours, as the High Marshall’s forces arrived, driving the enemy from the field! The slaughter was glorious! We drove them back, away from the swamps in short order, as Greyhawk lead his companies to final victory.
Your holiness, this mans actions are favored by the gods. I urge you to name him a saint. There is no other reward worthy of such a righteous man.
I fight for the beauty of life,
Crefrey, Scholar of his Holy Creator.
Your divine eminence,
below is this humble scholars account of the Battle of Helifi. I believe we survived the opening throws of this Blighted invasion by divine manifestation. No doubt you’ve already heard of the Steeltalon’s heroic delay of those demonic hordes. Their Captain, one Kaylen Greyhawk, lead as the creator’s conduit, his soldiers an extension of divine angles. I say this with the utmost seriousness, holy one. Attached are transcribed letters from the Captain’s diaries and reports. I will use them to contextualize my account. Your eminence, this man is a saint made manifest, and these recorded deeds shall prove it.
‘24th of high solstice 532,
The company arrived at the village of Helfi. Creator this place is a wasteland, The local Tinglunders are standoffish, putting the lads ill at ease. It is beyond my understanding why folk elect to live in places so corrupted by blight. Each week another throp or hamlet is butchered by a band of corpseaters or marauders. Its my thoughts that the Marshal uses these villages as nothing more than canaries in a ting mine. I can find little sense in any other explanation, there is no sense in allowing these villages to act as a farm for the enemy otherwise. I grow temperamental to in my age, eight years of campaigns and I grow tired of losing these lads to sickness or battle.
As I said, the lads were restless, Mattias more so than the rest. Poor lad’s heart is too pure for this place. He is most frustrated by the local’s cold nature. They showed no hospitality, our host is camped outside their walls, only those of rank allowed entry. Their elders and scouts hold tight to blighted information like children to a foolish secret. When they are forthcoming, the reports appear exaggerated. They act like a the blighted are in numbers to rival the First Blight War. Blackheart thinks little of these rumors, but I would be a fool to not give the locals credence. It's my estimation that a powerful Synad gathered a large horde of corpse eaters and maybe a Darmas(). A horde that size would appear apocalyptic to these back water folk. I’ve started marshaling the men for an excursion. Scouts were dispatched this morning.’
The esteemed Captain referenced our holy tasking by the High Marshal. The Host’s seekers1 felt a large presence enter the region of Helfi Pass. The Marshal, disturbed by this activity, martialed a power force of three full companies: The Steeltalons, The Blackhearts, and The Righteous Shields, a force of six thousand armored with bristling pikes and tested swords marched towards Helfi Pass. Assisted by a cadre of magi and a troop of cavalry, this host was a sight to behold.
When we marched from Inheritors reach as if victorious, the weight of our righteous destiny weighing on our soldiers. The march from the fortress was trivial, as a march in that forsaken land goes. The land, even regions strong with the corruption lay silent. I admit to some relief at first, but its silence wasn’t calm, rather a tide pulling into a crashing wave!
As the Captain mention, we were greeted with suspicion by the villagers, who in retrospect were clearly In a state of shock. I tell you this O holy one, because these Tinglunders are hardy folk, not easily scared by such dark creatures. The captain wasted no time erecting fortification in the pass, a cautious man by nature, Greyhawk’s wisdom was nothing short of divine influence.
A dead eagle, was seen when the commander dispatched his scouts. I didn’t register the meaning of such a symbol. I recalled too late that a Fallen Eagle heralded the last Blight War, when Gerald Rowa sacrificed his army in shameful martyrdom.
25th of high solstice 532, I have scant time to write, but it must be done. Of the dozen scouts only three returned, haggard with blighunds dogging them all the while. Their arrival prompted worse news, and worse revelations. Over Magi Yana was the first to feel the shift, even before the scouts arrived. The regions aura darkened to ‘a blinding darkness’ with corruption. The scout’s tidings were only confirmation. There was a massive host nearby, controlled by a Synad. In short, their tactics and organization are a dark omen.
