Old blue banners dancing

The beaters knock their bows; their arrows see no difference between bandit scoundrel and barbarian warrior.

Dreams Come

Bregasland is a peculiar place, even those who live there rarely deny it. As the seasons turn, and the new year begins, there is a sense of disquiet uncoiling in the muddy waters. Bregas folk and Imperial soldiers alike speak of haunted sleep, of visions of something massive rising over the swamps. Sometimes it is a sky-scraping grey stone tower, topped with crenelations and pitted with arrow-slits, that leaves sleepers with a sense of being watched. Sometimes it is an actual mountain, mighty and snow topped, that looms over their dreams and brings with it a sense of insufferable weight that leaves sleepers exhausted when they wake. Sometimes it is a titanic tree, its branches stretching from horizon to horizon, great and green and immovable which leaves behind a lingering sense of strength and vitality in those who dream of it.

Hammers, we are needed far from here in the Marches. We return to Bregasland to defend them and push the Jotun out. Our wagons may not have the speed needed to reach Graven March alone but we will NOT be alone, we call upon the contracts with the City of Gold and Lead, to speed our way in a forced march. Let the marches hear us coming, sing our warchants, bolster their hearts with our loyalty we are returning to them.

Ashborn Vana, general of the Autumn Hammers

Where the Burning Falcons blaze the passion of the Empire follows. We meet the fire of the Marches, Amberlain in her oath sworn territory. We hit the Jotun with banners raised bold and Prideful. The waters of Bregasland could not stain our Freeborn colour last time and they never will as we stand with the Empire.

Aracelis I Erigo, General of the Burning Falcon

Xenia was a flame of the Coast and in their light we shall burn bright. We will turn our tempest south. In Loyalty to the March. Prepare well and be fleet of foot. War is calling. Forward the Fire. For the souls of the lost. Summer comes with us.

Velasco i Guerra, General of the Fire of the South

Jacks of the Bounders. We have work to do this season. First I must recognise and thank Mary Birchsmith who not only steered the bounders through hard times but was also and still is my friend. This season we steady conquest into Gravenmarch, rushes and the Ottermire. We will take back what they took from us and make them realise the error in going into our land once again.

Fitzwilliam Thorn, General of the Bounders

Reeds. Last season we rose from the Reeds and bloodied the noses of those Jotun dogs, and though many of us bled that day, they bled harder. No time to stop now though, friends, for our gardens are still full of pests. We will commit to a Grinding Advance forward with our allies to chase the pests from our land.

Amberlain P. Black, General of the Strong Reeds

My Precious Soldiers, it is time for us to be both an example to the armies beside us, and in front. We agreed to a code of war, of honour and Heroism, one we will show how to fight with Virtue. The Strong Reeds stayed loyal to Bregasland and due to their cunning tactics, the Jotun grew restless. The Jotun then came with Stephen of Sarcombe, letting slaughter follow in their wake. Let the Ambitious and Courageous heroes we create here be the foundation of the talks due in the newly built meeting place.

Determination of Ice Kaisa, General of the Narwhal’s Spear

Some are more disturbed by these dreams than others, anxious for what they might portend. Many who rise from their blankets beneath the sullen sky of Bregasland never experience them at all. At first the dreams seem scattered, but as the season progresses they become more common and more pronounced. From chance engagements it seems that it is not just Bregas and Imperial soldiers who are experiencing then, but their foes as well.

But at the end of the day, dreams are only dreams and cannot truly hurt you. Whatever happens in dreams is between your right eye and your left, as some Marchers put it. There is war in Bregasland, and weighed against that threat, what purchase can strange dreams find?

The Ebb and Flow

The Empire continues to fight in Gravenmarch, building on their successes last season. They press the advantage, but the Jotun will not give ground. They stand as immovable as stone against Imperial assault, matching blade with shield, and arrow with armour. The two sides, it seems, are evenly matched. There is a burst of concern early on when Imperial scouts bring news of fifty thousand Jotun streaming back over Odd’s Way from Mitwold, but the new arrivals are here to replace, not reinforce. The Howling Night, the Iron Host, the Shield of the Mountain, and the Southern Bear remain behind to defend Bregasland; all the other Jotun depart the Fenlands as if pursued by the hellish hounds of the Winter realm.

