Anishar quickly send out a decree calling for The Court to convene on the morning of the next day. With the call sent out, she tasked her diviners with finding out who controlled the war trolls. A single Denshaya, or Shadowcaster, would be much easier to deal with than a large cabal.
For her next act, Queen Anishar tasked the nobility with scouring the kingdom for necromancers bold enough to defy the Prime Laws, necromancy’s core principles. The Court was speechless at her commandment, yet none dared speak out.
As a compromise, Anishar made preparations to perform whatever rites or rituals necessary to appease the Keeper, the immortal who governed death. Though there were many in House Erandal who feared that it wouldn’t be enough. The Keeper’s wrath legendary and any who willingly violated his laws always had to pay the price. Sometimes the rituals weren’t enough.
Anishar, however, felt that drastic measures were necessary if her people were to be victorious. The search began and several Magus came forward to answer the call. In the meantime, the queen’s diviners were hard at work and, after weeks of observing the dark army, they found the cabal controlling the war trolls. At the center of the encampment lay a collection of tents organized around high ranking Dakren soldiers. What set them apart was that they weren’t organized around the officers and leaders of the army.
With this discovery, the necromancers went to work. It was only after the rituals began that House Ravenfeather finally protested. The queen, however, ignored them, ordering the necromancers to do what they must for the kingdom. Though, as they began the ritual, none were prepared for what they unleashed.
‘I remember the cold, how it filled The Court. I remember the screams and the wailing of the dead. The cries of the cursed, the ones trapped on this mortal coil. These souls were beyond the Keeper’s reach, if such a thing were possible.
Through the scrying globe, as we watched the wraiths appear in the camp and slaughter our enemies, I found myself moved to tears as my heart broke for our enemies. To witness such a horrifying death at the hands of something so foul…. I still dream of it.
They bled from their eyes, their noses, and mouths. I could see the life being sucked right out of them. Their bodies withered, their skin stretched across their bones like brittle parchment. Some could only gurgle, dying from simply choking on their own blood.
What was worse, I witnessed their victims rise moments later and begin the senseless slaughter of their companions. Then the newly freed war trolls joined the fight. They were laughing… genuinely laughing at the carnage. They were helpless against the wraiths, but they didn’t care. As they fought against an impossible enemy, the trolls seemed happy.
I will never forget that day. It was a battle we never took the field for. The only lives lost were our enemies, and I cannot help but mourn for them. I pray to The Lady I never witness such slaughter again.’
From the Journal of Iserim Lantros, Qentor’El of her Majesty’s 1st legion, two months before the fall of the breach. 28 D.I.
The encampment tore itself apart, the wraiths and their risen victims, along with the war trolls and the shadow orcs, all tore into each other. In the end, only the undead remained and there were many.
The necromancers could control the wraiths themselves and the risen dead by proxy, but they couldn’t keep it up forever. Eventually, the wraiths would have to be dismissed. This would leave an army of several thousand undead on their doorstep. Upon seeing such a terrible army, Anishar devised yet another plan, one more risky than the previous.
She ordered the necromancers to issue one last command to the wraiths, attack the city of Kalagen. The druids, along with other members of The Court, protested. An enemy army was one thing, but an entire city was another matter. There weren’t just the Dakren and their servants in Kalagan, but innocent victims too.
Many were afraid the Denshaya, who were especially fond of the undead, would seize control of the wraiths leading the army. They could easily turn such an army against Daeshal and send it marching back at them.
Reluctantly, Anishar agreed and ordered the necromancers to dismiss the wraiths. The risen dead, with no one to control them, simply stood on the field, meandering about. She issued an order to House Erandal commanding them to dispatch the undead army and burn them to ash.
For now, Daeshal was safe and so were the Shaylin. That, however, would soon change.
The Dakren hadn’t stood idly by while their efforts to conquer their enemies were hindered. Like their cousins in The Wood, they too had plans of their own. Two months after losing the army from the east, the struck on the western border of Daeshal.
To overcome the enchanted Redwoods blocking their advance, the Dakren summoned a particularly deadly demon. The cost of the summoning was immense, and not something done on a whim. They sacrificed over two thousand servants and slaves, many of whom were Sihde. It was said the level of death and malevolence in the air could steal your very breath. In fact, it did. Hundreds more died, both soldier and servant alike, near the site of the summoning as the life energies absorbed into the circle coalesced into a single being. From the resulting miasma, a skeletal, half decayed beast took shape.
Necrotic ooze seeped from what little flesh it had as it shambled toward the edge of The Wood. The flesh of the beast bloated, as drank in the air and exhaled caustic vapors. The pustules on its body burst, oozing with blood, puss, and disease. Anything this foul ichor touched instantly died as the demon absorbed its life essence. In its wake, the ground withered, and even the dirt seemed lifeless.
