\--==Official Submission==-- FROM: General Debinani Rahl RE: Chapter Twelve - Historical Irony Historical Irony I was at my writing desk, producing some magical scrolls when the runner arrived. Beaten, bloodied and ragged he burst through the door and collapsed on the floor panting. I let him remain passed out on the floor, I didn't need his reports. I could hear the beat of the wardrums carried on the bitter Yew wind. They were fed up with guard posts and skirmishes. I always hate it when a new WarBoss comes to power. I'm forced to hold my breath and wait for the inevitable bloodbath that occurs from the massive reorganization. Last time it was a holy war, the time before that there was nothing but silence punctuated by the occasional toll party on the road. This time it was different. This time they wanted Yew. I must say, never have I been so proud of the men and women under my command. Within moments of hearing the news the troops sprang into action. The outriders immediately began scouting missions into enemy territory, and through some strange and wonderful act of nature, Thorengelda managed to get a fully stocked rear-guard supply cache in Kinship before the first "HOOWAH" was even hollered. It pulled the company together in a model of efficiency and dedication that I had never thought possible. But I digress from the events of the war itself. Nearly the entire first week of fighting apparently served no purpose but to feed the grasses. Long bloody conflicts ensued, mostly over Kent's or the outlying farmhouses. It seemed at first that the Society was the only military company on the defensive, but over the course of a few days Fireforge's little band and the Royals finally got word and jumped into the fray. Every once in a while some of Callisto's people or a token force from Winterfell would show themselves, but they were few and far between. During the final days before the final conflict, more and more people arrived to aid in the defense of Yew, and the Shadowclan along with their Undead allies appeared to be pushed out. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. My discourse really begins with the final conflict for Yew. My father always told me that an infantry war, no matter how well prepared for, just can't be won when you're way down on numbers. We made our mark, but we were simply overrun. I had been handling some conscripting through the day while we waited. When I finally arrived at Kent's and saw the defenses I knew we were in trouble. Someone had gotten the clever idea of building an absolute deathtrap around the Pint. People were milling about, waiting for the inevitable and not really organized. I gathered the company together and we took position to wait. Word came back that the orcs didn't have their farm very well defended, and there were definitely enough people at the tavern to at least slow an attacking force down a bit, so we threw up a few gates and jumped the entire company in the orc's lap. The fight lasted a short while but was pretty decisive. We took the farm with acceptable losses. Apart from a few stragglers from the enemy force, namely Sam Hain of the Undead and a few others, we had driven them out. Fool me twice.... As much as I've drilled it into the men, if they get bored and an opportunity presents itself, they still go running off after the target. And thus they did next time Hain showed his ugly countenance. I was speaking with Chani, who was recommending that we go back to the Pint to aid in the defense when a gate opened. It always amazes me how many of those little rats they can cram through a gate. We were chased out of the farm. When we returned to the Pint, we found the numbers greatly scattered and diminished. It seemed that no one was working to keep things organized and people were starting to forget that they had a big bullseye on their chests. And here's where I really went wrong. I considered momentarily declaring myself General of the Defense for the sole purpose of getting a real defensive organized properly. I imagine I could have rounded up the scattered EE and Winterfell folks around, but most of the defense was made up of individuals who didn't look like they were in the mood to take orders. So I did the only thing I could. I mustered everyone I could find and began a patrol in force, hoping desperately to gather more people as we went along. About the time we saw the new orc fortifications at the western farmhouses, we had about nine soldiers together. We decided to do as much damage as we could. Maybe something within myself had already written the town off to the orcs. Maybe I was fed up with dozens of little short-term victories. Maybe. Galanon and Ceth and I summoned up some daemons. Figured we'd try it. And we charged in. That new WarBoss was there, and he led his people well. They immediately began surrounding individual people and dragging them down. The Daemons did wonders. The frustrated beasts from the abyss ripped through the orc ranks better than I expected. The sole majuka on the scene tried and tried and tried but was having terrible difficulties dispelling them. I thought, for a single, fleeting moment that we may actually come out of it alive. Then the reinforcements showed up from the farms. Their WarBoss decided that the guy with all the insignia that was summoning the very dangerous daemons needed to become a target and I was suddenly covered in orcs. I managed to teleport several yards away, but even as I crushed the ginseng between my fingertips to heal I felt an arrow slip through the chinks in my armor and everything went black. I woke with a hand over my mouth. I looked up into the panic-stricken eyes of one of the village healers. I was in a deathrobe, I was in the Yew healer's hut, and I was in hell. The sounds of dying were loud to the North. I got to my feet and moved to the door only to run into a small orc guarding the place. I don't even think he managed to get a clear look at me before I boiled his blood in the vein. A stumbled through the woods and managed to catch sight of the final fall of the defense. I couldn't see any of the Society in the fray, at least none left alive. As soon as the cheering and the cannibalism started I stole off into the night. There's an old proverb that says a thousand throats may be slit in one night by a running man. I don't know how much killing I did that night. I can't remember it. Somehow I managed to stumble all the way from Yew, across the mountains and into the Royal Library in Britain before sunrise. I did a lot of killing. It seemed bandits were taking advantage of the refugees on the roads and where there's killing, there's ratmen and ogres. Old Denis, one of the library's curators let me in and helped me clean up. The Society's survivors have been recalled to Kinship. Over the course of this conflict, I've witnessed many disturbing things. Men who I thought were friends and allies taking the side of evil and striking at me. But probably the most disturbing was Kamir. I hadn't seen Myca the entire conflict, and I know that there are many within his little tribe that were more than happy to see Yew fall, but on several occasions I saw Kamir stand idly by while Society brothers were killed. This coming just weeks after we had Myca's ass in a sling and let him go because he used to be one of us. Perhaps they've gone too far from humanity, for it definitely appears they've gone too far from the Society. So here I sit, in a waiting room at the castle in Britain, waiting on an audience from British. If we're going to take our home back we're going to need numbers. And to do that we're going to need a liege. Rutger's been sent for as well as Orthanos and anyone else aligned with the crown that I could think of. Runners have been sent to the other minor kingdoms. I'm not going to make the same mistakes this time. I just completed a petition to British for an Order of Conduct for the Society. I've never wanted to be a general, and I've certainly never wanted to lead entire armies. But there's one all-encompassing fact that that I simply can't ignore: The little rat-bastards have pissed me off.