The Battle of Bisavera.

A continuation of the letter to King Jaldeog of Karak Borgo, writ by Darnaec Whitmail (after hasty consultation with several of those present at the recent fight against the ratmen beside the River Bisavera).

The enemy wasted no time in beginning their advance – and what with their numbers, why would they hesitate?

Despite their haste, the elven scouts on our far-right fank gained the high ground there, ahead of our battle line, seeking thus to better the opportunities for their archery.

In the centre of the enemy’s line, a great swarm surged onwards, to the sound of cracking whips.

Hundreds of slaves and giant rats moved almost as one, and nimbly, giving the impression that each was keen to reach us.

To their left, beyond the ruined church, they seemed a little more reluctant to draw so near, despite their considerably more imposing nature.

We did not know it yet, but the regiments on that side were to prove considerably less willing to join in the fight than the rest. Not so the men-slaves being driven up to and through the church ruins, however, although they were initially slowed somewhat by the need to negotiate a way past the crumbled walls.

What made their left-most regiments so trepidatious is debatable, for we had little to offer in the way of fighting strength along the entire length of our line, although I did wonder if the foe was hoping to win victory with the loss of only his most disposable rank and file.

The Seer Lord, Cralk had a clear view of almost our entire line. He clutched an arcane staff in one hand and in the other a large, open book …

… which I presume he employed to read the words required to conjure magical lightning upon the Glade Guard directly to my company’s left …

… killing five in a most horrible manner. Disatisfied with this, we could hear him screeching as summoned more magic to spew a fire at the same elves, killing six more.

The elves proved braver than I had expected, for they barely flinched at such losses, and simply stood their ground awaiting the command to loose. I did hear muttering from among the ranks of my own quarellers, but perchance they, like me, were merely commenting on the elves unexpected steadfastness?

The elven scouts on the hill sensed the evil intent of a conjuring priest among the robed ranks of the ratmen monks.

That priest gesticulated strangely as he attempted to curse them, but was foiled by Lord Veluthil, who had promised the other magic users before the battle that he would attempt to dispel the worst of the enemy’s malicious spells. It is, I suppose, possible, that the foe’s o-er cautious advance upon that flank was due to a desire to favour magic and machinery, and thus to cause their harm at a distance.

If so, then it was a most foolish inclination, for had they simply marched at full pace as the rest had done, so that their whole line had hit us at once, then the sheer weight of their numbers would have left us no room to maneouvre and brought certain, quick ruin to our cause. I do wonder now if this Cralk was inexperienced in battle, or was made overcautious by whatever previous experiences he does have?

But in magical ability he does not lack, for Lord Veluthil told me that despite the winds of magic having been almost wholly sapped, the grey seer still managed to conjure a warpgale to sweep the length and breadth of the field, thereby hindering all flight, such as that of the gyrocopter …

… and even that of our arrows and bolts. As the flying machine struggled to stay above the waters, the enemy’s jezzailers fired upon it. The first shots sent it into a dizzying spin …

… then the bullets from those at the rear caused it to crash into the waters, there to sink.

Lord Veluthil watched from behind the trees, and must surely have been dismayed to see the enemy’s advance, to feel the hindering winds of the storm-enchantment and to witness the gyrocopter’s crash. In truth, every soul in our already weakened line wrestled with a foreboding sense of dread.

Yet despite this, the elven riders upon our far left rode onwards, boldly traversing the trees towards the foe. I confess, I knew not what they thought they might achieve, beyond felling a handful of the enemy before perishing themselves.

It then occurred to me that the enemy’s baggage was ahead of them, and I did wonder whether the riders intended some particular mischief, what with the presence of that mysterious trove which the magic users had sensed as soon as the enemy came into sight.

But it seemed the riders had insufficient numbers to successfully steal whatever was carried there, and so I decided instead they were most likely hoping to distract the foe – to draw some of the regiments from their line and so lessen the threat the rest of us faced.