The Dakren gave the demon a wide berth, its only mission to destroy the barrier barring their way. Contracting to do anything was far too risky and would cost more lives than they were willing to commit. Even the Dakren had their limits.
If not for patrols set along the border, they Shaylin would have had no warning. The Da Nuren was slow, but its towering frame was easily visible at a distance. Not that it mattered. Nothing could deter the demon’s massive girth, it would simply consume and infect everything in its path.
With such a creature trudging closer, runners and messenger hawks are sent to a nearby garrison. While there were only a few hundred troops staged, each knew their duty. The dark army marching against them would be on the border within hours. They had to hold out.
As the Da Nuren drew closer to the border, its pace quickened. The demon sensed that the enchanted Redwoods were bursting with life and magic and, like a starving animal driven by hunger, fell into a frenzy.
“Upon reaching the edge of The Wood, I was sure I heard the great trees scream in agony when the creature touched the trunks of the redwoods. The area around its puss covered hands boiled and liquified as it absorbed the putrid ooze into itself. It wasn’t long after that the majestic trees began withering as the beast drank in their life essence. The vegetation around the ill’shea blackened, becoming ash in moments.
It let out a cry, one that shook me to my soul. Soon after, the redwoods in the ill’shea’s path buckled, snapping, and falling apart. Like the surrounding foliage, the once majestic trees turned to ash, becoming dust on the wind.
Shortly after, its body bloated, its sickly, festering flesh bubbling until it burst apart in a shower of necrotic ichor. Wherever the disease droplets fell, death followed. Nothing survived the caustic shower, in the Da Nuren’s place lay a barren gap stretching a hundred yards wide. Then all went silent.
We took ranks, swords and shields in hand. The ground still smoldered from the deadly ichor the ill’shea left behind. We waited, not daring to step foot on that cursed ground. Then, after an hour, our nerves beginning to fray, we heard it.
The sound of a battle horn echoed through the gap. They were coming and despite their numbers, all of us knew the line must hold. We must stand the gap for as long as we can.”
Scribed by Aecilon Mourfen, necromancer of House Erandal, during his interview with the spirit of Ilkolen Searfel, Sintor of the Euratel Garrison.
With passage safely secured, the Dak’ren were on the move. Within days, supply lines were reestablished and troop movements under way. Their armies were once again mobilized, but the Shaylin had reinforced the breach and the border.
Miraculously, Sintor Searfel had held the line, though it cost him his life. Yet it had bought the Shaylin precious time. Though the reinforcements didn’t seem to concern the Dakren.
They Dakren set up a new encampment, much further from the border. Their forces growing daily, but so too did the ranks of the Shaylin. Queen Anishar wasn’t taking chances. She ordered High Mages and druids brought in as support. The Shaylin positioned archers high in the ancient forest’s canopy, giving them a wide range of vision.
In the coming weeks, the Shaylin had gathered nearly twenty thousand troops, some of which were conscripts. Members of the queen’s personal guard stood among them as well as the fabled Bladedancers of House Silvaren.
With them stood Clan Cobourne, a powerful noble house of the dwarves. They brought their best fighters, numbering about one thousand strong. Each armed with the poison developed by the Brandilen dwarves of the Steppes. But looking at their enemies and the horde standing against them, some among the Shaylin trembled.
At dawn, one month after both armies stood read, war horns blared across the dark army’s battle lines. Like a red tide, the Dakren sent the war trolls in first. With bloodthirsty glee, the reds took the lead, charging madly ahead, with the lesser yellow skinned trolls placed in command over them, prodding them on. A wave of orcs and shadow orcs followed alongside the mainline of Dakren soldiers. Siege engines hurled debris at the treeline, but thanks to the magic of the High Magus’, the scattershot was deflected.
Arrows from Shaylin snipers rained down at the approaching army, followed by fire, ice, and other elements. The hail of arrows did little good against the advancing war trolls, but proved effective against the orcs and Dakren. Fire, magic, and poison bolts, proved to be the equalizer against the brutes.
Those not caught in the death throes of poison could still heal, but not nearly as quickly. The Magus, upon seeing this, renewed their efforts. Mercilessly blasting, maiming, and burning the brutes. The ground outside the treeline became nothing more than a literal vision of the dark, charred plane of Acheron for a mile in any direction. The druids quickly conjured elementals next, some rising from the earth, while others, fed from the seas of flames, using it as a catalyst, giving the spirits substance. They battered the Dakren ranks, but the assault was short-lived.
The Denshaya or shadowcasters attending the evil army had already begun counter summoning. Soon the elementals shattered to pieces or burned out entirely. The corporeal forms binding them to the material world, destabilizing.
The Denshaya then began their own assault, summoning demons and other terrors to the field. The demons bolstered the dark army’s broken the ranks, but cut path through their allies at the behest of their summoners. All that mattered was the breach.
