382YE Winter Solstice winds of war

Overview

Red sky at night; city's alight.

The Turning Tide

Preparation

Almost immediately after the Autumn equinox, the word goes out and people begin to gather. Ships first, at ports all along the Bay of Catazar, from Siroc and Shantarim in the west to Crown's Quay and Visten in the east. Then over the next few weeks, soldiers and warriors flood into the coastal towns ready to take the fight to the Grendel. From across the entire Empire they come, soldiers and ships alike. Every Imperial nation is represented, from the Brass Coast to Varushka, from Urizen to Wintermark.

Only in Sarvos is it business as usual: with the armada anchored within sight of the docks, it is deemed wiser not to draw too much attention to the gathering storm. The Senate has paid the ransom demanded by the Salt Lords, and their vast fleet of warships simply idles in the waters off the Jeweled City. Yet many of the ships leaving Sarvos hug the coast, joining the fleets being gathered at other ports along the Bay of Catazar.

It takes time, of course, to gather a great fleet. Just shy of two-hundred-and-fifty fleet captains answered the call to take the fight to the Grendel - their ships needed to ensure berths for the thousands of soldiers flooding south to join the bold endeavour. The civil service does what it can but even their traditionally efficient bureaucracy is tasked near to the limit. Arranging for over three hundred individual warbands to find ships capable of transporting them to the far side of the Bay of Catazarr is a herculean task, but with the enthusiastic aid of port officials across the southern Empire, it is managed in a little over a month.

One consideration that makes the entire process more difficult is the sheer amount of magic that has been brought to bear. Hundreds of soldiers enchanted with Spring magic that not only grants them increased vigour and savage strength, but also heightens their aggression. Remaining patient in the face of weeks-long delays as the full force of the armada gathers is more than some soldiers can take. Violence erupts more than once between soldiers filled with unaccustomed levels of potent sorcery. Keeping the peace between gangs of armed and armoured soldiers, their blood-lust heightened by the touch of Spring, is a challenge that tasks the resources of militia, magistrates, and local peace-keeping forces.

Not that the soldiers are the only problem - many of the ships' crews are themselves girded with enchantments of Spring that exacerbate their own frustration at having to wait for warriors to be ready before they can unleash their fury against the Grendel. The situation is made even more tense where Imperial Orcs have received these boons - the magic kindles each orcs natural instincts to seek out battle and conflict, in some cases to dangerous levels. Some of the coastal towns become nervous powder kegs, waiting for a single flame in the wrong place to cause them to explode well before they reach Grendel territory.

In contrast, those ships graced with the power of Night magic become eerie oases of calm. Yet even this magic is not without drawbacks; the presence of so many warbands enshrouded in mist and shadow inadvertently helps to deliver one of the dampest, most dismal autumns in recent Imperial history. Banks of fog hang over the docks of the southern Empire, and in some places bring unsettling dreams to haunt the citizen's sleep.

Not all the soldiers who come to aid the attack on Dubhtraig are mortal. Alongside the humans and orcs, stranger figures are spotted. From Navarr, Highguard, Varushka and Urizen come preternatural warriors of living shadow. Some are armed with wicked pole-arms of black wood and unfamiliar metal, wearing heavy dark robes embroidered with richly coloured mystic symbols over scaled armour. Some are wrapped in pale yellow furs and glide soundlessly through the twilight with massive double-handed golden axes over their shoulders. Despite their exotic nature, they are preternaturally adept at fading into the background, and there are several humorous incidents where inebriated sailors discover to their surprise that they are being observed with interest by a dozen heavily armed coal-skinned warriors.

At the other end of the scale come a half-dozen coteries of living crystal soldiers raised by their magician captains from mana sites in Urizen and the League. Beautiful, multifaceted creatures wielding long spears and clad in gemstone armour that closely echoes the style of the nation where they were created, they remain aloof from the hustle and bustle of the docks. Indeed, those who interact with them find that they are nonplussed by the excitement - confused by the barely ordered chaos that surrounds them. They are polite enough, but to the surprise of many seem a little out-of-their-depth, hungry for a level of discipline that simply does not exist in the scrabble to prepare for the raid against the Grendel.

Perhaps the strangest magical "warriors" are found on certain Highborn ships flying the black and maroon torch-banners of Jachin's Legacy. At the prow of each ship stands a great beast - bears, rams, and bulls of red stone wreathed in an ever-burning aura of flame. Each night , they serve as silent, living beacons like great mobile lighthouses on the docks of Sanctuary Sands. Many sailors are deeply concerned about their presence - barrels of additional sand and water are loaded onto the vessels they travel on, but this does not prevent several small fires breaking out on the Necropolis quayside in their vicinity.

Truly, we live in an age of wonders.