I still remember the terrible dreams. They came to me the moment the surviving scouts staggered into the fortifications. Unaware of their arrival I woke in a cold sweat and wandered out of my tent. The creator guided me to the scouts as I was late party to their arrival. I’ve not seen me more terrified than those poor souls. They reported a convergence, the gathering of a dark host. I am unawares as your knowledge to such dark rituals, for few know of their existence outside of Tinglund.
These rituals, lead by a Syand (A magi whose heart is black with sin corrupted by the blight and survived.) call forth the corpses of their victims and the bodies the ancient dead to horrible animation. Aside from the results, we know little of how these are performed. This Syand, possessed a power of the Decadent Oppressors! He raised a dozen Darmas, formless monsters double the size of the largest horse that shift and twist in unnatural ways! I swear every corpse eater, marauder, Synad, and corrupted beast martialed to this Synad’s dreaded call. A horde that extended to the horizon march south.
One of the scouts, a magi by the name of Merrick, reported coordinated movements and organization. The thralls, those poor souls raised from The Creator’s Rest, stood in organized ranks, while marauders equipped them with foul arms.
Their Blighunds hunted our scouts with unparalleled intellect and coordination. If not for the heroic sacrifices of the Scouting Party, Merrick wouldn’t survive his ride. It was at this moment that I saw doubt, if not fear in the eyes of all present. It struck terror into my bones, seeing those hardened men afraid. I’ve seen their battle prowess and resolve during my mission, these men, warriors all, despite their former stations were the bravest men I’ve ever seen. Most remained in shock, but Greyhawk spring into action, barking orders as he mounted his white steed, plate etched with the symbols of Saint Marcus! He penned a missive to the High Marshal, before organizing the defense.
High Marshal,
You will think I’ve gone mad, but this is the truth. The Blight Horde you sent us after is no mere horde. Neigh, I fear it is the vanguard for A Blight Invasion. I’ve Marshalled my current forces; we will engage the enemy to by you time to Marshal the reserves. We will hold Helfi Pass and break the horde here. If the situation becomes untenable, we will withdrawal to the First Shields.
Martial the troops, otherwise I fear even the mighty fortresses of the First will fall to this horde.
Captain Greyhawk
Holiness, I understand that my claims of sainthood may be far-fetched, but you must understand the miracles I was party too. Soldiers, especially those bartered for in trade are lowly men, cowardly by nature. It takes years of conflict to breed any sense of backbone into them, and often they only fight out of fear of desertion. Do not mistake me holiness, there were brave men, righteous men who volunteered for such a holy task, but they are rare. You see, many of Greyhawk’s men were green recruits, save for a handful of hardened veterans. Most of the host only heard of these monsters from myth, its not uncommon that such soldiers flee their posts or drag their feet. Yet when Greyhawk spoke, these men moved in such a manner to match the enemy’s foul purpose!
Lines of bristling pikemen marched in perfect step pikes glistening in dawns light! Scores of archers worked like bees, loading crossbows and preparing defenses. The Heavy Infantry, including Greyhawk’s elite Warhawks marched towards the enemy, armor transforming from battered and destroyed to the image of a heavenly host in the dawning light. It was magnificent, the horses did not fret or scamper, nor the camp followers whimper and hind. They were guided by The Creator, through Greyhawk! No other explanation can be made for such a change!
27th of High Solstice 532,
I thank the Creator that I find time to write this, which I do out of obligation for this army’s heroism, rather than my usual meditations. Their deeds are counted among the saints and heroes of old, and their bravery matched by none.
The enemy launched their first assault on the evening of the 25th, They probed their defenses, testing our weakness, using their blighunds and Corpse Munchers to test the security of our line. These attacks were cause of much concern. They were mild in their tactics and cautious in their commitment, a trait foreign to most blighted creatures.
Our position is superb, a narrow pass that leads down into a large canyon, north of the village. Most of the lower sections are flooded this time of year from Gerald’s Folly, creating a narrow gap on this choke point. The Canyon itself is about half a league wide. We defend a natural rise that can fit nine men abreast at its narrowest point, and a company at each end.
