Eclipse
What Has Gone Before
The scions of Cold Sun continue their assault against the Empire. They began with attacks against a handful of targets by bands of heralds; after an Imperial enchantment that threw open the gates to the Day realm, hundreds of oblivion's footsoldiers poured out to assail every nation of the Empire. Dawn weathered the storm best with the aid of the eternals of Summer, and along with the Navarr, and the priests of Vigilance, helped reduce the number of deaths. But deaths there were aplenty, and destruction to make folk weep. As the Autumn Equinox neared, the Imperial enchantment waned, but before the regio closed entirely, whole armies of Cold Sun's scions marched through into the mortal world. They would make the destruction that had gone before pale almost to insignificance as they strove to end all life everywhere.
War raged from Varushka to the Brass Coast, from Wintermark to Highguard. Victories and defeats, as the armies of Cold Sun warped and changed the world around them, killed everyone they could get their hands on, and burned everything that fell within their sight. Imperial heroes did their best to intervene during the Winter Solstice, with the power of the Sentinel Gate. They prevented raiders from the Silence Arc burning the town of New Dunhall; they prevented a raid against the white granite quarries of Upwold; they preserved the gardens at the Castle of Thorns, and the Dawnish Pride they represent; denied the Exigent Span their goal of burning Hufi's Garden; and averted the terrible destruction the scions sought to visit on Miaren. They were unable to prevent the grand archon of the Winnowers turning the precious shield Oath-heart into some terrible weapon, despite the most valiant effort of the Champion of Loyalty and those who fought alongside them, but the courageous attempt still stands as inspiration to those who fight Cold Sun in Bastion.
Following the Solstice, it falls to the armies of the Empire, and those champions who commit their warbands to the battle against oblivion, to face the armies that seek to end not only the Empire, but all else.
Silence Arc
The Silence Arc sought the destruction of Valshal but were driven back by the heroes of Wintermark and their allies from the Summer realm. Their defeat before the Winter Solstice saw them retreat from the hills of Valasmark into the flatlands of Kronemark. The invaders from the Day realm had suffered some losses in their attempt to assail the well-defended hall of champions, but they are very far from defeated. They rally, regroup, and refocus on their mission - to kill every living person in Hahnmark if they can.
Imperial magicians have again drawn on the power of the Queen of Ice and Darkness, calling forth her cyclopean fortifications in the hills of Kalpamark and Valasmark. Valashal and Kalpaheim are well defended, with walls of frost and basalt overlaying the existing defences there. A barrier stretches across the centre of Hahnmark, forcing the invaders to overcome these powerful wards if they wish to threaten Southridge or Woodheath - but they can offer little protection to Kronemark, Bruckland, or North Spires. Small numbers of more mobile warriors of the Summer Realm range eastward to offer aid to the defenders of Hahnmark where they can but it once again lies to the heroes of Wintermark to hold Cold Sun to account.
The flattest part of Hahnmark, the downs of Kronemark are a patchwork of fishing villages and farms. The largest settlements sprawl around the shore of the icy lake Kronevann, or along the many streams that connect it to its sister lakes in the north, Bruckland by contrast is sparsely settled, scattered with low, artificial hills atop which lie stone beacons and desolate watchtowers. North Spires is wealthy, and there is some fear they might attack the Runegrott or Stormspire... but it's not clear the scions of Cold Sun know that these places exist. Instead they concentrate on trying to slaughter as many people in Kronemark as they possibly can.
It seems likely that the Kronehal is their ultimate destination, they seem to be in no rush to get there. Rather, they range across the plains of Kronemark assaulting as many halls and villages as they can find. Heavy snow begins to fall shortly after the Winter Solstice, and barely lets up for two solid months. The scions at first struggle to deal with the cold - it does not seem to harm them but the curtains of snow make it difficult for them to find their quarry who in many cases are much more use to such frigid conditions. Unfortunately, once they begin to adapt to the conditions in Hahnmark they become even more dangerous. An army that moves in almost complete silence quickly learns to take advantage of the obscuring effects of a heavy snowfall. Despite the best efforts of the Wintermark assembly, several isolated halls are attacked and overwhelmed before they can escape the imminent threat of the Silence Arc.
Wherever possible, the halls of Hahnmark pull together to protect each other against the scions. This often means helping those threatened by the heralds to get to safety with as many of their possessions as possible. Several larger halls - those with the strongest defences - invite their neighbours to take up residence for the Winter, pooling their warriors and supplies to ensure that if the scions attack they can be held off long enough for the heroes of the 'Mark to reinforce them. The beacons play a large part in this strategy; they are no match for the Heliopticon of distant Urizen but they can be used to communicate simple messages. When a force of scions is spotted, warnings are sent out to everyone nearby. More often than not, that is enough to save lives.
More than three thousand warriors, the warbands of Imperial champions, come to Hahnmark to fight Cold Sun. The lion's share are children of Wintermark, but there are captains from as far afield as Urizen, Highguard, and the Brass Coast among their number. Some struggle with the challenges of a harsh Hahnmark winter, but they do not let mere weather quell their desire to fight the scions of the Day realm.
Unlike the previous season, there is no single defining battle that marks resistance to Cold Sun. There is no attack launched against Kronehal, only a dozen or more assaults against halls and villages. A few attacks against the beacons themselves are handily defended, and while many Imperial warriors are injured there are no appreciable casualties. Late at night, huddled close around campfires, the defenders of Hahnmark debate what the ultimate plan of the Silence Arc may be. Every other engagement with the scions across the Empire for the better part of a year, the heralds have had a clear goal in mind. Here, they seem to be content simply to destroy halls and kill people and fight the champions of Wintermark. It seems to make little sense. Unless... there is something else going on?
Three weeks before the Spring Equinox, the scions suddenly quit Kronemark. It's been noted that they have been slowly making their way northward, and everyone assumed that meant that an attack on Kronehal was imminent. But rather than attack the largest settlement in the region they bypass it entirely racing north and east around the Kronevann into Bruckland. Not to attack Turelva as people initially fear, but to seize an isolated watchtower between the two lakes a week's journey north of the town.
It makes no sense... until a skop manages to get news to the beacon defenders. The Silence Arc are massing around an old ruin called the Tower of the Eagle. A crumbled sentinel atop an old hill that was once a beacon. A tower that also marks the location of a powerful regio aligned to the Day realm. This cannot be coincidence. Denied access to the Lantern Gate when they were driven from Valasmark, have the SIlence Arc spent the last three months trying to find another regio of the Day realm, one that suits some unknown criteria of their own? And if so, what does it portend now they have found it, now that a little shy of three thousand scions make camp around the well-defended approach to the old, tumbledown tower?