The Bladedancers took to the field in response, with the dwarves of Clan Cobourne charging with them. The Bladedancers wove powerful enchantments onto themselves and allies for protection. Several hundred soldiers followed, meeting the demons head on at the breach. The battle had officially begun.
The fighting was bloody, but the line held. Between the prowess of the Bladedancers, the stubborn determination of the dwarves, and the skill of the Magus, the line held, but just barely. The High Mages worked incant after incant, pushing themselves to exhaustion.
Druids and the Shapers worked to support the defenders. Using their magic to hinder the demons and attempt to banish them back to the Shadow Realm. Those too wounded to fight were pulled back and taken to triage, where the druids could tend their wounds.
The Shaldo, or fighting style, of the bladedancer’s combined magic with swordplay. Proving an effective defense of against the demons fel sorcery. They forced the Denshaya to change tactics, using their dark power to afflict the minds of the defenders.
Within minutes, a dark mist settled over the Shaylin and soon after the hallucinations followed. Some resisted. The Magus and bladedancers, for example. Their dedication to the mental discipline The Arts and martial training gave them the advantage. But while they worked to the counter, the foul magic of the dark elves, chaos descended on the battlefield.
The lines between friend and foe blurred, even among the Dakren. Troll, Shaylin, dwarf, shadow orc, even dark elf, the Denshaya cared very little. The goal set by their masters was all that mattered. Acceptable losses were always a fact of war. They could replenish such losses, one way or another.
In the chaos, the High Magus’ retreated deeper into The Wood. They needed more time. The slaughter had to be stopped or the battle would be lost, and the breach overrun. Working together, they crafting a powerful ritual to render their allies immune to the mist’s effects. As preparations neared completion, a strong wind sprang suddenly sprang from nowhere. It blew the mist out past the breach, toward the open field and deeper into the Dak’ren forces. Some offered a prayer of thanks to The Lady, the Immortal who governed nature and life.
Finishing the ritual, the enchantment shielded the minds of the Shaylin army. Then, combining their power again, the Magus’, conjured another heavy gust of wind, pushing the mist further into the enemy ranks. As their eyes fell on the breach itself, some wept. A sea of bodies ranging from their kinsmen, to demons, war trolls, shadow orcs and Dakren, all lay scattered among the survivors.
The carnage was horrific. Of all the wounded, in a twist of irony, the demons were most fortunate. For them, death meant banishment. Even so, the cries of the wounded filled the battlefield.
A horn sounded. Qentor’El Lantros called for the Shaylin force to regroup. There was little time, and they had to take advantage of the confusion. Survivors on both sides were quickly regaining senses. The defenders quickly sprang into action. Many of the surviving bladedancers were already in motion, cleaving through troll, orc, and demon alike.
Exhausted, the High Magus’ renewed their efforts, focusing their attacks on any reinforcements coming through the breach. The druids rejoined the fray, commanding the landscape itself to hinder their enemies.
The Dakren, weren’t standing idly by, however. The Denshaya dismissed the mist, turning to more direct attacks. Demonic flame rained down along the border, pelting the defenders and setting them ablaze.
They summoned terror wights, casting more enchantments and calling for further demonic reinforcements. With the ranks of their slaves severely compromised, more dark elves joined the fight.
Hours passed, and night fell eventually. Casters on both sides were pushed past their limits, some collapsing, while other falling on the verge of death from overexertion. They tossed fewer incants back and forth, as druids continued calling upon their totems, transforming into powerful beasts, clawing, biting and tearing their enemies apart.
With both armies pushed to the limit, horns sounded on both sides as each withdrew. The Shaylin, after substantial losses held the breach. But the army’s leader, Landros, knew that it was only a matter of time. He’d sent runners and hawkers calling for reinforcements, but with the Dakren supply lines holding strong, it was a waiting game to see which arrived first.
But one there was one saving grace from this battle. The Shaylin had gained new intel on the war trolls. High Magic and anything enchanted by it was fatal to the brutes. With the right incant or enchantment, they lost their ability to heal.
At dawn, the fighting resumed, but with most of their war trolls slain, or badly maimed, and the magic on both sides exhausted, the battle for the breach became a series of skirmishes. The orcs, however, at the behest of their Dakren masters, pressed on. Their tirelessness wore on the Shaylin, but numbers are on both sides were thinning.
Then night fell, and the haunting blow of horns filled the air. The Dakren reinforcements had arrived ahead of the Shaylin. Their torches were like a sea of fireflies. Landros, covered in blood, his left arm dislocated, knew what he had to do. Without reinforcements, there was no choice but to call a retreat. Holding the line any longer would be suicide against a fresh army.
The Shaylin fell back, and the Dakren didn’t pursue. They had their foothold, and further pursuit would only put them at a disadvantage. For now, the Shaylin had a small respite, but it wouldn’t last forever. Their enemy was on their doorstep and more bloodshed was coming.
