The Battle of Tarithnesti - A Realization
05 Deepkolt 349 AC
PARNITHA'S COMMAND CENTER
Cedron steps into the role of administrator. He begins coordinating resources and responsibilities of units of healers, communications, field transport back into battle readiness. “There’s no time to waste. We must be prepared to stand strong!. Prepare the children and elders to be ready to take shelter!” He commands, having seen first hand the fury that can be unleashed by dragons.
Romulus nods, "They know what we can do now. They won't commit their full strength against us. They will probe, draw us out, and then strike elsewhere, knowing we can't be everywhere at once." The archmage walks over to Commander Parnitha's war table and looks at the map, looking for vulnerable spots. "And they will send dragons to everywhere we are not."
The elven warrior looks at the map as well, circles and dots show the locations of villages. Lines show the roads and trails that connect them.
"Supply depots, farmsteads without mages," she responds, voice grim, "They will burn our morale, not our men."
"They will strike in the half-light of dawn and twilight. When the sun rises to blind us or when it sets to conceal their approach."
She paces the room for a moment before turning to one of her sergeants, "We must provide them with targets of opportunity - targets that we choose."
Cedron thinks for a moment, “My thoughts exactly, Commander. If we are unable to be everywhere at once, then we must direct them to the places we can control. Do we have resources to send swift communications that do not utilize the main roads and evacuate as many outlying farmsteads as possible? Homes can be rebuilt.”
The commander answered without hesitation, "Yes." She turned to her nearest lieutenant. "Dispatch the Wildrunners. Forest routes only."
The officer saluted and left at a run.
Parnitha looked at the map for a moment and then pointed to several locations. These holdings will be evacuated. Our people can fall back to shelters here, here, and here." She glances up. "Caverns and stone hollows. Everything that cannot be carried on their backs is to be abandoned."
A sergeant hesitates, "But, Commander..."
She turns, "As our friend here has said, 'Homes can be rebuilt'. Possessions can be replaced. Lives cannot."
Romulus grinned. "When the Dragonarmies come, they will find empty homes. They will assume they choose poorly."
Commander Parnitha smiles. "And they will grow impatient for plunder and slaughter. Impatience that will lead to mistakes."
The officer saluted and left at a run.
Parnitha looked at the map for a moment and then pointed to several locations. These holdings will be evacuated. Our people can fall back to shelters here, here, and here." She glances up. "Caverns and stone hollows. Everything that cannot be carried on their backs is to be abandoned."
A sergeant hesitates, "But, Commander..."
She turns, "As our friend here has said, 'Homes can be rebuilt'. Possessions can be replaced. Lives cannot."
Romulus grinned. "When the Dragonarmies come, they will find empty homes. They will assume they choose poorly."
Commander Parnitha smiles. "And they will grow impatient for plunder and slaughter. Impatience that will lead to mistakes."
AT THE GOBLIN CAMP
Ra’ziir relays what he sees from the sky to Raven on the ground, via their mind link, “We’ve got dragon spoor nearby… Approximately one hundred feet from your position, due north… Could be a trap, but I’m going to make another pass to get a better look.”
Ra’ziir turns Redclaw back toward the site, and when it comes into view, they dive down toward the forest floor, pull up and cover the length of the clearing, about 20’ off the deck… searching for any additional signs of dragons or other hidden enemies.
When Ra'ziir reaches the north of the camp, he circles, looking for foes. Whoever was here is long gone. Two sets of footprints lead from the bisected hobgoblin to the command tent and back. Tracks in the snow indicate that one of the figures would have been close to seven feet tall. There are disturbed patches of snow that show the dragon's tail swished back and forth, likely out of impatience or boredom.
Raven crouches beside what is left of the body, "The price of failure in the Dragonarmies is high."
Eilra takes a deep breath, "Not just high, immediate." She smooths her jacket, "A dragon doesn't come to discipline a failed officer. It comes to deliver judgment.
Raven nudges the half of a hobgoblin with his toe and looks at the tracks again. "This one was summoned, or came running to beg forgiveness."
She shakes her head, "He didn't get it." She turns toward the ransacked command tent. "It appears that in the Dragonarmies, incompetence is punished and failure is burned away. This? This is a lesson for the few goblins who escaped destruction at the chokepoint."
Raven gestures for her to walk back to the tent with him. Together, they comb through everything that remains to see if they can determine what happened here. "Someone higher in the chain has assumed direct command. Maps gone, orders gone, battle standards removed. They were collected. Deliberately."