The four armies out of Mitwold are joined by a fifth a week or so later - the Bear Who Swims comes out of the west in the wake of the departing armies and adds its strength to those already in place. The Bounders and the Strong Reeds push to take advantage of this chaos, but the Jotun leave few cracks in their defences for the Marcher soldiers to exploit. By the time reinforcements arrive, the Jotun are once again arrayed to face Imperial efforts to reclaim Bregasland.

Things Change

As the Jotun reorganise their strength, so too do the Empire. The Strong Reeds remain in Gravenmarch, of course, rallying the Bregas folk to resist the Jotun. The Bounders stay with them, adding bow and soft-footed beater to the ‘Reeds strength. The Bloodcloaks fall back to Hahnmark, while the Drakes answer the call of their people in Mitwold, swift to face the unexpected invasion of the home they are sworn to defend. Alone, the two remaining Marcher armies would likely be crushed by the Jotun - but they are not without reinforcements of their own.

As the Jotun armies race north, so the armies that until recently had been attacking in Skallahn move south. The Narwhal’s Spear are at the forefront, seeking their foe in the marshes of the south, With them are the orcs of the Autumn Hammers, the Unshackled drawing on their magical contracts with the Lictors to smooth their journey and let them keep pace with the fast-moving hunters of the ‘Spear. Only a short distance behind them, two Freeborn armies forced march half the length of the western Empire to battle. The Fire of the South burns brightly, but it cannot match the excitement of the Burning Falcon, whose passionate intensity is all the greater for having been denied a true battle in Skallahn last season. Their fire is matched and reflected back by the Knights of Glory that march with them - Lady Moriamis, golden-eyed warrior-poet, leads her cohort of warsingers, voices raised and drums pounding to inspire their allies to even greater acts of courage and audacity.

Six Imperial armies in Bregasland then, matched against five Jotun. Battling for Gravenmarch, beneath the silent gaze of the Graven rock.

In the Shadow of the Grey Rock

The two sides are well matched, at least at first. There are knights of the Summer realm fighting with the Southern Bear, whose fiery mien matches the intensity of the battle-musicians of Lady Moriamis. The raven-banner of Helma Skutasdóttir still flies in Ottery, her warband returning to their task of rooting out rebels among the Bregas. The standards of the Howling Bears are raised alongside the austere flags of Yantan Tethrason of Reinos - the former Lasambrian goatherd and their followers have acquitted themselves well during the invasion of Mitwold it seems. The three warbands have stayed in the south, while the rest accompany the Jotun forces racing west to Hordalant.

The battle lines do not shift much, at least at first. The Empire pushes, but the Jotun hold. They clearly trust the Lasambrian forces in Mitwold to secure the eastern border of the Dour Fen, allowing them to bring most of their force to bear in the south. Not all of it though - they must maintain their presence in the rest of the marsh, must stand ready to deal with rebellious Bregas inspired by the presence of the Strong Reeds. It is not easy to fight back against the strength of the western orcs, with their boot on the necks of the yeofolk, but the Bregas endure.

A step back, a step forward. The Jotun aren’t pressing the Empire, content this season as the last to hold what they have taken, to keep them contained in Gravenmarch. The Shield of the Mountain take the lead here, ensuring that even if the Empire manage to gain any new ground they will pay for it in blood. Yet the Empire came to this battle knowing there would be a butcher’s bill to meet if they wanted to unseat the Jotun. The Strong Reeds lead the Imperial advance, grinding forward, crushing the barbarians who try to stand against them.

The fighting rages, in the shadow of Graven Rock and step by step the Jotun are forced to cede ground. But the cost! Thousands of Imperial soldiers fall to the Jotun; thousands of barbarians fall to the Empire. The Marchers maintain that Gravenmarch is the only dry land in the marshes, but this season the soil here is sodden with blood. Thirsty soil is good soil, say the Marchers. But soil this thirsty?

