The War....
Supplies had come in from raids on Kingdom storehouses. With their town blacksmith having been in the wind, it was up to the guardsmen to service their own blades. There were no feasts, no festivals since the Feast of the Fallen that had taken place in Port Morgan. From their position in Port Morgan, the adventurers had followed through on their promises, not leaving the town to be torn completely asunder. The people who stayed were stubborn and dogged.
They were not left behind. They were free to leave.
They stayed.
Some hid in the ruins of Centerwatch, striking a wary pact with the Beastmen and Chimera. The farmers, cobblers, guardsmen, tradespeople were threads in the tapestry of Knoch’Len, a rough cloth that showed the stories of their lives, rugged and careworn like the clothing they washed in the water of cold streams.
Those who died were put to the pyre, they couldn’t risk the dead rising within the walls and barricades. Trade was cut off from other towns if not by planar gate facilitated by the fae. The fae, some spat names they’d been given of tricksters and otherworldly beings who had invaded Barran over centuries and made games of the lives of the Younger. The idea that these particular damn birds were playing the long game was openly discussed.
Where was Celestian? This upstart “Elder” was marred by magic from the sacrifice of their life and Celestian’s focus to drive back the Kingdom and hordes of Legion’s undead forces. She bears the feather fae mark of the one known as Rook. Still, people could complain or they could eat the food they were sent. The plant blight ravaged their region, beaten back by the use and upkeep of rituals to restore the forest and what was left of their crops.
Sturdy ramparts were constructed of wood reclaimed from what used to be homes and would perhaps be homes again. There was little time for sentimentality over empty buildings. What had been left behind was repurposed, had to be. If there was no-one alive, there would be none to return to them. Traps were laid in underbrush and the forest itself seemed to move in the glow of moonlight with wakening creatures who lived there rising to strike at marching soldiers who dared trample brush and try to cut a path for siege engines and contingents of scholars wearing the tabard of the Kingdom’s rising star.
Dead who walked were dispatched by the mechanical hounds that once terrorized unsanctioned ritualists, torn asunder and fit for the ash heap. Some savvy people who had seen the adventurers make trade of mossy bones and slime with the Bone-Biters - bugbears who wore red mantles - gathered the pieces left behind with grim determination and care to offer to the group who aided in their protection.
With the Kingdom held back for the time being, there has recently been a retreat en masse from Barony Mercer. Merchants have been harassed on their way to the Alliance of Free Baronies, and Baron Guillame’s lands have had more pressure applied of late. Some scouts and scholars found and were able to secure, though not destroy, gates that were allowing Kingdom forces to come to the Free Baronies' doorstep en masse from Nava. There have been rumors of sightings of a man who looks much like the Sheriff of Knoch'Len, though the rumors have been unsubstantiated.
Of late, all from the humblest child and washerperson to accomplished wizards have heard the whispers on the wind and witnessed the everchanging Spirit of Barran whispering in their ear. The land itself seeks those who walk the Path of Chivalry and the branching paths of the Anan'ta to come to its aid, before the machinations of Legion and the Kingdom of Islan Tel'Nava rend the continent anew.
Supplies had come in from raids on Kingdom storehouses. With their town blacksmith having been in the wind, it was up to the guardsmen to service their own blades. There were no feasts, no festivals since the Feast of the Fallen that had taken place in Port Morgan. From their position in Port Morgan, the adventurers had followed through on their promises, not leaving the town to be torn completely asunder. The people who stayed were stubborn and dogged.
They were not left behind. They were free to leave.
They stayed.
Some hid in the ruins of Centerwatch, striking a wary pact with the Beastmen and Chimera. The farmers, cobblers, guardsmen, tradespeople were threads in the tapestry of Knoch’Len, a rough cloth that showed the stories of their lives, rugged and careworn like the clothing they washed in the water of cold streams.
Those who died were put to the pyre, they couldn’t risk the dead rising within the walls and barricades. Trade was cut off from other towns if not by planar gate facilitated by the fae. The fae, some spat names they’d been given of tricksters and otherworldly beings who had invaded Barran over centuries and made games of the lives of the Younger. The idea that these particular damn birds were playing the long game was openly discussed.
Where was Celestian? This upstart “Elder” was marred by magic from the sacrifice of their life and Celestian’s focus to drive back the Kingdom and hordes of Legion’s undead forces. She bears the feather fae mark of the one known as Rook. Still, people could complain or they could eat the food they were sent. The plant blight ravaged their region, beaten back by the use and upkeep of rituals to restore the forest and what was left of their crops.
Sturdy ramparts were constructed of wood reclaimed from what used to be homes and would perhaps be homes again. There was little time for sentimentality over empty buildings. What had been left behind was repurposed, had to be. If there was no-one alive, there would be none to return to them. Traps were laid in underbrush and the forest itself seemed to move in the glow of moonlight with wakening creatures who lived there rising to strike at marching soldiers who dared trample brush and try to cut a path for siege engines and contingents of scholars wearing the tabard of the Kingdom’s rising star.
Dead who walked were dispatched by the mechanical hounds that once terrorized unsanctioned ritualists, torn asunder and fit for the ash heap. Some savvy people who had seen the adventurers make trade of mossy bones and slime with the Bone-Biters - bugbears who wore red mantles - gathered the pieces left behind with grim determination and care to offer to the group who aided in their protection.
With the Kingdom held back for the time being, there has recently been a retreat en masse from Barony Mercer. Merchants have been harassed on their way to the Alliance of Free Baronies, and Baron Guillame’s lands have had more pressure applied of late. Some scouts and scholars found and were able to secure, though not destroy, gates that were allowing Kingdom forces to come to the Free Baronies' doorstep en masse from Nava. There have been rumors of sightings of a man who looks much like the Sheriff of Knoch'Len, though the rumors have been unsubstantiated.
Of late, all from the humblest child and washerperson to accomplished wizards have heard the whispers on the wind and witnessed the everchanging Spirit of Barran whispering in their ear. The land itself seeks those who walk the Path of Chivalry and the branching paths of the Anan'ta to come to its aid, before the machinations of Legion and the Kingdom of Islan Tel'Nava rend the continent anew.