Game Information: Silence Arc
Between them, the champions supporting the Beacons of Wintermark and the Frozen Citadels raised in the central peaks have prevented the scions claiming any territory. Unfortunately, neither of these fortifications has inflicted any casualties on the Silence Arc. They are now in northern Hahnmark, gathered around the old ruin known as the Tower of the Eagle and while they are assuredly up to something it is by no means clear what their plan is.
The defenders, and the words of the Wintermark assembly (which were also supported by the Loyalty assembly) have meant that there has been minimal loss of life despite the presence of the scions and the harsh winter. A lot of buildings will need to be rebuilt or repaired - and people are cautious about doing so while the Silence Arc is still in the territory - but the halls themselves survive.
Blade of Skies
The Blade of Skies closes on Delev – the wealthy heart of the Duzekani vales, and arguably one of the most important settlements in Karov. It is where the Bargainer of the Iron Tower and the Overseer of the Westward Road both do business. It is where nearly five hundred people, fleeing before the destructive power of the scions of Cold Sun, have taken refuge.
The presence of so many desperate people, stretching the facilities of Delev to breaking point, is no accident. The Blade of Skies have encouraged people to flee to here, allowing Varushkans to gather at the dubious sanctuary of Delev with cruel intent. All that remains of Olvanshka – the second largest settlement in Duzekani - is a cursed circle of seared black glass. It seems clear that the Blade of Skies intend a similar fate for Delev and its hundreds of refugees.
As the first snows of Winter fall, the scions reach the burgeoning town that some believe might some day rival – or even eclipse – Temeschwar itself. Thanks to the work of Henry Ward, Delev is the best-defended vale in southern Varushka. Now, though, three thousand harbingers of oblivion advance on pallisades and the partial walls intended to protect against the threat of a few hundred bandits or orc raiders. There is no chance they will hold, no chance that the gathered bands of schlacta, wagon raiders, and sell-swords will be able to turn back the scions even with the support of a few dozen Dawnish knights and Navarr thorns. There is little opportunity for the exhausted folk taking refuge there to flee; the scions split their forces attacking from the south-west and the north-east simultaneously to out off any avenue of escape. A massacre of unparalleled proportions seems imminent.
At the last moment, as the sun rises over the mournful forests, as the defenders prepare themselves to sell their lives dearly, salvation arrives. Marching north from the Barrens come three Imperial armies, supported by more than five thousand warriors from independent warbands. Grim faced and ready to battle the scions, they will bring an end to the tyranny of the Cold Sun.
Inspired and uplifted by the priests of Varushka, the Northern Eagle take the lead. They charge, straight against the largest concentration of the scions, axes and swords ready to cut the heralds to pieces without thought of quarter or restraint. All other considerations – including their own safety - become secondary to the grim business of destroying as many heralds as possible. It is Varushka unleashed, the iron of the Vard and the cunning of the Ushka united toward a single intent. It is not so much the thought of victory that drives them, but an utter commitment to ensuring the defeat of their foes whatever the cost. The Iron Helms follow close behind, dogs howling, the wings of a thousand crows beating up a wind that sets the black banners dancing. Faces painted bone-white, the war-wizards of Karsk lead the way, staffs crackling with fell magic, ready to shatter the scions battle lines. They fight on the dark soil of Varushka, and as they advance a thin grey fog rises among them, roused by the thudding drum-beat of marching boots. It comes unbidden, and blinds the supernatural senses of the heralds, muddying their ability to speak to one another without words, causing them to know the cold prickle of fear for the first time in their existance.
From the north, the Quiet Step erupt from the trees, taking the second force of scions by surprise. The Navarr will do whatever it takes to put an end to the army of Cold Sun, and as the main body of their force engages the scions, bands of skirmishers harry and nip at the flanks of the other force, creating openings and weak points for their Varushkan allies to exploit.
Raise the eagle banner high, soldiers of Varushka, and march to ward with steel. Scions threaten our homes, but they shall take no more. We go to Delev with the Helms the Navarr and all others who may come, guarding our own and striving forth to show the virtue of our shared Empire. Be Vigilant against peril, loyal to our kin, and courageous against death. End this in our people's name.
Jaromir Ostrovyn Kostka, General of the Northern EagleCousins. We stand face to face with extinction incarnate - for Cold Sun threatens our homes, laps at our walls and dims our hearths. No more! Fight as the boar does - with great force and even deadlier aim. We send Kalina Jadwigowna Piosnkowa Prochnost with 50 doses of liao to bolster the fighting spirit of the Nation. They have entered our Homes, crossed upon our thresholds. - now show them what it means to grant an enemy Sack and Sword!
Mandate, Varushkan National AssemblyThe Hearths of Varushka are being extinguished. Our people call for aid and we shall answer. We march to Duzekani to eradicate the Cold Sun. Our enemies lack fortitude, they are brittle and will break before our merciless onslaught. Show Karov the strength of our loyalty. Warriors in arms, family in hearts
Alderei the Fair, General of the Iron HelmsThorns of the quiet step we march to Karov to destroy our newest enemies the Cold Sun. We fight alongside the armies of Varushka, show them the efficiacy of our blades and spears. The Empire fights it's threats together. The cold sun scions must be dealt with, whatever it takes!
Farenthar Shattersong, General of the Quiet StepFor the first time, the Blade of Skies faces true opposition. For the first time, they fight trained soldiers rather than desperate defenders of vale and village. For the first time, their lines falter. The two forces retreat toward one another, but it is clear that the dreadful discipline that unites them fractures and frays in the face of Varushka and Navarr. They breach the eastern gate of Delev – the Weirwater Gate – taking the watchtowers and starting to spill into the town itself. The Imperial soldiers give them little chance to kill the folk sheltering within, however. Unrelenting hammer blows rain down on the scions. Navarr skrimishers and Varushkan hunters quickly gain access to the town through the northern and south-western gates, and the fighting spreads through the streets of Delev as they drive the invading heralds back towards the main Imperial force.
At the last, with little chance to escape, the grand archon gathers its lieutenants around it, in the very mouth of the Weirwater Gate. Sensing, perhaps, that the end is inevitable, it begins to invoke the full fury of the Cold Sun. A hail of missiles, black-feathered Varushkan shafts and barbed Navarr arrows, rains down on the gate but for a moment it seems the rain of death will not be sufficient.
A second sun rises over eastern Delev, a sphere of blinding blue-white light that begins to ascend towards the heavens, bleaching everything to monochromatic shades... and then it ruptures, bursts apart in a crushing wave of force that throws everyone within a hundred yards to the ground, stunned, deafened, blinded, heads ringing, unclear what horror they might see when they open their eyes.