Finally, a little over six weeks after the Autumn Equinox, the word goes out. It sweeps from one end of the Bay to the other in the course of five days and nights carried by Navarr runners, by feathered messengers, by pulsing beacons: it is time to set sail. The target of the raid will be the great Grendel city of Dubhtraig itself, throne of the Salt Lord Suriad.

Tathar in Attar

Against Tathar

Once the order is given, the difficulty of actually coordinating the attack begins to increase exponentially. For the most part the Imperial vessels travel together. Not every unit of soldiers is prepared for the reality of travelling across the turbulent sea of the Bay of Catazar; for every band of Freeborn corsair marines there are a dozen warriors who have never really set foot on the deck of a sailing ship before.

By their nature some ships are faster and more maneuverable than others; some pull ahead while others fall behind. This is not a disciplined navy, but an armada of hundreds of individual vessels. Communication is very difficult indeed, especially as the ships hail from ports across the southern coast of the Empire. Yet the captains are experienced enough to account for these obstacles; once night falls lanterns are used to send messages using the Urizen heliopticon cipher from ship to ship. Civil service observers - assigned to every Imperial vessel by the Senate several years ago - help immeasurably in this regard. For that matter, a navy could never hope to brave the waters at the heart of the Bay, out of sight of land; could not hope to cross the trackless watery wastes while maintaining any sense of cohesion. For the fleets of the Imperial captains, however, this is simply business as usual.

Now the ships are moving, the first engagements begin to take place. Individual orc pirates encounter Imperial fleets, invariably to the detriment of the Grendel. Those ships that are not destroyed or captured are forced to flee - but here the scattered nature of the Empire's strategy is in their favour. Grendel sailors are used to engaging Imperial fleets in the wide waters of the Bay - they have little reason to believe there is anything more going on than the usual dance of captain against captain. If some wonder at the strange flags, or the presence of marines aboard the vessels they see... well what will they report? That the Empire is taking steps to protect its ships?

Then the first ships begin to reach the coast of Tathar. Fort Salann in the west, and Fort Fuil in the west, provide a measure of protection to the settlements that cluster around them but beyond their immediate shadow the Empire's ships and warriors are able to launch lightning-fast attacks against ports and trading ships alike with relative impunity. Some Imperial soldiers go ashore, and press inland a little, arranging to rendezvous with their transport later. They draw the attention of the orc garrisons at the twin forts inland, away from the sea. Engaging in a brief campaign of guerilla warfare against the people of the Broken Shore, they rarely stay in one place for long. They raid villages, burn supplies, loot mines... and free slaves. Those shielded by shifting shrouds of Night magic are particularly adept at striking without warning, while those infused with the fury of Spring devastate any who dare to try and stand against them.

Chaos spreads. As more and more ships reach the shore, as more and more troops disembark, the Grendel belatedly begin to realise the scale of the attack. The Empire begins too encounter stiff resistance. While the armies of the Broken Shore are elsewhere, while their navy sits complacently in the waters south of Sarvos, the orc tribes of Tathar are not slow to take up arms against these unexpected invaders. These are orcs after all, and orcs revel in violence and confrontation.

A fleet of Dawnish and Winterfolk ships attack the vessels that transport weirwood from the forested Isle of Balsagoth to Dubhtraig are burnt and scuttled, but the warships that patrol the island are able - just - to prevent any sizeable landing force getting a foothold on the island itself. League privateers and Freeborn corsairs throw up a blockade between the islands of Dubtraig, plundering any orc ship that tries to reach - or flee - the Grendel city. Within a week, the Empire dominates the waters along the coast of Tathar. No Grendel ship can move between the ports along the northern Broken Shore. No doubt calls for aid are issued, but the other Salt Lords are slow to respond.

Contributing to the chaos is the fact that a significant number of the ships raiding Dubhtraig are marked with Summer magic and touched by the hand of the eternal Rhianos, the Regent of the Eternal Sea. The magic warps the skein of fate to ensure that the enchanted ships encounter obstacles they might otherwise have missed. They - and the soldiers they carry - find themselves blown off course, trapped in mats of predatory seaweed, attacked by gryphons or sea-going drakes, encountering rafts of escaped slaves with tempting stories of rich estates on secluded islands. The opportunities for excitement, wealth, and disaster are impossible to avoid and difficult for the enchanted crews to ignore.

It is a fine balance between disorder and strategy, between the will of the individual champions and the ultimate ambitious goal of raiding the seat of Salt Lord Suriad. Everything relies on the timing of the final raid. Strike too quickly, and insufficient strength will be brought to bear; wait too long and with each passing day the risk grows that the Grendel might be able to move warships or armies into position to defend Dubhtraig.

With the Empire's full force finally gathered, the last ships in position, those captains who have taken the war to the Grendel on land marching overland from the east and west towards the outskirts of Dubhtraig... the final movement of the campaign begins.