He closes his eyes and concentrates on his mindlink to Ra'ziir, he passes along his observations. "A dragon does not discipline a mere captain, not like this. A subordinate failed badly enough for a superior to come here personally. Perhaps that Flight Marshall Chomax? The one who thought to accept Speaker Caledon's surrender after the first attack?"
Eilra nods, "Makes sense. He has decided to shorten the leash." She folds her arms across her chest. "Field autonomy revoked - direct oversight instead."
Raven passes that along as well. "If a dragon was the messenger, the master is someone with the authority to command it. They will not repeat the mistakes they made today. Let us head back and tell the others what we found."
Ra’ziir relays what he sees from the sky to Raven on the ground, via their mind link, “We’ve got dragon spoor nearby… Approximately one hundred feet from your position, due north… Could be a trap, but I’m going to make another pass to get a better look.”
Ra’ziir turns Redclaw back toward the site, and when it comes into view, they dive down toward the forest floor, pull up and cover the length of the clearing, about 20’ off the deck… searching for any additional signs of dragons or other hidden enemies.
When Ra'ziir reaches the north of the camp, he circles, looking for foes. Whoever was here is long gone. Two sets of footprints lead from the bisected hobgoblin to the command tent and back. Tracks in the snow indicate that one of the figures would have been close to seven feet tall. There are disturbed patches of snow that show the dragon's tail swished back and forth, likely out of impatience or boredom.
Raven crouches beside what is left of the body, "The price of failure in the Dragonarmies is high."
Eilra takes a deep breath, "Not just high, immediate." She smooths her jacket, "A dragon doesn't come to discipline a failed officer. It comes to deliver judgment.
Raven nudges the half of a hobgoblin with his toe and looks at the tracks again. "This one was summoned, or came running to beg forgiveness."
She shakes her head, "He didn't get it." She turns toward the ransacked command tent. "It appears that in the Dragonarmies, incompetence is punished and failure is burned away. This? This is a lesson for the few goblins who escaped destruction at the chokepoint."
Raven gestures for her to walk back to the tent with him. Together, they comb through everything that remains to see if they can determine what happened here. "Someone higher in the chain has assumed direct command. Maps gone, orders gone, battle standards removed. They were collected. Deliberately."
He closes his eyes and concentrates on his mindlink to Ra'ziir, he passes along his observations. "A dragon does not discipline a mere captain, not like this. A subordinate failed badly enough for a superior to come here personally. Perhaps that Flight Marshall Chomax? The one who thought to accept Speaker Caledon's surrender after the first attack?"
Eilra nods, "Makes sense. He has decided to shorten the leash." She folds her arms across her chest. "Field autonomy revoked - direct oversight instead."
Raven passes that along as well. "If a dragon was the messenger, the master is someone with the authority to command it. They will not repeat the mistakes they made today. Let us head back and tell the others what we found."
Ra’ziir confirms the information received from Raven via their link. “I will get this information to the others at the command center… Let me know if you discover anything else.” With that, Ra’ziir wheels Redclaw around, turning back in the direction of Parnitha’s outpost.
PARNITHA'S COMMAND CENTER...AGAIN
Ra'ziir pulled on Redclaw's reins, steering the mighty griffon back toward Tarithnesti. Miles raced by below, the trees a blur of motion. As he reached the town, he guided his mount into a dive, landing directly in front of the command tent. Guards emerged, bows in hand, relaxing only when they recognized him. Ra'ziir dismounted, directing the animal to wait and headed inside as Wildrunners were leaving with orders for outlying areas.
Ra'ziir pulled on Redclaw's reins, steering the mighty griffon back toward Tarithnesti. Miles raced by below, the trees a blur of motion. As he reached the town, he guided his mount into a dive, landing directly in front of the command tent. Guards emerged, bows in hand, relaxing only when they recognized him. Ra'ziir dismounted, directing the animal to wait and headed inside as Wildrunners were leaving with orders for outlying areas.
The bladesinger heads inside and quickly informs those within about what he and Raven discovered. Romulus looks up from the map, face grim. "We now face an unknown enemy who was willing to sacrifice three-hundred troops to take our measure."
"Whoever it was has enough authority to command a dragon and is confident enough to throw away an entire detachment."
Parnitha looks up, "How long do you think we have?"
The black-robed elf-elemental exhales slowly. "If dragons are involved? Days, perhaps less."
Cedron adds, “Prepare fire extinguishers, sand, water, and as many masks you can find, makeshift or otherwise. The fire and gas can be overwhelming.”