If the grand archon had been able to complete its invocation, then it might have scythed through half of Delev, leaving nothing but ruins and ash. Without the Imperial soldiers, it's likely the entire town would have simpy been erased from the map, like Olvanshka and Bugakov before it. But the armies of Varushka and Navarr came, and they broke the scions, and Delev still stands.
With that dolorous blow, the Blade of Skies falls apart. The grand archon is no more, and those who might have followed it in holding the forces of Cold Sun together were destroyed along with it. The remaining scions scatter, breaking down into smaller groups. Many are easy prey for the Iron Helms and the Quiet Step, and over the next few months they are hunted through southern Karov and ended by the Navarr, and the Varushkans, and the heroes who fought alongside them. A few remain, however. They are not sufficient to offer a threat to armies, and most of the best-defended vales will be able to hold their own against them, but they are still a threat.
There is however no sign of the bees returning to Duzekani. As the first Spring flowers start to open, as the heralds of Prosperity emerge in Skoremujac and Kamienczka, and across the rest of Varushka, the meadows and woodlands of Duzekani remain ominously silent. The real fear is that the remaining scions might locate and conquer a powerful regio aligned to the Day realm, and the whole cycle of destruction begin again... but Varushka is no stranger to fear, or to unnatural threats that gather in the dark woods and the haunted hills.
Game Information : Blade of Skies
Duzekani has gained the sun burned quality. The destruction of Olvanshka, Bulgakov, and a dozen other vales and villages, has permanently scarred the land with circles of fused black glass. These areas are dangerous to approach, potentially inflicting a slow and painful death on anyone who approaches them. It might be possible to remove these scars, but at the moment it's not clear how – sending labourers to clear them seems most likely to simply kill the labourers rather than achieve anything meaningful. It is worth noting however that this glass is apparently formed from supernatural forces brought to bear on the dark soil of Varushka - apart from its mirror sheen and regular shape it bears some similiarity to fulgurite - and is nothing like the volcanic material that forms the Black Plateau in Spiral.
The Battle of the Weirwater Gate has ended the threat to Delev, which is good news for the Northern trade network. All ministries, including that of the Bargainer of the Iron Tower, have been restored to their normal states.
Participation : Blade of Skies
If your military unit was assigned to support one of the three Imperial armies fighting in Karov this season (Northern Eagle, Iron Helms, Quiet Step), you may have been present at the Battle of the Weirwater Gate. When the grand archon of the Blade of Skies was destroyed, the energies unleashed hammered everyone nearby. If you wish you may email plot with your CID before the 30th of May and ask for a lingering traumatic wound to be included in your pack. This will represent either lasting damage to sight or hearing, or injuries inflicted by the unravelling Day magic. While they will be treatable, if they are not healed by the end of the event the effects of some of these injuries might prove fatal.
Still Walkers
The first anyone knows that the heralds of Cold Sun are in Skarsind is when they destroy the newly established Illarawm village at Westgarden in Southpine. Two hundred orcs, survivors of the Druj, people who thought themselves safe at last, snuffed out by merciless emissaries of destruction emerging without warning from the woods north of Torfast. The Illarawm fight valiantly, desperately, but they cannot hold back the scions of Cold Sun. Westgarden burns to ash, its people with it. There are survivors, messengers who reach the nearby farmsteads and villages, spreading word that the forces of oblivion are loose in Skarsind.
There's no doubt these are the Still Walkers; the scions are battered, but not beaten. They disappeared from Hercynia, and apparently reappeared in the isolated woodlands of Southpine where they regrouped and replenished their strength before returning to their wicked crusade against all living things. While they may have been forced to flee, their rout at the hands of the Black Thorns has done nothing to weaken their crazed zeal, to dampen their desire to destroy in the name of their dreadful master.
Even before the Illarawm settled here, Southpine was one of the most populous regions of Skarsind. Both the Winterfolk and the Imperial Orcs were drawn to the open farmland here. The town of Torfast has long been a major settlement in the alpine wildlands, and now stands as a lynchpin in the northern trade network, bringing greater prosperity to the region, the territory, and the Imperial Orcs as a whole. It represents a rich hunting ground for the scions.
The orcs do not submit easily. As soon as the threat in their midst is recognised, they begin to fight. Nearby settlements join together to take up arms against the invaders. There's never any question as to whether a fellow orc will find sanctuary when they flee the Cold Sun; when enough refugees come together in one place they stop running and turn on the scions matching their lust for destruction with the fury of the orcs. Many begin to gather at the Ossuary Temple of the Illarawm; this is where the soldiers marching from the Will establish their base-camp as well, before spreading out through the region to reinforce the threatened villages. Others make their way to Torfast, where merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers from across the north have begun to erect makeshift defences against the inevitable attack of the scions.
At first it seems the defenders and the unnatural invaders are reasonably evenly matched. But while the Still Walkers are weakened, the orcs are on the back foot from the start. People die, farms burn, and while their advance is by no means swift, it seems inevitable that the Cold Sun will eventually breach the defences of the ossuary or of Torfast and inflict punishing losses on the orcs.
Legionairres of the Summer Storm! Heralds! We have fought in Skallahn and found a new Ancestor. Now the Cold Sun have arrived in Skarsind. We will Cut them Down! Showing loyalty to our kin and being wise, courageous and Vigilant in your fighing. They shall not win. We will prevail!
Irontide Skorr, General of the Summer StormThen the Summer Storm arrive, erupting from the woods of Summersend like a comet. The army has had a long march from Skallahn, the destruction of Pakaanan's Pass forcing them to march through the woods of Hercynia. They smash into the invading heralds, a barrage of focused and sustained attacks against their enemies, giving them little time to recover from the surprise of encountering an entire Imperial Orcs army. Many of the warriors have the voice of the unknown ancestor echoing furiously in their ears, driving them to protect their family, to bring down unrelenting vengeance on anyone who threatens them. They are accompanied by some six thousand soldiers of independent warbands representing every nation save the Brass Coast (who have troubles of their own), and by an entire cohort of scarlet armoured knights. The emissaries of the Fields of Glory are powerfully built, leonine figures with manes of blazing gold and mighty two-handed swords who almost match the Imperial Orcs' fury at the scions of Cold Sun.
After the first few engagements, the scions begin to rally. They possess a supernatural ability to coordinate over distance, to spot openings in their enemies' strategies. Yet for all their insight they struggle to exploit the flaws in the orcs' battle plan; there are only so many ways to respond to an unrelenting assault striking from all directions at once. The scions are driven back eastward toward Varushka step by step. Then, when it seems that victory is assured, the Still Walkers attempt to flee once again.