In theory, we would’ve shattered a majority of the host, before we needed to withdrawal to the First Shields. However, as mentioned, this was no normal Host. The Blackhearts were first to receive contacts as their skirmishing positions ranged just outside the pass. These positions were of the standard type, light palisades garrisoning a section of crossbowmen and heavy foot. These sections were reinforced by Lieutenant Windswept’s Cavalry as a skirmishing force. David2(blackheart) reported four successive waves, each with a different tactic, ranging from a sparse skirmishing to a concentrated assault on an exposed gap. The enemy’s chance in tactics prompted a change of our own. I ordered the Talons to reinforce the second line, and the Shields to send out extra sections when they relieved the Blackhearts.
The assault began at dawn, just after the rotations started mobilizing to relieve their charges. Half the Talons were still crossing the bridge, and most of the Shields were still donning armor. Their forces extended into the far horizon. The force was of Marauders, those weak-willed barbarians supported by two Darmas.
Blackhearts men were pinned in their fighting positions by hordes of Blighunds and marauders, as more rushed passed the lines, threatening to surround the isolated sections and press into the second line. The timing of the shift changes managed to save us, for the few sections of Shield infantry charged forward, despite most of their number still mobilizing. Their efforts, their sacrifice plugged the gaps, and provided two needed opportunities. The first was for Windswept to reorganize his scattered horsemen, the second was the opportunity for Blackheart’s surviving warriors to fall back to the hasty formation.
I called for the magi, as many as we could gather on short notice, and ordered my personal guard to sally from the gates with the rest of the Shield relief force. My restless nature worked in my favore as I didn’t doff my armor the previous evening to sleep, but I only annotate this fact, because many of us charged wearing the minimum protection, gambesons and perhaps a breastplate, whatever armor they were able to throw on after their restless sleep.
I admit to my arrogance at this folly. I hadn’t prepared my men for the threat that we faced.
Those heroes held against an endless tide of rage and hunger for longer than anyone expected. Their line was buckling and their progress to safety minimal, as the overwhelming numbers of monsters threatened to snap their formation like a twig.
The Magi were the reason we saved most of the survivors. Terra, our Over Magi unleashed an array of battle magics that I can scarce describe, her two colleagues channeling their crafts to revitalize our soldiers and enhance their strength. We capitalized on the enemy’s stumble as drove ourselves against them with the force of desperate men.
I don’t know how long we fought, but we managed to retreat behind the second line’s palisades. It was there the battle stabilized for a time. Conrad, my Lieutenant marshaled our company to the walls by the time we reached the gates. Their pikes, swords, and bolts halted the enemy’s assault, as the rest of the companies withdrew to the third line.
The Thirdline was located at the opposite end of the canyon. The natural bridge’s base, wide enough for a company to rotate on to the bridge was fortified by the remained of Blackheart’s men. It was at this time, I ordered Theresa, our resident alchemist, to rig the bridge with explosives. However, that process was long, and the enemy onslaught pressing. I lost many friends holding that end of the bridge. Johan, my Warhawk’s Sergeant, fell during a collapse of the left palisade. One of the Darmas crashed into the timber fortification and slaughtered a dozen men in seconds. If not for Mattias, Johan’s adjunct, we would’ve died to a man, then and there.
The man, once a child not long ago, innocent by any standards charged into the breach. The terrified and scattered Talons surrounding him, moments from breaking rallied behind him, as he flung himself at the Darmas. They slew the beast and drove the enemy back long enough for the rest of the company to retreat across the bridge.
Then, for the second time in an hour, the lad risked his life as a rearguard at the bridge’s center. Theresa wasn’t finished and our men were still retreating, and the lad, without order or request stood on the bridge with a handful of warriors and his greatsword. I’ve naught seen such skill with the blade, before or since. The youth held for a quarter hour by my estimation, before fighting another few acres to safety.
At this point, sun was starting to set. Yet the enemy forces, flowed towards like the river they crossed. Theresa waited for the Darmas to cross, before her and the other magi detonated their charges.
The bridge’s destruction broke the horde’s assault. We are unsure on their next actions. I’m going to order a retreat on the marrow. Allow the lads to rest a time. Creator knows they earned it.
I shan’t comment extensively on this entry, for it speaks to the ability of his command, better than I could. However, notice the way his men followed his wishes, before he ordered. The way they rushed forward with abandon! His warriors fought like the saints, armor glistening in the light as holy power radiated from their blades!