Not willing to allow the courage of elves to outshine that of dwarfs, Thane Narhak now led his warriors forwards, bidding me stay where I was, the better to shoot. Whether he had decided there and then, or earlier, it was plain that he intended to do what he could to slow the enemy, thereby hoping to grant the rest of us sufficient time to withdraw in sufficiently good order to reach the camp alive. I doubt there was anyone present, neither dwarf, elf nor man, who still believed that marching from our defences had been a good decision. Indeed, I began to wonder if the enemy had lured us away quite deliberately just so that we might find ourselves in exactly this predicament.

As Lord Narhak advanced, the rest of us determined to do what we could to harm the great mob of slave warriors at the enemy’s centre, especially as Cralk himself was with them.

But before we could begin our harms, Lord Veluthil, now alone …

… brought powerful magics to bear upon that same enemy, causing an ethereal convocation of flames to wash over them, killing no less than fifty!

He spoke afterwards of this spell, revealing how the foe had used magics to coil some of the power he had unleashed back against him, stinging him sharply. A pain, he said, he regretted not one jot.

(Game Note: A feedback scroll caused 2 wounds, but one of those was ‘saved’ due to the elven ability to avoid a wound for every successful ‘high magic’ spell cast!)

The rat-slaves did not flee however, which surprised us, and so, despite the difficulty presented by the unnatural winds bearing against us, I ordered our bolts loosed against them …

… and so too the elves beside us …

… and the Waywatchers beside the trees …

… killing 11 more! Had the accursed winds not been tugging at every bladed bolt, we would surely have slain every last one of them.

What few remained reeled in shock, yet still, did not run. Cralk’s hold over them was obdurate. It seemed he had chosen his guard well, for having suffered more than 60 dead, yet still he survived, and still those few left alive stood by him!

The elven bolt thrower beside Lord Veluthil slew one of the long barrelled Jezzail teams …

… as did the glade riders, thereby causing the survivors to flee towards their counterparts at the rear.

Our cannon crew spotted the heavily robed, grenade carrying company of ratmen at the rear, and, hoping to hinder them before they could get closer to the riders moving up on the enemy’s right …

.. sent a roundshot through them, disappointingly killing only one.

Concerned about the advance of the great mob of robed ratmen, the Arrabbiati riders shot at them …

… as did both the elven scouts and glade guard upon that flank, but between them all, their aim thwarted by the preternatural gusts, took down only 5.

What we had done, all of us, through magic and shooting, was simply not enough. Despite almost entirely obliterating the enemy’s biggest regiment, still the rest came on, in overwhelming numbers, vastly exceeding our own strength.

The robed ratmen now suddenly surged forwards …

… as if to charge the elven scouts, who responded boldly, with more shots.

Their arrows had no noticeable effect, yet the ratmen’s charge faltered, perhaps due to some among them being caught in the roots of the wood their flank was pushing through? I cannot say.

Nothing could stop the giants rats though. The glade guards’ arrows flew wild in the wind, as the great mass of rats smashed into them.

I knew, as no doubt the elves themselves must have done, that they were doomed, for so massive was the disparity in numbers that the elves’ speed and skill with their well-honed blades could not hope to save them.

Beside the ill-fated archers, the Eternal Guard, not presently guarding Lord Veluthil, braced themselves as a mob of slave-soldiers crept towards them.

(Game Note: Another failed charge.)

The men slaves were driven through the woods …

… until almost upon the Brightmoon and his Waywatchers.

While the Stormvermin, perhaps the enemy’s most able warriors, and just as large a regiment as several of the slave mobs, marched boldly across the flanking hill towards the elven scouts.

Beside them, one of their strange weapon teams scuttled along the bottom of the slope.

At last, it seemed the enemy were about to take full advantage of their numerical dominance, for such a regiment as this could surely sweep aside any resistance we had to offer, to leave us overwhelmed to the fore and upon both flanks?

Our march forth was not only a mistake, but one which seemed about to prove fatal. What use was Thane Narhak’s attempted stand in the centre if the enemy was pouring past him upon either side? And what use our bows and crossbows against such numbers?