The Sack of Dubhtraig

As the sun rises on the appointed day, the Grendel lords of Dubhtraig are made finally, horribly aware that this is not simply a raid against the coast - that the city itself is the Empire's goal. Imperial soldiers - among them a significant contingent of Navarr and Vaushkans - seize the towers that guard the approach to the sprawling docklands. With the arrow towers neutralised, the Imperial armada drives down into the heart of the city, a savage strike aimed at the shipyards where the Grendel lovingly raise and tend to their fleet of warships.

Dubhtraig is not undefended of course. Dozens of Grendel privateers and traders raise their sails and come to face the Imperials in the waters of the bay. Ships on both sides are damaged, sunk to the bottom. Fire spreads across the waters. Blood turns the waters of the cove pale crimson. As the day wears on, terrible sharks maddened by the scent of blood are lured into the waters of Dubhtraig, frenziedly attacking any human or orc who falls into the water.

Not every ship on the sprawling docks of Dubhtraig belongs to an orc, however. There are merchant vessels here flying the flags of the Asavean Archipelago, of the Principalities of Jarm, of the Sarcophan Delves, and even a few from the Citadels of Axos. There is panic among these human traders; they loudly proclaim their neutrality in this conflict pointing to the fact that the Empire is not at war with them to secure their ships, their crews, and their cargoes. Where possible their vessels are left alone. Inevitably there are a few unfortunate incidents in the bloody fog of war but for the most part the vessels belonging to foreign nations are spared.

Disciplined Marcher and Highborn soldiers capture and hold a portion of the western docks providing essential cover to allow more troops to disembark - but also to allow ships to take on the slaves liberated from the domination of the Grendel. Those slaves who realise that the Empire represents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for freedom take the chance to turn on their masters and make their own way to the docks if they can. Dozens of desperate humans and orcs fight their way to freedom - in some cases joining the fighting alongside the raiders. The great numbers of Imperial Orc warbands prove particularly effective at rallying their enslaved cousins to their banners, while others flock to the Freeborn vessels eager to escape lives of endless brutality and cruel suffering.

The fighting begins on the quaysides, then spills into the narrow streets of the city proper. Unsurprisingly, the League excels here; bravos raised on hundreds of brawls in the alleys of tassato and Sarvos, on the walls of Holberg, in the backstreets of Temeschwar use the terrain to their advantage, engaging in close-quarters fighting and daring smash-and-grab raids against the wealth of the Grendel. And everywhere through the fray there are the Urizen; wielding their strength with preternatural calm, striking with relentless surgical precision where they can best turn the tide of a fight then moving quickly to a new location. Sentinels and battle-mages bring succour to the injured, help to free warbands that have been pinned down, guide stragglers back to their allies, and direct the terrified slaves to the safety of the docks.

Dubhtraig is city of wealth and poverty, where hovels cluster against the walls of garishly decorated palaces. Vicious fighting spreads through the urban landscape as the nobles and the lower classes alike seek to defend what they have from the imperial assailants. Rich estate after rich estate falls to the Empire's soldiers; orc lords and ladies sent fleeing to the great walled palace of Salt Lord Suriad. A legion of disciplined purple-and-gold clad orc warriors defends the walls of the palace, holding it against all Imperial attackers. The walls seem impenetrable...

... and then the first of the enchanted beasts conjured by the Highborn arrive. Three great burning bulls, a pair of massive rams, and a single behemoth bear roar across the docks one after another, unleashing their devastating power. The walls weather the first three strikes... then one of the towers begins to crumble... then as the final great burning oxen strikes the weirwood gates, with a terrible rumbling moan the gatehouse of Lady Suriad's sanctuary collapses allowing Imperial soldiers - lead by a triumphantly bellowing vanguard of heavily-armoured Dawnish knights and Wintermark warriors - to pour through the breach into the heart of the Salt Lords court.

The explosions also serve to set fire to the shambolic shanty town that sprawls beneath the towers of the Salt Lord. The flames leap joyfully between the pitch and tar soaked wooden buildings - meeting another fire coming in the opposite direction.

History will probably never know who fires the shipyards. Perhaps it was a vengeful Freeborn corsair, the memory of the destruction of the 'Storm and the burning of the shipyard at Atalaya. Perhaps it was a Sarvosan, cold fury burning in their heart as they recalled the occupation of their home.Perhaps an Urizen veteran of the invasion of Spiral, methodically anointing a warehouse with oil before expertly hurling a burning brand through the door. Perhaps it was just an accident - a lantern knocked over in the wrong place as the fighting spread.

Regardless of how it started, the fires surrounding Suriad's Palace are soon dwarfed by the conflagration that begins to spread across the docks. Some of the Grendel break off the fight against the Imperial invaders, desperate to stop the fire consuming their beloved shipyard.