28th of High Solstice 532
I broke the news to the lads today while some of… The Talons were appalled. Mattias, most vocal of all. I scoff at the common use of righteous, for it doesn’t do the word justice. Most men are considered righteous for speaking, but truly righteous men stand by their beliefs in the face of their betters. I am privileged and cursed to command such men, for it pains me to damage their souls for the sake of their lives.
I ordered the retreat from Helfi, the population, now amiable to our presence flung themselves at our feet, begging that we stay. A faithful man should protect the innocent, aye, but should our forces here be annihilated, more lives would be lost as there aren’t enough forces north of the Defiance (river) to hold such an enemy. Lasharbor would fall and thousands would die, and I dread to think of what this Syand can muster with his power.
Their elders and children were to slow to march with us, and their warriors unwilling to abandon them, thus the choice was clear. It brings me no pleasure to abandon people. The decision brought scorn to the men, Mattias and Boris the two most vocal of my opposition. They wanted to save those people, Boris argued for the tenants of our faith, while Mattias argued from his youthful optimisum. They almost brought a mutiny, A mutiny to stay and fight. It almost baffles me to write this.
The lad (mattias) earned the moniker, Sword of the Voiceless, from the more religious of his following, as we bickered, while our enemy used their magics and monsters to construct an new bridge. The forum lasted for an hour, before they started to see sense. It was Conrad my Lieutenant who came to myside first. I thank the Creator for his pragmatism. It was his Kinship with Mattias that swayed the lad, and the crowd by proxy. ..
The rest of the entry details the brave sacrifice of the Shields and the preparation for their departure. It was all logistics and troop movements I shall summarize here. Greyhawk organized his men into three distinct forces, each the size of a reduced company, approximately 800 soldiers. The bands were spread across the land to divide the enemy forces. They use all manner of wit and guile, from traps to diversions to delay the enemy.
Each time the enemy caught up with them, they made those unholy demons pay in blood. Their formation marched as if machinery, their blades and movements speaking of inhuman efficiency as the ceded their ground. I was with Greyhawk during a number of these as these skirmishes were met with zeal and valor. However, the enemy’s number were too much to bear, and the Divine Shield’s along with many of the brave warriors perished in the fighting.
High Marshal,
The enemy threatens to circumvent us, we’ve lost the right flank. Blackheart’s company was pushed within a league of ours. We cannot complete the retreat to the First Shield. I beg, send reinforcements to the Bog, a days march northwest of Fort Rowa. My warriors and I shall make our stand there.
I fight for life’s creation,
Captain Greyhawk, Commander of Helfi Expedition
Greyhawk lead us to a bog, ground normally untenable to large conflicts, this area contained a large patch of solid ground near its center west, large enough for Greyhawk’s warriors to make their stand. Providence led us there with minimal loss. The bog was traversable in the sun, after we arrived the Creator sent rain filled clouds to flood the surrounding bog. With the Bog drenched and our warriors in position we waited for the enemy.
Those dreaded beasts fell upon us with wrath and fervor, drowning their own to reach us as Greyhawk met them with a typhoon of bolt and magics! Such was the force of their crossbows that the dreaded horde didn’t reach the first formations for hours! Only death waited for those abominations when they met the leveled pikes and sharpened steel of the surviving warriors! I tell you this Holiness, it was a picture of order versus chaos, as the men and women of the Steeltalons and Blackhearts fought in perfect cohesion. The Sword of the Voiceless! Mattias, moved as if guided by that very angle!
We fought for two days, before fatigue overwhelmed even the Creator’s guidance. As they faltered, they gave ground and were pushed closer to the center of the swap. Each time they almost collapsed, Greyhawk sallied out, the man radiated hope and revitalized the soldiers he fought around, as we fought! It was a miracle to witness!
The battle ended with in hours, as the High Marshall’s forces arrived, driving the enemy from the field! The slaughter was glorious! We drove them back, away from the swamps in short order, as Greyhawk lead his companies to final victory.
Your holiness, this mans actions are favored by the gods. I urge you to name him a saint. There is no other reward worthy of such a righteous man.
I fight for the beauty of life,
Crefrey, Scholar of his Holy Creator.
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