The enemy’s commander …

… moved hastily from the last few slaves (who were still suffering from the lingering, deadly effects of the fiery spell upon them), along with another, ferocious looking warrior, to join the armoured column of warriors to the left of him, beside the ruins, no doubt re-seeking safety in numbers (something he could have found wherever he chose to run.)

As he did so, another weapon team appeared from the ruins, stumbling forwards with their heavy burden, although yet to unleash whatever foulness their brass-barrelled contraption contained.

From the front rank his new bodyguard, the grey seer wove his magic, calling forth lightning to strike Thane Narhak’s warriors, killing four

After which, his face (which I could see clearly) bore a cruel grimace …

… as he hurled another vicious curse upon Brightmoon’s Waywatchers, killing five.

Perhaps yearning to emulate his master’s cruel successes, the priest among the plague monks also broiled up a magical curse, horribly slaying half a dozen of the elven scouts upon our far flank. But I am assured by the wizard Lord Uluar, it seems said priest was incapable of controlling that which he had released, for his magic spun back to course through the stormvermin on the hill, killing more than half of them!

For a moment, they halted, most likely stunned by the sudden, squealing demise of so many …

.. and then, much to the relief of the few elven scouts remaining, they turned at fled they way they had come, almost as far as the jezzailers to their rear.

Despite this distraction, the cannon upon that side of their line loosed an arcing bolt of burning blue light which coursed across the entire field to strike the riders on our far left, killing three and prompting the last two to gallop away in fear and dismay.

The engine’s cruel kin upon their right flank …

… then sent its own barb of heated light to cut down several of the eternal guard.

Beside what few guard remained, the elven achers bravely slew as many of the giant rats as their blades would allow …

… but could not hope to prevail, and were washed over like a line of sand before the crash of a sea wave, to be torn apart most horribly by claw and tooth.

My own quarrelers, considerably dismayed by such a sight, began to lose their order. Deciding that it were best we quit the field as soon as possible, to defend the bridge and thereby gain some chance at least to prevent the further incursion of the foe upon Tilea, just as Thane Narhak had bid me do, I ordered our rapid flight.

Our left and centre were surely lost, and despite the setbacks the foe had suffered on their right, in truth, the weight of numbers they could still bring to bear meant that all we could hope for was to extract as many of us alive as possible, that we might at least have our defence-works to allow us a chance of successful resistance.

As we made our way from the field, Lord Veluthil lingered still behind the trees and watched, no doubt confident he could safely ride away whenever he chose.

Just as the first blasts of magical winds began to wane, a new storm was whipped up, which Lord Veluthil later told me seemed to be the work of an accursed banner, which swathed the field in even more powerful gusts than before. Veluthil later admitted that he had not expected such mastery of magic from the foe, and told me we should never presume that strength in numbers is their only, real weapon. Almost all in our army carried bows or crossbows, but the aim of each and every one had been spoiled by the winds.

Just as the last surviving Waywatchers and the dwarfs charged the men-slaves being herded through the trees …

… Lady Ascal and the warhawks swooped onto the field from behind the enemy’s left-most flank.

From there, had we not already decided that we should retreat, and had they not been forced close to the ground, struggling in the unnatural gale simply to stay mounted, they could have moved to aid anyone of us, but instead were able only to shoot the enemy’s lightning cannon or jezzailers.

As I led my quarrellers away, to the left of us the glade guard, the scouts and the Arrabbiati were also leaving…

… and to the right of us, the eternal guard, the riders and the baggage train.

Still Veluthil watched. His bolt thrower was being dragged away as hastily as the crew could manage, as were our cannon and bolt thrower, though the crew were forced to abandon the latter. The elven ambassador, Uluar, lingered momentarily with his bodyguard …

… but then he too turned to lead his riders from the field.

I confess, it occurred to me, momentarily, that the Arrabbiati brigands had done little more than watch a while, and then flee, behaviour which might explain the outlaw brotherhood’s longevity. To watch and wait, to engage only the weak or the surprised, and to flee whenever threatened, would be successful strategies for such as they. But then I admonished myself for such thoughts, for so many of the rest of us had done nothing more than they that day, and what benefit could been gained from throwing themselves and their mounts into the mass of the foe? To thwart this enemy, in this part of Tilea, such men as these would be crucial, for we would need to use the very land against them.