Amberlain P. Black, General of the Strong Reeds

Aracelis i Erigo, General of the Burning Falcon

Xenia i Erigo, former General of the Fire of the South

Determination of Ice Kaisa, General of the Narwhal's Spear

Fitzwilliam Thorn, General of the Bounders

The Mountain Rings

The Jotun must know they are losing in Gravenmarch. A month before the Spring Equinox they have been pushed back to the edge of the Rushes. The western orcs do not relish fighting in the marshes, but they do not let their distaste weaken their resolve. With Graven Rock behind them, the Strong Reeds at the fore, the Bounders to their left and the Narwhal’s Spear at their right hand, the Imperial armies press one more time into the Rushes.

As they come, a roar goes up from the Jotun. "Ulvenwar!" they cry, and "Majastind!" and "Treefeller!" Some of the orcs, Autumn Hammers and Marcher orcs alike falter, as if a great weight has fallen on them, then rise filled with some inner strength. The coarse fur of the bear pelt at their shoulder, the tight bone helm of a beast’s head at their temples. Then the roar becomes louder and it is clear that it is not just coming from the Jotun. It is coming from all around, the thunder of stone on stone, coupled with the impossible drumbeat of the living earth itself.

Graven Rock is singing.

The noise goes on and on, rising in volume as the two armies clash. For some it is deafening, bringing with it a sense that the enemy cannot be defeated, that this challenge cannot be met. For others it is empowering, full of the assurance that the only way to lose is to give in to the fear of what lies ahead. The roar of Graven Rock echoes back and forth across the battlefield, ringing, ringing like a massive bell of stone. Sometimes, when one catches a glimpse of the rock out of the corner of an eye, it has become an immensity, a pinnacle of grey stone reaching so much higher than the usual fifty or so metres. Other times it resembles that odd dreamt-of tower. The roar fades as suddenly as it arose, but the sensations it evoked linger as the battle rages on. The campaign so far has been bloody, but it is nothing to the battle here on the margins of the marsh, on the edge of the great fens of Bregas. Two implacable forces matched against each other, in the end it is the Empire that overcomes the obstacle presented to them by their foes. It is Imperial soldiers that push the Jotun back, force them to cede the field, force them to retreat north toward Sallow.

They do not retreat far; but does it matter? Gravenmarch is Imperial. The Rushes are next, with the Empire ready to press on after the retreating orcs to show them the folly of trying to claim Bregasland from its people, from the Strong Reeds.

The battle, though, has raged for the entire day and night is falling. Horns and drums sound, warbands and cohorts regrouping, the situation being assessed. Soldiers turning to each other and asking what that noise was, what it portended. And that’s when the other unlooked for miracle - if miracle it is - occurs.

The Forest Endures

That final battle on the boundary of the Rushes has been the bloodiest of the entire campaign. Easily as many soldiers on both sides fell, as have fallen in the whole time since the Winter equinox. Perhaps three thousand in total, human and orc alike, lying on the thirsty earth or in bloody pools, pressed into the earth as if in a final embrace. It is dark, and there are more pressing issues than recovering the dead – there will be time tomorrow to count the cost and begin the mourning, even as others prepare to pursue the defeated yet unbowed Jotun.

As the sun falls beneath the mountains, the sky is clear above. The stars stare down, silently, on the butchers field. And as the stars come out there is a noise like… how to describe it. Like a cobweb being plucked? Like the hand of the wind caressing the reeds? Like the earth wakening from its slumber and sighing in delight at the touch of the sun? And beneath it a thrumming sound, the beat of a drum, quieter and more measured than the roar of Graven Rock. The sound of plants, growing. Trees, rising from the ground, undergoing years of growth in the space of an hour.