Bowing before the unwavering pressure of the Summer Storm, the soldiers of oblivion gather in the woods north-east of Torfast. As the sun falls behind the western mountains, the unnatural glow begins amid the trees, as the heralds begin whatever ceremony it is that allows them to travel as light. When they faced the Black Thorns, when they quit Hercynia, they still had perhaps two thirds of their strength remaining. Even then they were only just able to enact their escape, and lost many of their number trying to delay the Navarr. After a further season of fighting against a much larger force, they are weakened to the point that they cannot hope to hold their perimeter against the orcs and their allies.
As night gathers in, the glow gets brighter and brighter and then... at the last moment the orcs breach the defences. The grand archon is brought down by a mighty blow, and the energy the scions have been gathering unravels and bursts outward with a thunderous CRACK that bleaches all colour from the trees, and inflicts terrible injuries on those still fighting the soldiers of Cold Sun. Every warrior is hurled off their feet, but in the wake of that devastating dolorous blow comes a terrible rising cry from hundreds of throats. The last scions of Cold Sun are being torn apart, bursting into streamers of glowing light that fragment and fall to pieces.
Many of those present at the last battle against the Still Walkers are still marked by their explosive end. Most will recover - even egregiously broken limbs and the terrible burns inflicted at the climax of the scions failed escape can be treated by the physick or the healer after all. Those who fought to defend Skarsind will find no lack of grateful orcs prepared to help them recover from their injuries. A small number, however, have been more seriously injured by the unravelling magic of the Day realm, permanently deafened, their vision burned out, their bodies blasted and broken.
But this time, the Still Walkers have not escaped, and the threat of Cold Sun has been ended here - for the moment at least.
Game Information : Still Walkers
The Still Walkers inflicted some damage in Southpine, with a number of farmsteads and smaller villages destroyed. fortunately, due to the swift and unrelenting response of the Summer Storm, the death toll has amounted to barely two hundred orcs lost.
The woods where the final battle took place have been permanently marked by the destruction of the Still Walkers; the trees have all been killed but in the process have been transmuted into something resembling bleached stone that glows with an unsettling illumination at night. Already dubbed the White Wood by the people of Torfast, the orcs of Southpine have surrounded the area with boundary markers that both warn the curious away, and remember those warriors - both orc and human - who fell fighting the Still Walkers.
Participation : Still Walkers
If your military unit was assigned to support the Summer Storm in Skarsind this season, you may have been present at the final fight against the grand archon of the Still Walkers. If you wish you may email plot with your CID before the 30th of May and ask for a lingering traumatic wound to be included in your pack. This will represent either lingering damage to sight or hearing, or injuries inflicted by the unravelling Day magic. While they will be treatable, if they are not healed by the end of the event the effects of some of these injuries might prove fatal.
Anyone who fought in Skarsind this season is free to phys-rep burns from the unravelling Day magic, even if their military unit did not accompany the Summer Storm. Such wounds can be healed normally with time, or the attention of a physick.
Exigent Span
Before they could destroy the Sovevann, the Exigent Span were defeated by the champions of Wintermark. They were defeated, and their numbers thinned, but they were not destroyed. Pushed back to Skymark, they quickly rally their forces, regroup, and change their deployment to better meet the threat of those who fight by beacons light. Fears grow that they intend another assault on the ancient city on the lakes of the Sovevann, or another attack on the raven seers at Ishal... but when they begin moving it is to march north, not south or west.
North, away from the Sovevann. North toward the Rikkivesi, that great cold lake that lies along the border between Kallavesa and Sermersuaq. At first their target is not clear, but as the days fall away it becomes more and more obvious that they are flying like an arrow towards the south-eastern lake, to where the Hyljehal is moored on the shores of the Rikkivesi, the symbol of communion between the folk of Wintermark and the seal-shifters of the northern waters.
This winter will be harsh, and the whole of Wintermark faces terrible threats from the monsters of Blood-on-the-Snow, the beasts of Hayaak, and the scions of Cold Sun. We must remain vigilant, and we must fight these threats wherever we can. We are scions sired by a storm and shall weather whatever winter brings. We send Ironvigil Rikke the Relentless with 75 doses of liao to urge the people of Wintermark to look after each other, and to protect our people, no matter what the Winter brings.
Mandate, Wintermark National AssemblyAs before, their passage is seared with their cold effulgence. If there was any hope that the destruction of the grand archon's strange stone might have robbed them of their ruinous power, it is quickly dashed. The blue-white radiance of Cold Sun wrapped around the army like an earthbound borealis sears the marshes and the grasses where they pass, purging the life from pond, stream, and lake alike. In a way, their single-mindedness is a blessing of a kind. They burn a line across Skymark; if they were less focused then they might have inflicted terrible damage on the farmlands here. Brought ruin to a dozen or more halls and farmsteads along their route. As it is, their direct path passes mercifully few settlements, and thanks to the words of the Wintermark priests, those settlements are almost uniformly abandoned.
While the scions march, the halls of Skymark throw open their doors to their neighbours, offering sanctuary and succour to those who find themselves in the path of the Cold Sun's terrible approach. Scouts and hunters warn those along the route to take shelter, and the people listen. There is no cowardice in retreating before two thousand deadly heralds of the Day realm; the massed heroes of Kallavesa were barely able to stymie their design at Rundahl what hope for a few hundred warriors have? In the end, when the tally is made, it becomes clear that barely a handful of the most unfortunate have been cut down by the scythe of Cold Sun – that hundreds of people are able to avoid death thanks to the foresight of the Witnermark assembly.
Of course, while the halls of Skymark are able to flee Cold Sun's march, the defenders of Hyljehal have no such luxury. A feat of remarkable engineering, the meeting place between Winterfolk and hylje is built on the waters of the Rikkivesi itself. Reinforced with runes, a hall given over to diplomacy and trade flats on the lake, moored near the southern shore. Preparations begin to try and move the hall, but it is no simple undertaking. One mistake, and the weight of the hall will cause the raft to collapse, doing Cold Sun's work for it. It becomes clearer and clearer that there is no chance that the Hyljehal will be able to move before the scions reach the Rikkivesi.
There are defenders of course – mostly Suaq hunters and a scattering of Kallavesi warriors and Steinr mediators. They are joined by a contingent of hylje who rise out of the water as the first touch of Cold Sun's aurora becomes visible on the horizon. They wear their human skins, and wield the steel spears and fine leather armour they have traded with their human neighbours. They intend to fight, and almost certainly die, alongside their mortal siblings in service of the dream of unity between their two peoples.
On a cold Winter morning, with ice reaching out across the waters from the cold shore of Skymark into the Rikkivesi, with the sun dimmed by clouds heavy with snow, the Exigent Span reach the shores of the lake. Thousands of scions wreathed in their blue-white aura, swords and spears and shields and helms flickering with the killing light of the Cold Sun, come to the Hyljehal.