Lord Veluthil was is no rush to quit the field, especially while Narhak and the Waywatchers were so bravely making their stand.

He attempted several spells, but the winds of magic would not comply to his demands, and indeed he stopped himself when he sensed that Ascal had, in his own words, been harmed by the unruly shards of magic he had unleashed.

Nevertheless, he had slain several enemies here and there across the field, including more of their grenadiers.

While Narhak pushed his way to the fore …

… and two more of the Waywatchers perished, our brave rearguard cut down many of the foe – enough to break and scatter the rest of them. So viciously crazed was the slaves’ frenzy to escape, that the last of the Waywatchers died, leaving Brightmoon alone, standing beside our warriors.

This momentary victory was to prove Thane Narhak’s last happy moment, for the clanrat warriors had moved up towards his flank …

… and took the opportunity thus presented to charge, doing so just as the flail-wielding ratmen burst through the trees at Narhak and his warriors’ fore.

It seems Narhak, who had only half a moment to decide the best course of action, chose to attempt flight, in the hope (no doubt) of later lending assisting us in the defence of the bridge. But it was not to be, for he and all those with him were slain as they stumbled desperately away, leaving only the more nimble Brightmoon fleet enough to step ahead of the foe. Yet even he did not leave the field, for they soon caught him.

Ascal reported later how the purple-clad stormvermin continued their flight, despite the fact that our entire army was retreating.

While Cralk’s further conjurations failed …

… the priest with the monks attempted to curse the warhawks.

This Ascal was able to dispel, then, when the wind lessened momentarily, she was able to lead her hawks away from the field, flying high to avoid the enemy’s attentions, soon to rejoin the remainder of our army at the defences.

Dwarf, elf and man, we moved away in haste, yet in good order, only able to do so because of Narhak’s sacrifice in the centre and the enemy’s stalled advance on their left. Finally, after one last glance at the foe, Lord Veluthil turned to join us in retreat.

The elven wizard Ascal later revealed to us that the ratmen’s works at the river to the south were illusory – the mere felling of a few trees, the burning of fires and building of huts. No river craft of any kind seemed to have been begun, neither raft, barge or boat, and certainly no bridge. Once again, the enemy’s cunning was revealed, for they had done just enough to make it seem to our scouts’ eyes that they intended to cross the river, but not enough to tire themselves, nor lose any slaves to the labour, nor waste any resources or supplies of any kind. Enough to make us believe they were attempting to cross, thus drawing us from the bridge and its defensive works to face them, almost fatally, in an open field of battle.

It seems certain now that they will assault us, for much of what they lost in battle was merely scattered or wounded, and thus able to rejoin their ranks and files. Several of their best regiments were almost entirely unscathed, and there have been reports of reinforcements on the way to joint them. Even now, with not all of us returned to the camp – for the baggage and our gun are still outside, escorted by some riders – they advance. When they do attack, we will surely be at a considerable disadvantage, despite our palisades and storm poles, unless the magic users can conjure a very hell for them, and our own promised reinforcements, from both the south and the east (Remans and elves respectively) can reach us in time.

If we are reinforced by the end of this very day, and if what comes is all that was promised, then I do not doubt that we can hold the bridge. In truth, however, I believe the reinforcements are still too far away to reach us in time, even within weeks, and have advised Lord Veluthil accordingly.

I will not write it here, in case this missive is intercepted by the enemy, but it seems to me there is a way still to beat this foe, and soon, with only what we can save and that which we believe to be on its way to us. Lord Narhak’s sacrifice may not have been in vain, the result of foolish impetuosity on our behalf, but may instead have been a crucial part of the delay brought about by our actions – the building of the defences which encouraged the enemy to waste time playing its deceptive game and the fighting of this last battle. A delay which may, at the last, prove far more costly to the foe than to us, but only if we act, and move, quickly. This will be for Veluthil to decide.

Your servant, Captain Darnaec Whitmail