THE AERIE
Kysek smiles at Dusk. “Now, my friend, we can be the terror of the skies, the true “Ghosts of the Darkness”. You’ll be able to see magic and be better able to avoid it from an enemy. We have truly become surprise death from above!” Kysek explains as if he believes Dusk understands all of his words; as he strokes the black feathers atop the griffon's head from front to back. As his words trail off; he guides Dusk's head in as he moves his own to meet hers. “We’re going to do great things my friend," he states as their heads meet.
He turns to Shadow, “So worth it! This is going to be great! Thank you!” He slaps his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s find the others!” He adds.
He turns to Dusk once more, “I’ll be back soon to tend to your stall; I’ll try to bring some special treats for you as well! We must find out our next steps.”
Dusk's ears perk up when she hears the word "treats". Even if the rest of what Kysek says turned out to be gibberish, she recognizes that word and what it means. She makes a sound like a chirp, but deeper, indicating that her master should probably hurry.
Ornforithalas and Cassidy return from their reconnaissance of the field. Raven, Ra'ziir, and Eilra return at about the same time. The guard-captain's face is grim. His spear, unstained by goblin blood. Cassidy stops and stares at Dusk and says, "She looks shinier. Did something magic-y happen? Please, tell me something magic-y happened. And if something magic-y did happen, tell me all about it so I can immortalize it in song!"
Kysek looks at Ornforithalas, “By the end of this; your spear will find vengeful enemy blood, this isn’t over by any stretch of imagination.” Kysek tells his friend. He then turns to Cassidy, places his hand on the kender's shoulder while keeping a keen eye upon his hands, “My friend; just know you’ll be writing songs about the deeds of the “Ghost in the Darkness” for some time.” Kysek tells him as he positions the kender in front of him with Dusk behind and gives a wink to both Cassidy and Dusk.
Cassidy's eyes go wide, "Oooooo... the songs I will write! Grand sweeping tales of Wing and Blade diving out of the Darkness to scatter goblins and slay dragons. I just need a word that rhymes with 'Ghost'... ummm... toast, coast, boast, roast..."
Eilra rolled her eyes at Cassidy's ramblings. "Don't worry, Ornforithalas. Our dread Black Bird of Death also failed to kill a single enemy."
Raven's eyes narrowed. A grunt escaped his lips, his ears coloring with mild embarrassment.
She laughs, "Not that I would expect much from someone so careful, patient, and methodical in battle. And, oh yes, with some 'skill with a blade', or so he claims." Her grin widens and she looks at Raven with a playful attitude, "Seriously, Ornforithalas. Your moment, like his, will come. Until then, take comfort - perhaps his reputation, like yours, will at least intimidate a few goblins instead."
Raven finally let out a chuckle and he raised his hands in mock surrender before rising to kiss the top of Eilra's head.
SHADOW’S ASSESSMENT
Shadow issues a summons to all of his scouts. Once they are gathered, he walks among them, checking bowstrings, inspecting boots, finding out who prefers swords to spears. He asks them simple questions about spellcraft to see if any among them have any knowledge of magic. As he works his way through the ranks, he comes across an aged elf named Cor Ilmreth. Shadow stops and looks at the elf, wondering how someone so old got into the scouts at all. The drow asks him a series of rapid-fire questions, wanting to know how this...elder would react in various situations.
Cor answers all of them.
Obscuring Mist - counter with Gust of Wind.
Haste - counter with Web or Slow.
Need to cross an area warded with a Grease spell - resort to missile fire or a Jump spell if going around is not an option.
Shadow quickly realizes that Cor has seen some $&@%. He might not have any magical potential, but he knows how to counter arcane threats when they appear.
OUT IN THE CHOKEPOINT
Satisfied with the destruction he has caused, Grotto looks to join the rest of the troops searching the camps.
Elven warriors, none that he recognizes from the scouts assigned to Ra'ziir, Shadow, or Kysek look up as Grotto approaches. They see the burn scar covering the side of his face. They see the blood spattered all over his armor, his hands, his axe. They nod in his direction and step aside, giving him space to pass.
Grotto hears a voice, low and full of approval. "YOU ARE A RECKONING."
He moves from body to body, surveying the destruction. He finds a goblin battle standard, half-buried in the snow left behind by Romulus' blizzard spell. A green banner marked with the embroidered profile of a wolf's head on a long wooden pole. He pulls it free from the ground and wipes his blade on the flag before snapping the shaft over his leg and tossing it aside.
