I, Saarek of the Amagos, do bring this message to thee regarding the fall of the Helcaraxe witnessed on the field of battle by their last surviving member. From a message scribed by his own hand and passed on to us have these words been translated and bought to you so that others may learn of the fate of these warriors.
‘If you are reading these words it is almost certain that I am now dead, if not in flesh by my own hand then certainly in spirit for it was on that fateful day mustered against the forces of the Blood Hags that my soul shrivelled and died. And so I bring to you this tale of the fall of the Helcaraxe, for which I doubt there will be much mourning save amongst the noble Fir Cruthen. It was side by side with these fearless highland warriors we stood and it was side by side with them that we fell.
By the will of the honourable Dim Tan we joined the Fist of the Fir Cruthen, hired as mercenaries although both sides knew that the arrangement ran deeper. For hours in the swamplands we battled alongside these fearless warriors and the numerous mercenary groups that they had recruited to aid them in this fight: The Lion Azure, the Freebooters and the Free Army. Bloody and slow was this progression through the lands of the enemy as rank upon rank of maddened goblins hurled themselves at our lines and yet, we survived to begin the assault on the temple itself.
I had thought the battle in the swamps had been nightmarish enough yet little had prepared me for the awfulness that was to follow on the plain. Arrayed before the slopes of the temple we were, waiting, while the warriors of the Vipers struggled to breach the walls. Hundreds of taunting enemies hurled insults at us and mighty ballistae clove our ranks. One of these massive bolts impaled me and it was only as a result of powerful healing magic that I survived this encounter.
As the hours ticked by, the bodies mounted and bolt after bolt crashed into our depleted lines. It was at the height of this bombardment that my greatest shame was known and, maddened by the waiting and enraged by the constant attack, I marched from the field. There was no sorrow, no fear, only anger at the frustration of not being able to get to grips with the vile foe. Yet, as I reached the swamp line, a massive shout went up from behind me – the walls had been breached.
I turned and watched as the Fir Cruthen charged the enemy, driven to a fury by hours of waiting and taunting. The Fist were at the fore of the fighting and clove the goblins with a terrible ferocity. In seconds the first of the ballistae were taken. Gripped by a morbid fascination I watched as the dozen or so souls who had led the attack attempted to turn the machine to face the opposition. As if in slow motion, I watched the second rank of the enemy regroup and launch a massive counter-charge.
In the blink of an eye, our troops, my allies and my brothers, had been struck by a vast, screaming mob. Blizzard the Troll and our leader Wraith were in the forefront of the fighting, heavily outnumbered and quite clearly doomed. I watched them battle bravely and it shames me not when I say tears streaked my face as I saw them fall, dragged to their deaths by the hordes. I saw Tamberlain fatally pierced even as he attempted to manhandle the ballistae almost single-handed.
And so. In merest moments of bloody fighting, the Helcaraxe had been reduced to one – me. And it was I who left my brothers to die. As if in a trance I watched the Fir Cruthen reform and eventually smash the goblin ranks to link with the depleted Vipers force but it mattered not to me – my brothers were dead and I had abandoned them. Heart heavy with the greatest of shame, I turned my back on the fighting and left the lands of men.’
Renewal 1103 |
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