At first it is only a handful, but as the Oak rises in the sky, more and more trees push out of the soil. Oak and yew, ash and willow, along the border where the battle has raged. It soon becomes clear that these trees are not growing at random. Each grows from the place where a warrior has fallen - both barbarian and Imperial. Those bodies that have not been collected - the great majority of them at that - are lost to the earth as the trees grow. Pulled or pushed down into the soil as the roots dig down and the branches spread wide.

By midnight, a silent woodland covers the battlefield, here in the shadow of Graven Rock. By sunrise, the trees have spread further, new growth leaping from the graves of the fallen and out along the border between Graven March and the Rushes. As the first rays of the morning sun touch the first tree, the supernatural growth ends. A small forest now lies in western Gravenmarch, the oldest trees looking for all the world as if they have stood there for decades. Some welcome this strange miracle, but the landskeepers who are present are less sanguine. They cast dark eyes towards the heavens, muttering about the Mountain and the Oak, about the sheer unnaturalness of these events and what they may hold for the future. Some cast an equally baleful eye to the south-east, toward Casinea and Anvil, as they mutter among themselves.

But for most, this is a strange thing indeed, but not unprecedented in a world of magic, where the stars can touch the earth. There will be time to wonder at the trees when no Bregas labours under the Jotun yoke. And for the Marchers at least, the trees are fitting tribute to the dead - even if their allies from other Imperial nations might not agree…

Game Information

• The Empire has liberated Gravenmarch and made some headway into the Rushes
• Unexpected magic has touched the battlefield on the edge of the Rushes

The Empire has liberated Gravenmarch, giving them a beachhead in the territory at last. The price has been high - almost three thousand soldiers have died to drive the Jotun out. The barbarians for their part have paid a lower price, given their strong defensive strategy, but they have lost at least two thousand of their own people.

There is now a woodland on the edge of the Rushes, raised in a single night by unexpected magic that does not seem to have been the result of a ritual enchantment. At the same time, there are strange resonances running through Graven Rock which the landskeepers suspect may be connected to the sudden forest. They’re confident that Eye of the High Places will discover more information, and are concerned about what these changes might portend.

Regal, noble, and terrible in anger; Eleonaris is the Lion of Summer and her soldiers bear many of her traits.

Participation : Fire of the South

• The Fire of the South cannot take the cautious advance or give ground orders for the next year
• Any character whose military unit fought alongside the Fire of the South may be inspired by the Knights of Glory

The Fire of the South last fought alongside the Knights of Glory in Sarangrave during the Summer. As mentioned then, the use of Knights of Glory is having an unexpected effect on the armies relying on it. The Fire of the South cannot take the Cautious Advance or Give Ground orders until a year has passed - and with their use of the enchantment this season that clock has been reset.

On the other hand, Lady Moriamis and her warsingers take every opportunity to inspire the passionate soldiers of the Fire of the South, especially the kohan. A character whose military unit supported this army may choose to have been impacted by the experience of battling in close proximity to the glorious heralds of Eleonaris.

• If you possess the hero skill, you receive a bonus hero point during the Spring Equinox. This bonus increases their maximum number of hero points for the duration of the summit.
• If you do not have the hero skill, you receive a single temporary hero point which is lost once it is used. It will have faded entirely by the end of the Spring Equinox regardless.

Anyone who chooses to gain this benefit also experiences a roleplaying effect that lasts until the end of the Autumn Equinox: You feel a strong urge to attempt great deeds that invite attention You take particular pleasure in approval and adulation, being overlooked or dismissed may cause you to lose your temper. If you enter battle you feel driven to prove your worth and show everyone your strength.

Battle Opportunity

Imperial prognosticators have identified a potential conjunction of the Sentinel Gate allowing Imperial heroes to intercede in Grey Fens. The gate seems to open near Rushring, the circle of stones that stands in the centre of the largest of the so-called dead meres of Bregasland. Open areas of standing water where no fish are found, drinking the seemingly fresh water of the dead meres leads to crippling stomach cramps and, if the imbiber is already weak, may result in death. This area is viewed with caution by the Bregas, and is an unlikely locale for the already marsh-suspicious Jotun to be investigating.