At the same time that the main force is attacking the city proper, a secondary force strikes south of the city into the mines that are the source of so much of Dubhtraig's wealth. They smash the defences in short order, slaughter the guards, and begin to break chains - and help themselves to the precious metals, the pure salt... the mithril. They do not have long - this part of the raid is perhaps the riskiest element of the entire plan The fighting is brutal - Imperial Orc reavers and the Varushkan wagon raiders in particular are adept at fighting in the close confines of the underground tunnels and galleries - and here more than the rest of the city they receive the aid of the slaves the Grendel have chained in the dark.

As the sun begins to sink in the west - the crimson sky echoing the scarlet waters of the bay, the rivulets of blood that run through the streets - the horns begin to blow. Drums beat, sounding the withdrawal. Some warbands make an orderly retreat to the docks; others break into a ramshackle charge for the edges of the city burdened down with sacks of loot and stolen art treasures. Dour Marchers and grim-faced Highborn are the last to leave, a cordon of steel around the western docks ensuring that no Imperial is left behind that can be saved, helping the last few desperate slaves find a place on the dock of an Imperial ship heading north.

A great black cloud of smoke hangs low over Dubhtraig as the Imperial armada retreats from the city. The shipyard still stands but more than half of it has been gutted with fire. Salt Lord Suriad's palace is in ruins - flames lapping at its minarets and towers - and the rumour begins to spread that the Lady herself has fallen in battle with the Imperials. A fifth of the city is on fire.

Triumph

Over the next week, Imperial forces withdraw from Tathar. Those captains who fought a guerilla war against the Grendel on land reach their rendezvous points, and embark onto the waiting vessels. In almost every case, they are accompanied by freed slaves liberated from mines and fields. Exhausted, desperate, they huddle on the decks and in the holds as the Imperial ships arrow through the waters northwards.

Some ships remain behind to harry the vessels of the other Salt Lords, belatedly coming to the aid of Lady Suriad. A few, blown astray by Summer magic, are unaccounted for. The rest reach Imperial ports with perhaps three weeks to spare before the Winter Solstice. Treasures are unloaded, the injured tended to, the fallen honoured, damaged ships raised into drydock. As the scale of the success becomes clearer, a wave of triumph washes from one side of the southern coast to the other.

There is still the question of what to do with the slaves, of course. In total somewhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand slaves managed to reach an Imperial ship. Perhaps a third of that number came from Dubhtraig itself - household slaves, dockworkers and the like. The remainder were freed from the mines, or from villages during guerilla raids. While perhaps two hundred are humans, many of them have never been Imperial citizens - and the remainder are all orcs. The civil service is already drawing up some proposals as to how to deal with them - for now they are bedded down in makeshift tent villages, on the floors of churches, in empty warehouses - wherever there is space.

Excited observers on the docks of Sarvos - those who have been keeping their spyglasses on the Grendel armada - are able to spot the very moment that news of the attack reaches the commanders of the orc navies. They mark the confusion that spreads - and with some trepidation the sudden raising of sails, the movement of ships, recognising with sudden horror the signs of imminent counterattack. Yet after a few tense minutes, the flurry of activity subsides. A handful of swift vessels peel off from the main armada, arrowing swiftly southward... and then nothing. The forest of red, and yellow, and gold, and blue sails remains off the coast of Sarvos but it seems that whatever else has happened the Grendel admirals will abide by the agreement they made with the Empire - for now at least.

Game Information - Dubhtraig

To achieve the best outcome, the raid against Dubhtraig required an effective fleet strength of 20,000 supported by military units with an effective strength of 30,000. In the end the Empire brought to bear almost 37,000 force of fleets, and just shy of 40,000 force of military units. Each fleet and military unit receives the normal production for a privateering or paid work action, plus an additional 132 rings representing booty, treasure, and art objects taken from the Grendel. In addition the Imperial Fleetmaster receives 10 wains of weirwood, and 30 wains of mithril captured from the Isle of Balsagoth and the city of Dubhtraig.

The city itself is badly damaged; the grand shipyard and the docks alike were on fire when the Imperial armada withdrew. Even if they have not both been destroyed they will require significant repair - which will likely require large amounts of weirwood - of which the Grendel are known to have a limited supply. The Grendel will not be able to commission another navy at Dubhtraig for at least a year. Furthermore, any plans the southern orcs may have had to raise a new army will be delayed for at least a year as the other Salt Lords look first to the defence of their own strongholds.

Finally, the garrisons of Fort Fuil an Fort Salann have been seriously impacted by the raid. The structures themselves are undamaged, but the soldiers and ships associated with the two fortifications have both seen significant losses that will need replacing before those castles can operate at full strength - placing a further drain on the coffers of the Salt Lords.