3SC's Ironfang Invasion IC

[3SecondCultist]

Season's Pledge

"Oh, Scarvinious wasn't ordered to handle any of the Chernasardo directly..."

It takes you most of the remainder of the night to comb through the rest of the camp to your satisfaction. Most of the troops have the same sundry gear you've seen on the various Legion soldiers since you first encountered them in Phaendar, with the exception of a few rather precious looking scrolls and other magical items that Narek soon identifies as being offensive in nature. The wizard is also able to divine that both the armor formerly worn by Yissti herself and Scarvinious - as well as the bugbear's complement of weapons - are magical in nature. Collecting everything for your return journey is easy enough, now that you have decided on a plan of action.

"Like I said, our orders were to hunt you down and start scouting out the Tamran highway for vulnerabilities. When we caught the elf, it was more of a stroke of good luck on our part."

Beyond the trove of valuable items, there is also the matter of the three locked chests. A bit of rummaging around on Scarvinious' corpse nets you the keys, which opens the mysterious containers. The first two are filled with gold in various coins and pouches of semi-precious stones, which Yissti explains is the payroll of Camp Red Jaw. The final chest, on the other hand, opens to reveal an assortment of knick-knacks: mostly trinkets worth a few coppers, if anything, such as small paintings, wooden carvings, bits of beaded jewelry, shoe buckles, and pottery. You spot an elegant scarf and some silver rings among the trove as well. It doesn't take the alchemist explaining things for you to figure out that these are Scarvinious' trophies from his various kills and pieces that he salvaged along the way.

"From what I heard before leaving Fort Phaendar, the General was going to send in another division to deal with the Ranger problem. I don't know much about who she sent, but I'm sure that they're real talent."

With all of your chores carried out for the evening, the Shepherds finally earn some rest under the shadows of the full moon. Yissti is tightly bound and gagged, with whoever is on night watch keeping an eye on her as well. Sleep comes easily enough to your group, having emerged on the other side of a brutal gauntlet with more than a few bruises to show for your efforts. The alchemist proves cooperative enough, sleeping as best she can, though you get the impression that her evening was less than comfortable. Gilraen wakes up to find that the as-of-yet-unnamed jackal has fallen asleep at his side, nuzzled up as close as possible.

"In fact, I'm positive that the Chernasardo Rangers are dead by now..."

Finally, morning greets you clean and clear. The melodies of a Nirmathi spring renewed fill the air as you strike your camp and prepare to set forth on your return journey to the caves. With a potential next target and Yissti's ominous words still echoing in your minds, you resolve to make your way back as quickly as possible. Luckily for you, Gilraen is not the only member of the Phaendar survivors with ties to the Chernasardo Rangers. What's more, as the six of you and your captive make to leave the gorge, you find yourselves wondering at your victory here, and what that might mean for your future. If nothing else, you have proven that the Ironfang Legion is not invincible. The hobgoblins can be beaten, and they can be killed if need be.

They took your home, killed your friends, and scattered your people. It's high time you returned the favor.

---

Interlude I - Graves

The survivor gasped as she awoke from a dreamless sleep. It was her first mistake, as the black soil surrounding her pulled open her cracked lips and reached to her lungs. Coughing and gagging, she forced the muscles of her throat closed, spitting out the foreign invader as she tried desperately to claw her way free of her earthen shroud. A sudden burst of pain racked through her side as she moved her left arm, but this time she bit down the scream. Instead, she cursed her gods silently in every tongue she could remember.

When the agony finally subsided, she tried to take stock of her surroundings. She could feel herself hemmed in on all sides, and so knew better than to open her eyes. The source of the pain felt… heavy, unnatural. Reaching cautiously through the loosely-packed earth, her fingers brushed up against something hard. Tracing its dimensions, she followed the shaft of the spear all the way to where the head had pierced her gut. Thankfully, she could also feel a faint air current around the weapon. It must have been the reason she hadn't suffocated yet.

Careful not to shift the balance of earth too much, she slowly pushed both arms out as far as they could reach on the spear. Once again, she came into contact with an object, though this didn't feel like a weapon. There, at the edge of her grasp, was a stray bit of cloth. Testing its weight and finding that it held at least for the time being, she began to pull herself in a direction that she could only hope was upward.

The sudden pressure and piercing retort in her gut stopped her before she could get too far. Wherever she was trapped, the spear was stuck in place - whether against something else or simply held fast by the sheer amount of earth - and any more movement would only widen her injury. Even now, she began to feel the heady rush that was her blood seeping out of her gut. All of the movement must have opened up a wound that the weapon itself had temporarily sealed shut.

If she wasn't careful, she would black out from the pain, and almost certainly die.

She knew what needed to happen next. Clamping her teeth, both to avoid choking and potentially biting off her tongue, she reached out for what she judged to be the midsection of the spear. Grasping the center of the shaft with both hands, she wrenched the weapon. Once, twice, three times she forced the wood apart, until her ears picked up a muffled splintering noise and she knew that she had done it.

With her last remaining obstacle gone, the survivor found that pulling herself forward became a great deal easier. The cloth was attached to something else, something larger. Feeling her hands break free of the dirt only generated a sudden panic, the urge to push free of the ground and breathe clean air again. Every muscle burning, she clawed at the sky one inch at a time. First her arms were out, then her shoulder, and finally her head. Gasping, she spit out the remainder of the soil as she wiped her face and opened her eyes. It was her second mistake.

The flesh of her kin stared back at her vacantly. The pit must have been about eight feet wide, and at least twice that in length. Nearly every single inch of dirt was piled high with goblin corpses. Grey and purple, green and brown skin alike... the humans hadn't differentiated. She noted with disgust that many of the corpses had been stripped and mutilated after death, naked limbs tossed into the mass grave along with the bodies. Everywhere she looked, she could hear the whispers of the fallen. "Help us," they cried on the other side of death. "Help us..."

It was all Aza could do to keep from screaming. Of course, she knew better than that: chances were that the Eagle Knights hadn't gone very far, or worse still had set a watch to see if their purges had missed anyone. She would need to lay low and tend to her wound, which even now was throbbing. Pulling her legs and feet out of the grave, the hobgoblin foot soldier kept low to the ground, her eyes wary for torchlight. Crawling out to the edges of the forest without seeing anyone, she made for the treeline, and safety.

Yet she stopped before disappearing into the night. Despite every part of her telling her to run, the lone survivor stopped to turn and witness the dead. She took them all into her heart - cousins and friends, acquaintances and strangers with whom she had shared only one last glorious battle - and knew that the Goblinblood Wars were at an end. They had called this place the Valley of Iron Fangs. Under a veiled sky, she made a vow to live up to the name even as she cast her own aside. Aza had died in the pit below, she decided. There would be no place for little girls in the next war, the war to come.

She would need a new name, one befitting a warrior.