The dwarf feels something settle into place inside him. Something simple, something unyielding - the breath of a crimson bull and the shadow of a condor circling overhead.
His scars itch. But something, somewhere deep inside, approves.
Grotto smiles, he feels a great satisfaction inside of him. The more he serves the bull god the more the runes burn under his skin. The supernatural searing pain comforts him. The blistering burning of the runes reminds him of his decades as a plaything of the goblins as he was tortured in the slave pits. The pain ignites a feeling of vengeance he must release.
Grotto tends to the wounded of the elven detachment then looks to find the leader of the brigade. He asks him what are their orders and where is their rally point for the next battle. Grotto joins this group of elves until he is able to rendezvous with the others.
He stops the nearest elf, a fresh-faced spearman of not more than a single century. "What are your orders?"
Satisfied with the destruction he has caused, Grotto looks to join the rest of the troops searching the camps.
Elven warriors, none that he recognizes from the scouts assigned to Ra'ziir, Shadow, or Kysek look up as Grotto approaches. They see the burn scar covering the side of his face. They see the blood spattered all over his armor, his hands, his axe. They nod in his direction and step aside, giving him space to pass.
Grotto hears a voice, low and full of approval. "YOU ARE A RECKONING."
He moves from body to body, surveying the destruction. He finds a goblin battle standard, half-buried in the snow left behind by Romulus' blizzard spell. A green banner marked with the embroidered profile of a wolf's head on a long wooden pole. He pulls it free from the ground and wipes his blade on the flag before snapping the shaft over his leg and tossing it aside.
The dwarf feels something settle into place inside him. Something simple, something unyielding - the breath of a crimson bull and the shadow of a condor circling overhead.
His scars itch. But something, somewhere deep inside, approves.
Grotto smiles, he feels a great satisfaction inside of him. The more he serves the bull god the more the runes burn under his skin. The supernatural searing pain comforts him. The blistering burning of the runes reminds him of his decades as a plaything of the goblins as he was tortured in the slave pits. The pain ignites a feeling of vengeance he must release.
Grotto tends to the wounded of the elven detachment then looks to find the leader of the brigade. He asks him what are their orders and where is their rally point for the next battle. Grotto joins this group of elves until he is able to rendezvous with the others.
He stops the nearest elf, a fresh-faced spearman of not more than a single century. "What are your orders?"
The runes beneath Grotto’s muscles burn. No attack. No foes to slay. Waiting was not the same as carrying out the bull god's will.
"And when the signal comes?" Grotto’s voice not-quite harsh, but tinged with impatience.
"We go to the western bank of the river, if it's goblins, we encircle and press inward. For a dragon, we scatter into the cover of the trees and engage with our bows."
Dragons. The runes of the bull and the condor flared at the word - like sparks on oil. Good - let them come. He would add more notches to his axe.
MEANWHILE, IN SILVANOST
Alara of House Recorder sat alone in the half-converted bunker beneath the Civic building. Storerooms had been emptied, converted into barracks for the scouts being led in battle by Ra'ziir, Shadow, and Kysek. While Elaine's healers continued to help with moving things around and preparing the space to shelter Silvanost's citizens should the fighting make it this far south.
She turned her attention to her ledgers, adding lines of inventory to her records. She sighed. She should have volunteered to travel with the adventurers when they headed north to defend Tarithnesti. Now? Now, she was stuck in a musty basement, tasked with a job she didn't have the manpower to complete.
The city had calmed in the days following the reports that the Dragonarmies had broken through the Barrier Hedge. The High Council had stepped in, made assurances. But, Alara had heard that the Speaker of the Stars, Lorac Caledon, had been unable to take Reverie for several days now, that he was plagued by nightmares and that his daughter, Alhana was watching over him at night.
Alara got up. Stretched. Walked across the room and poured a glass of wine and returned to her desk. She sighed as she took up her quill again and turned her attention to her ledger.
• 6 barrels dried apples
• 4 crates arrows shafts (unfletched)
• 15 rolls bandages
• 22 blankets
It was never enough. It could never be enough.
She should have gone north. She could have helped. She returned her quill to its inkwell and ground the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying not to weep. She should have gone north but her duty, her caste, bound her here.
She told herself that what she was doing mattered, that records and logistics, not just swords and spears and spells, won wars.
She sat there, alone in her musty basement and reached for another page. If the Dragonarmies came, she would be ready. If her people were victorious, she would chronicle what came next. And if Silvanost were to fall - then history would remember the heroes who had tried to defend it.
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