(Do you hear that? The sound of bones dancing, rattling. Runes falling. Here is Ull, the Road, the rune of Chance which may mark weal or woe. Here is Gralm, which is the Crossroads of destiny, the tangled skein. Here is the rune we cannot see, that means everything and nothing. A delay here, a mischance there, and events unfold one way. A fragment of good fortune, a moment of foresight, and they unfold the other.)
My Bloodcloaks, the baying heralds of the false oblivion skulk amongst our hearths and homes. Death stalks the Empire but you and I are no strangers to death. We defy her in the field hospitals, meet her blade to blade on countless frontlines. When it comes time to greet her we will go with pride in our hearts and a battle cry joyous on our lips. Kali Keen eye Champion of Pride marches with us. Follow his inspiration. Raise every voice in song, strike up the drums in our song of heroes. Kalavessa awaits.
Lofyn Blood-cloak, General of the BloodcloaksWhere whirls the wicked windblow, a war horn’s mournful wail? Exigent Span, a false named foe, step behind bannered sun. Pale killers with no kith, no kin, a forsworn evil gale. The Day burned march thus end, their victory undone! Whence come the Green Shield army, for love of hearth and home, Song in heart and sword in hand, heroic souls fight free. Now! Full charge into them! Let’s see if death can die! Witness us, heralds of Janon, Shadowed Fire, walk with me…
Iron Osric, General of the Green ShieldThe arrows start to fly as the first scion sets one booted foot into the cold waters of the Rikkivesi and the doomed, tragic Battle of the Hyljehal commences.... and then... horns.
Dozens of horns braying in the morning sun; a roar like a hurricane voices by thousands of throats simultaneously. A forest of spears raised in the morning sun. Not from the scions, not from the heralds of Cold Sun, but from the warriors arrayed on the ridge behind them.
What the defenders do not know, neither human nor hylje, is that the scions do not march for a single purpose. Their strategy is two-fold. They come to destroy the Hyljehal, that much is true... but they are also fleeing their own destruction, For the last week, they have marched without pause north and east across Skymark to avoid the destiny that follows in their wake like the worst storm of winter.
For the last week, the Bloodcloaks and the Green Shield and ten thousand warriors from warbands across the Empire, and nearly an entire army of the elfin warriors of the Fields of Glory, and two dozen heralds of the Shadowed Flame have been gaining on them. A hammer, falling in slow motion, against which they cannot hope to endure. Their only aim, these zealous warriors of the Day realm, is to bring destruction, to attack this symbol of something they ultimately cannot really understand, and then to be extinguished. They have one chance to burn the Hyljehal, and then they will be done.
They will never get their chance. With almost superhuman endurance, the Bloodcloaks and the Green Shield have caught up with the Exigent Span. The 'Shields pour down the ridge in a triumphant charge that will not stop or even slow until it reaches the waters of the RIkkivesi, and the 'Cloaks are close behind. The armies of Wintermark and their allies crash into the Exigent Span like a smith's hammer smashes down on an egg. The first line of scions is annihilated in that charge, and then the battle begins in earnest.
Blind zeal drives the scions. The heralds still try to achieve their goal, to destroy the Hyljehal, to burn it with their cold fire, but they are given no chance. The fighting is over before the sun reaches the highest point. The defenders of the Hyljehal look out across waters, across a cloud-dimmed shore. As the pale sun pulls free of the heavy clouds, as the snow starts to fall, a moment of silence falls across the shores of the Rikkivesi. There are no more scions. There are only humans, orcs, and hylje as the ice begins to melt.
The victory has not been without cost. The scions fought desperately to the last, but they were overwhelmed. The Hyljehal has suffered some minor damage – nothing that the willing labour of human, orc, and hylje cannot repair. If they thought to break the alliance between the people of the land and the folk of the lakes, they have failed and worse than failed, The bond between the four peoples that call Wintermark their home has been forged in the fire of the Cold Sun, stronger than ever before.
But the horns that sound as the sun falls in the west give voice to sorrow, as much as triumph. Some two hundred warriors of Wintermark have fallen – brave to the last, they should sleep beside their ancestors in Sovevann. They fell, but there is no victory in their falling only a terrible grief. Those who die fighting Cold Sun rarely leave behind a body to be interred in the marshes and the lakes. The sun is bright, but there are ashes on the wind.
Game Information: Exigent Span
The Exigent Span have been annihilated by the warriors of Wintermark and their allies. The Hyljehal has taken minor damage, but it will be repaired by the hylje and their allies before the end of the Spring Equinox. There has been minimal loss of life among the people of Kallavesa - the mandate enacted by Ironvigil Rikke the Relentless has ensured that the northern halls granted succor and sanctuary to their neighbours despite the harsh Winter, and only the most unfortunate were caught in the march of the scions towards the Rikkivesi.
Participation : Exigent Span
Any character whose military unit was assigned to fight alongside the Green Shield this downtime may choose to have been impacted by the experience of engaging in a triumphant charge alongside heralds of both Eleonaris and Janon. If you possess hero points, then once during the coming event you may choose to gain an additional temporary hero point which, once spent, is permanently gone. It will have faded entirely by the end of the Spring Equinox regardless. While you have this temporary hero point you also experience a roleplaying effect: you feel an urge to bring overwhelming force to bear against any threat, to overcome any challenge with absolute commiment of every resource at your disposal. It's easy and satisfying to dismiss those who urge restraint or caution as fools. This effect is particularly impactful if you have the naga or changeling lineage.
Fire Beacon
The scions of Cold Sun that compose the army of the Fire Beacon burn with an unquenchale flame, a cold blue light that emanates from each of their archons, and leaves only ruin. Plants, beasts, even buildings, all burn before the coming of the Fire Beacon. At night the flame is visible across half of Segura, overwhelming starlight and moonlight with its azure glow. In the wake of Cold Sun's forces, fingers of black smoke stretch up towards the sky, marking the settlements, caravans, and farms that have been burnt to ash by their wickedness. Still, there is some comfort perhaps in the knowledge that while buildings burn, the people have mostly fled to the safety of eastern Segura. The Fire Beacon brings not only the threat of immolation; something in it threatens to burn the very soul itself. Those exposed to the steady, blue light find the flame of hope flickering in their breast, threatening to be overwhelmed by a grim despondency that whispers of inevitable defeat.
At first, as they came down from the hills of Burnish, the Fire Beacon sought to burn the Sunsong Ranch. The Burning Falcon and the Fist of the Mountains dealt with that. In pitched battle, they drove the Fire Beacons from the field, forcing the scions to retreat and regroup.
The Falcon is needed elsewhere, marching east and south within days of the Winter Solstice. It falls to the Winterfolk of the Fist of the Mountains to finish what has begun here. At first it seems the Fire Beacon mean to renew their effort to burn the Sunsong Ranch – for many Freeborn it is a symbol of defiance against any who would threaten them and Cold Sun hates symbols as much as it hates living things.
Defend. Distract. Destroy.
Kindra Surefoot, General of the Fist of the Mountains
Yet the attack against the Ranch is a feint, intended to occupy the defenders of Segura while the main bulk of the Fire Beacon drives south and east into the Sobral Grasses. Toward the towns of Anozel and Sobral and the hundreds of Freeborn citizens sheltering there. The two towns are tied by bonds of tradition and by a straight road that allowed their people to support one another through times of difficulty, and enabled trade in times of prosperity. They might also share each others' fate – their walls might be sufficient to hold off raiders but they will do little against the living conflagration that is the heart of the Fire Beacon.
Masterfully done as it is, coordinated through the supernatural clarity that underlies the maneuvers of the Cold Sun's armies, this feint does not deceive the Fist of the Mountains. The seers, mystics, and diviners of Wintermark are too canny to be taken in by such a maneuver. A small force remains to deal with the attack on the Sunsong Ranch, and when the Fire Beacon reaches Sobral, there are nearly five thousand Winterfolk waiting to meet them.
The scions do not deviate from their goal. They launch an attack against Sobral, and the Winterfolk defenders, despite being outnumbered more than three-to-one. This is not an attack born of despair; far from it. As they draw closer to the walls, the aura that surrounds the archons of the army begins to intensify. The grass catches almost immediately, and a sheet of flame sweeps across towards the town ahead of the army, a barrier of shimmering air and thick smoke that makes it all but impossible for the defenders to strike the attackers with missile weapons.
The low walls of Sobral begin to buckle; the supernatural heat causes stone to crack and wood to smoke and metal to glow with the dull fire of embers. Again, though, the farsighted Fist of the Mountains have laid a contingency. Every drop of liquid in Sobral has been gathered in buckets and skins and basins; barrels of barely potable water have been brought from Anozel. At first the Freeborn of Sobral are skepitcal, but when the walls and the buildings near them begin to steam they are ready. They wrap themselves in dampened blankets and douse the walls and the roofs of their homes, buying precious time for the Fist of the Mountains to engage the scions and push them back.
As the scions push forward, they trigger the trap the Fist of the Mountains has laid from them. From covered pits to the north-west of the town erupt nearly a thousand Suaq and Steinr warriors. The shallow trenches in which they lie have been dug in one desperate night as the Fire Beacon approach, covered by sheets and curtains scattered with soil. Against a Jotun army, it is doubtful such a stratagem would have been effective, but the Fire Beacon are single-minded, focused on their objective, and the ruse holds for just long enough to allow the ambushers to fall on the less-defended rear of the scions force.
The fighting is savage, with the Winterfolk forced to do battle amid ashes and fire and choking smoke. Yet they are resolute; they give no ground and accept no defeat. Warriors who fall before the blades or the unnatural flames are burned almost immediately to ash – but there is always another ready to step into their place, another axe ready to chop down any scion that lets its guard down.
The Battle of Sobral rages for three hours and then, without any sign visibile to the defenders, the Fire Beacon stop attacking and fall back away from the walls. All save the archons – a dozen scions in whose hearts burn the embers of Cold Sun's fire. They are the source and the forge of the eternal's flaming power, and it is around them that it is strongest. They have remained behind the lines for now, but with the Winterfolk victory in sight, they make one final attempt to achieve their goal. The ground around them starts to crack, hardening like clay in a kiln, as the radiance that surrounds them becomes almost too bright to look on.
One last stratagem... and again the mystics of Kallavesa have an answer. They have observed carefully every engagement with the Cold Sun and they have read the omens whispered by the strange birds of the far, dry southern grasslands. Thirty slingers, a mix of Winterfolk hunters and Freeborn shepherds, scramble down the cracked walls of Sobral, their simple leather thongs already swinging. As the light around the scions of Cold Sun becomes too bright to look at, they launch missiles toward the archons. Flasks of oil, and balls of ox dung. Some fall short but those that hit instantly ignite. The oil causes the archons to immolate themselves while the balls of dung catch fire and stick to armour and skin alike. Another rain of missiles, and another. As the scions realise what has happened they move to try and shield their archons but when they pass in front of them they are caught in the same withering flame the fire beacon tries to unleash, and even they cannot withstand that heat for more than a few moments.
The living beacons start to flicker and die as the archons destroy themselves with their own unnatural flame. The Fire Beacon falters, and the Winterfolk burst from the walls of Sobral and fall on them like eagles, cutting through them like a sickle through old dry stalks. The loss of their commander and captains throws the army into dissaray, but while many fall to the weapons of Witnermark, many manage to flee the battlefield in dissaray.
And when the battle is done, with the last few scions fleeing north and east, easy prey for the Freeborn and the hunters of Wintermark, the seers and mystics examine the circles of cracked, burned ground where the dozen archons fell, burned alive by their own hand, and consider the lesson it offers them.
Game Information : Fire Beacon
The Fire Beacon has disbanded, although a number of the scions remain in Segura and potentially still pose a threat. They are however no longer able to function as an army and with the loss of their archons, their ability to immolate plants, animals, and structures has been lost. If they can gain access to a powerful Day regio they may be able to regroup, but for the moment they are in complete disarray. It seems that while the heralds were immune to the immediate effects of their own radiance, they were not invulnerable to the purely mundane flames that radiance kindled – something the far sighted Fist of the Mountains were able to exploit in Sobral and that may be of use to any other Imperial forces that need to deal with scions with similar powers in the future.
The Fist of the Mountains has suffered some casualites, and almost all of its soldiers have received serious burns that require treatment from a physick. Fortunately, with the scions on the run, there is ample time to patch up the injured warriors. Any player who supported the Fist of the Mountains this season is encouraged to consider physrepping burn or burn-scars to represent their exposure to the supernatural flame the army wielded.
The destructive nature of the Fire Beacon, and the blue flames that surrounded them, would have meant that any opposing campaign army or fortification that took casualties from them would break if their military strength fell below 1,500 (or 2,250 if they are large). That threat is also gone with the destruction of the army's archons.
Empty Hands
The Empty Hands remain in Miaren. Wherever they pass, their channellers and archons evoke a terrible blue-green radiance that has a dreadful calcifying effect on living plants, especially trees. During the Winter Solstice, they sought to unleash this terrible radiance across the whole territory, but the heroes of Anvil were able to use the Sentinel Gate to bring their twisted scheme to an abrupt end. Unfortunately, while they might have been prevented from permanently cursing the entirety of Miaren, the Empty Hands continue to bring their awful blight to the beautiful trees wherever they pass. Across Oakways in particular, healthy orchards and woodlands have been twisted into a substance part-way between bone and soft stone, all wholesomeness leeched from the soil leaving it as naught more than poisoned chalky sand.
Following their initial appearance, the army of scions focused their attention on Oakways but also launched assaults into Holtford, Greenfalls and Serenael itself. This pattern resumes after the Winter Solstice, with only Goldglades being spared. Imperial magicians have wound a ward of Spring magic around that forested region, one that seems not only to deter the scions from attacking the steadings there, or attempting another attack on the Pool of Silver Clouds, but which also protects the trees from the touch of the blue-green ossification.
Three weeks after the Solstice, the Empty Hands cease their seemingly random attacks. The main body of the army in Oakways begins to move north and east, while the raiding parties attacking Holtways and Greenfalls race to meet them. They take to the Blood Red Roads, moving quickly toward the heart of Miaren - towards the Golden Trees of Seren and the city itself. There are few warriors left to stop them; those who have fought and failed to stem the tide of scions have simply died. The rest have gathered at Seren, ready to pay whatever price is asked to protect the city.
Siblings, sisters, brothers. For a season we returned home to shield Bastion from the depredations of Cold Sun, choosing to lead by example and stand alone, so the other nation's armies might tend to the matters that command their hearts above all else. Backed by our national assembly, we stood firm in our faith that our act of Virtue would Inspire! And it has! As you read my orders the Gryphon's Pride of Dawn and the Black Thorns of Navarr march to Bastion to defend the Empire's Heat of the way and obliterate the cold sun Scions. As other nations take their pilgrimage to Bastion, I call on you to march north to Miaren. We step forward with Courage and Loyalty in the memory of Asher and Ruth carrying miracles and icons hallowed with true Liao to defend Navarr and bring our virtuous farvour to the scions of cold sun. We do not need to fear for the saftey of Bastion for while we all take pride and wish to protect our nations we affirm the route to Salvation of all peoples is under the banner of this, our shared Empire
Asenath, General of the Granite PillarSiblings, sisters, brothers. Today we march to Miaren in Navarr to protect our friends from the depredations of the cold sun scions. Have courage and faith while we protect Navarr, Navarr and Dawn will protect Bastion! For while we all take pride and wish to protect our own nations we affirm the route to salvation of all peoples is under the banner of this, our shared Empire.!
Jack Flint, General of the Valiant PegasusThey aren't alone. When the Empty Hands arrive at the city, they find two Imperial armies waiting for them. Highguard has come to defend its sibling in their hour of need. The Granite Pillar and the Valiant Pegasus hold the road to Seren, along with three-and-a-half thousand troops drawn from warbands across Dawn, Highguard, Urizen, and of course Navarr. A scattering of orcs help garrison the defences of the city, fighting alongside their Navarr neighbours to keep the scions from harming the weirwood grove they cherish. The grey banners of Highguard flutter before the city, the great white,green, and red thorn tree of Navarr billowing from the towers of Seren behind.
Highguard engages immediately; they will bring Virtue to the scions, one way or another. The two armies take every opportunity to engage with the Empty Hands, entirely focused on the goal of cutting the enemy army to ribbons before it can cause further harm to the people of the Empire. No sacrifice is too great; soldiers fall before the blades of the scions but they rise again ready to keep fighting against these most unnatural invaders. No scion will be permitted to set foot in Seren, to threaten the lives of the Empire's citizens.
The Empty Hands are grievously outnumbered, but their zeal is almost a match for the fervor of the Highborn soldiers. Shadows and light - the stark black, grey, and gold of the Highborn against the sickening blue-green radiance of the Cold Sun. Both sides burn with the fire of their belief - the Highborn in their commitment to Virtue and their Empire, the scions in their absolute dedication to the cause of oblivion. The Highborn fight knowing that their own people are protected by Dawn, and by Navarr in turn. The scions fight knowing only that they must destroy everything the Empire holds dear.
The scions faith falters first. Their numbers winnowed by the steel of Highguard, they are forced to withdraw, to fall back along the road towards Oakways. There's no question that Highguard will follow, pressing their attack even as the Empty Hands try to regroup. The scions do not rout, or flee despite their terrible losses; their supernatural discipline allows them to shift from attack to defence almost effortlessly. Shields replace swords, and the power of their channelers is brought to bear to ensure that any herald who is not leveled by a mortal blow rises to keep fighting. Yet there is no question who is the victor; the scions have been denied their goal, denied their ambition to burn Seren, to destroy the Golden Trees, to taint the woods of Serenael with their malignancy.
A full half of the Empty Hands have been destroyed, but they do not falter in their hateful task. They do not retreat back into Oakways however; instead they push into Greenfalls, toward Rhonwen's Falls, intensifying the corrupting effect of their baleful radiance on the trees. Highguard follows, a series of running battles taking place over the next several weeks, but as the Spring Equinox draws close the Empty Hands are drawing ominously close to Rhonwen's Fall and the scholars' steading on the banks of the Gancio.
Game Information: Empty Hands
Highborn armies have prevented the Empty Hands from destroying Seren, or threatening the Golden Trees. Their relentless attack against the scions also seems to have reduced the impact of their baleful radiance - while Oakways has been permanently corrupted, and there are trees all over Holtford, Greenfalls, and Serenael that bear the mark of the calcifying aura, no more regions have been transformed as the Spring Equinox approaches.
Winnowers
Blackthorns! We march to the heart of our faith to eradicate the Cold Sun. Burn our faith bright as we pilgrimage to undertake Overwhelming Assault to those who threaten the flame of our faith. Remember Isaella with courage. While we take pride in our nation we affirm the salvation of all peoples is under the banner of this our shared Empire.
Rhisiart Dancewalker, General of the Black ThornsPride we march to Bastion to destroy the cold sun that taint the territory. We do this with loyalty in our minds and courage in our hearts. We do this to help our cousins in Highguard to make clear they will never stand alone! While we take pride in our nation we affirm the route we must take to salvation of all peoples is under the banner of this, our shared Empire.
Archavion Wolfborne, General of the Gryphon's PrideThe Granite Pillar have left Bastion, marching to Miaren. In their place, the Black Thorns have come all the way from Hercynia, fresh from their defeat of the Still Walkers. They are joined by the Gryphon's Pride, and while the virtuous soldiers of Highguard take the battle to the Empty Hand, it falls to Navarr and Dawn to protect Bastion and the great dream of the Way being built at its heart.
As soon as they arrive, the Black Thorns launch an overwhelming assault against the scions who threaten the heart of the Imperial faith. Inspired by the example of Isaella, they are prepared to do whatever it takes to end the threat of the Winnowers. The Gryphon's Pride favour a more restrained strategy, supporting the Black Thorns but making their first priority the protection of the Highborn populace. The courage of the two armies is a powerful symbol to the folk of Bastion, a living embodiment of the strength of Loyalty, and the willingness of Imperial citizens to lay down their lives for one another.
The fighting is vicious; the Winnowers refuse to abandon their defensive position at the transformed White Tower and defend all approaches expertly. Their supernatural ability to strategise, to send and receive orders in the blink of an eye, helps them to repulse numerous assaults from the much larger Imperial force. At the same time they send out small raiding parties to attack nearby chapters. One makes a spirited attempt to destroy a caravan of white granite, bringing vital building materials from the League cities to aid in the completion of the Grand Endeavour.
For the most part, though, the two Imperial armies manage to keep the Winnowers contained in Sybella Cross. The cruel withering winds that surround them are much harder to restrain, however. Wherever a hundred or more scions are gathered together, a warm dry wind arises that always blows away from them. At the White Tower, there are several thousand heralds of oblivion, and the wind that rises from the brushes across the whole of Sybella Cross and beyond. It's touch kills wholesome plants and vegetation, turning them into a vile ash-like substance that both poisons the soil and helps to spread the withering taint when borne on the wind. It seems specifically virulent against the healing herbs that help preserve mortal lives. At night, gardens wrecked by the famine-wind are marked by a baleful blue-green glow until purified with fire or large amounts of clean water. Herb gardens in Sybella Cross, already suffering the touch of the foul wind, begin to falter. Yet the touch of this pestilent wind is not restricted to Sybella; herb gardens across Bastion begin to show marks of its vile touch as the Winter deepens. Even the stores of prepared herbs carried by apothecaries and physicks are not entirely spared from the malfeasance of the Winnowers' wind; too often the healers accompanying the Imperial armies find their herb pouches full of naught more than cursed dust when they reach for true vervain or marrowort.
Enough is enough. The Black Thorns rally the Gryphon's Pride and together they launch a full assault against the White Tower. The heavily-armoured Dawnish push forward, with the Navarr splitting into two flanking forces to attack from the north-west and south-east. Battle rages through the day, as the scions are slowly forced back by weight of bodies as much as anything else. The strategy is brutal, but effective. As dusk begins to gather, the fighting has pressed near to the foot of the unnatural fortification. With the sun setting, the entire tower begins to glow with a harsh blue-white light that sets sharp shadows falling away from it in all directions. The scions fight with renewed fervour, and it becomes clear to the Black Thorns at least that something is not right. There has been no sighting of an archon or a channeler for several hours. As the Imperial soldiers press closer to the tower the fear grows that the Winnowers Seek to echo the feat of the Still Walkers and flee the forces defending Bastion, to regroup and renew their attack elsewhere. A desperate charge is sounded, a renewed ferocity to the Imperial advance.
Yet it is not a plan of escape that the Winnowers are weaving. Every scion who is destroyed in the shadow of the White Tower is consumed by the blue-white radiance. At first, it's dismissed as just another peculiarity of these Winnowers, but as the Imperials gain ground it becomes more and more pronounced. Imperceptibly, as the Winnowers fall, the light around the tower grows brighter. The famine-wind has fallen silent; the air around the tower motionless, heavy with dread. Uncertainty grows, but the generals' orders are clear. The Winnowers must be destroyed. The light grows brighter, as bright as day, and when the moon rises its radiance is entirely washed out by the glow of the tower.
Then, the last defenders fall, the Black Thorns and the Gryphon's Pride push forward to assault the light-limned tower. Yet, before they can breach the defences, everything changes. The light at the top of the white tower becomes unendurably bright for a moment and then goes out, taking all the illumination with it. Between one heartbeat and the next the battlefield is plunged into darkness. Then, a soundless explosion, a sensation of a terrible pressure racing outward from the tower, followed by an awful, ear-tearing shriek of howling winds. The White Tower is almost immediately rendered invisible by a wall of spinning, tumbling dust and debris.
The howling hurricane is strong enough to lift the bodies of the fallen, setting them in a tumbling madcap dance around it as a column of spinning, shrieking wind rises up toward the heavens, a terrible gyre that holds all the malign potency of the famine-wind concentrated in one place. The forceful wind is impossible to breach; indeed those that get too close find their bodies failing them; the wall of wind bears the curse of Cold Sun that causes flesh to consume itself in creeping, unnatural fire.
Those close enough to see, in the moments just before the wind began, speak of scions within the tower bursting with light in a single instant, as if slain, though no warrior was close enough to threaten them. Reports begin to filter in of a small number of scions having retreated east and west, toward Woodbury and the Elms. While the attention of the Imperial forces was on the White Tower, perhaps as many as a hundred scions used their supernatural clarity to find routes that allowed them to avoid the cordon and go to ground. The Winnowers themselves are no more, though. The assault on the White Tower was successful; this howling, circling wind is the death throes of the scions. The Black Thorns and the Gryphon's Pride are victorious... but the malice of Cold Sun is not quite done with Bastion.
Two days after the final assault on the White Tower, an impromptu council of war-witches and vates gathers in Sybella Cross not far from the wind-and-debris shrouded tower. Over the shrieking of the wind, they share what they have observed and reach a horrified agreement. The winds are gaining speed, the gyre turning with increased force, reaching towards some unimaginable crescendo. When they reach their climax - and it seems inevitable that they will not do so within a handful of days - the vortex will shatter and send a hurricane of famine-wind across the whole of Bastion and perhaps even further afield. If that happens, the herb gardens of Highguard will be devastated... and there seems to be no easy way to breach the wall or stop what is going to happen without powerful magic that neither the Black Thorns nor the Gryphon's Pride can bring to bear.
Game Information : The Winnowers
The Black Thorns and the Gryphon's Pride have shattered the Winnowers, and the army has disbanded. A small number of scions have retreated into the woods east and west of Sybella Cross, but the army is no more. The gyre surrounding the White Tower is a major concern; if the magicians gathered there are correct it will rupture shortly after the Spring Equinox and send a greatly empowered famine-wind across Bastion. A conjunction of the Sentinel Gate has been identified that will potentially allow Imperial heroes to intercede in some way, but their success is by no means ensured.
Every herb garden in Bastion has produced 3 fewer true vervain and 1 fewer marrowort this season. In it's place, each character who owns such a herb garden receives a pouch of poisoned soil. This substance is infused with some of the power of the Winnowers and can be used as three crystals of mana in any Day magic ritual (much like a dose of vis). Unfortunately, anyone who uses a dose of the substance will become subject to VENOM at the completion of the ritual as the unwholesome power on the Winnowers corrupts their bodies.