Songs like trees

We Come, We Come, With Roll of Drum

The Golden Sun return to Therunin. It has been less than a year since they escaped the strangling traps of the Druj, their retreat purchased at great cost by the Iron Helms and Isaella's Dance. Since then they have chafed at the bit in Astolat, recovering from the terrible harm done them by the orcs of the Mallum. Now they are back, to fight again in Therunin, to take from the Druj the jewel they have claimed - and to stop the vallorn devouring what the Navarr fought for so long to cleanse.

With them come the Wolves of War, out of Morrow. They, too, have been on furlough this past six months, recovering from campiagning in the west against the Jotun. They have seen the threat of the vallorn first hand, helping the people of Urizen root out its harbingers as its wicked green tendrils probed the defences of Peregro.

The two armies march to Reikos, to High Chalcis, to join their forces. Waiting for them are the heroes of the Empire, the captains who fight where their conscience dictates. Perhaps even the Wolves of War are a little taken aback by just how many are preparing to join them in their attack - and the Wolves are the Imperial army perhaps most experienced in dealing with warbands, mercenary companies, adventuring parties, and champion fellowships. Well over a hundred captains ready to march with the Wolves and the Sun, bringing their soldiers with them, swelling the size of the force crossing to nearly three times the size.

The overwhelming majority are, unsurprisingly, folk of Navarr. Thorns and brands, somber faced and ready to do what is needful to fight for Therunin. Yet they are not the only ones - Dawn, the League, Highguard, and Wintermark are all well represented here, along with a single warband of the Unshackled. All prepared to risk their lives to fight the vallorn and the Druj at the same time.

To battle the Druj is bad enough, but the orcs of the Mallum have worked foul magic to rouse the vallorn of Therunin. It spills beyond Sweetglades and the Greenheart. Scouts say it seems set on devouring the Upper Tarn Valley... but once the armies cross the border from Reikos the vallornspawn cannot help but be drawn towards them, towards the concentrated force of life, towards the metal and leather than makes up the accoutrements of war.

The night before the armies move, the priests of Reikos gather on Chalcis Mount, and move among the soldiers offering the blessings of the Way. Dedication and anointing to those who wish them, whether they fear their courage may falter in the face of the task ahead of them or they seek to strengthen their own convictions. The priests do not judge, offering support to any who need it, and when the dawn comes some of them find their calling urges them to walk with the armies. The vallorn, after all, is the single greatest spiritual threat to the Empire and the faithful of the Way.

Not long after sunrise, though, there is a sign from the east. A pillar of black smoke mounts up towards the clear midsummer sky. A column of ashes. Some of the Navarr in particular, those who know what it must presage, march with tears wet on their cheeks. But there is still a job to be done, and these armies, these champions who march with them, are the ones who must do it.

In the Bitter Rain

It is not far from High Chalcis to the border. Some of the Highborn, perhaps for the first time, cannot help but ruminate on just how short a distance lies between Therunin and the garden city on Chalcis Mount. In the past this has been a boon, easing trade between the two centres of healing. Now it can be seen as a foreboding of doom.

There are Druj watching the border, of course. Some of these shadowed eyes are rooted out, others manage to escape eastward to warn the rest of the orcs of the Empire’s coming. None attempt to fight, not voluntarily at least. Any who cannot escape, die fast and hard. The Druj will not be a challenge, here, will not be anything more than an afterthought in Peakedge Song it seems. The real threat here comes from the east, yes, but much closer to home.

A short journey, less than a day, to where Peakedge Stead once stood. It is still burning. There are still Druj here, shepherding the flames, revelling in the destruction for its own sake. Beating drums. Some of them are drunk or drugged; others are more alert and give some small trouble to the first Imperial soldiers to arrive. Yet even they flee, denying anyone any feeling to just retribution for what has been done. There is open weeping.

For centuries Peakedge Stead has been synonymous with succour, with gentle healing, with santuary. It has tended the worst wounds the vallorn could inflict, offered safety and the promise of wholeness to those exposed to the malice of the Druj. When Reikos fell into the hands of the Stone Toad, it accepted all refugees and stood vigil against attack from the west. When the Great Forest Orcs were driven from their homes, it welcomed them beneath its hallowed roofs. A garden as much as a steading, a place where the battle for the future was envisioned not solely in terms of weapons and armour. And now it is gone. The palisades burn. The hospitals burn. The gardens, and the gentle tree-lined groves, and the memorials built to those who set down their lives to heal others, burn.

It is too late for Peakedge Stead. The moment the last rays of the setting sun faded after the Summer Solstice, the protection of Lord Rain was withdrawn. The unbreachable thorn walls withered and fell and as soon as they were gone the malice of the Druj washed over this place of healing, and the flames followed all too soon after. And then, the majority of the Druj camped here, their work done, seem to have simply left. There is a clear path north-east away from the bonfire that was once Peakedge Stead, toward the Upper Tarn Valley.

Imperial forces secure the site, do their best to fight the fire. It rages until dawn the next day, when it begins to burn out. As the flames die down, it begins to rain. A focused cloudburst that brings with it the soothing scents of Spring. From out of the rain emerges a figure with pale blue skin and a sodden shift. A herald of Brother Harvest. Flanking them are two massive quadrupedal creatures, guardians that until recently protected the steading with their green and growing songs.

The herald is quiet, and calm, and has a message. At great cost, at the request of the Archmage of Spring, Lord Rain maintained the protection of Peakedge Song for another season. He was clear that he did so to allow the Conclave and the Senate to complete their deliberations, before removing accursed magic from Imperial lore. He felt that assurances were given, and he made clear that if they could not be fulfilled he would be left with no choice. The Archmage entered into that bargain freely, with his eyes open, and Ossegrahn trusted that what was promised would be done. It was not done, and instead the Conclave turned away from his friendship. As if blaming him for doing what they asked, and being clear about what it would cost.

So Coomarta of the Rains was left with no choice. In the absence of a sign that the Empire could move away from merciless slaughter, from magic that kills the weak indiscriminately, there is little point continuing. He withdrew his children to the Spring realm as he said he would do. Peakedge Song fell within the hour to the Druj. They looted the place, burned it, would have tortured any left behind… had there been any left behind for them to hurt.

For while Father Tarn is saddened that he was mislead, and let down, he does not blame the healers and the sick for the actions of the few at Anvil. All those who wished to do so were offered sanctuary in the Primal Forest, where they might grow and practice the healing arts for as long as they wished - on the understanding of course that they could never return. While he might have been able to grant them sanctuary in the chamber of a regio the Druj would be able to attack there as well.

Many took that choice, and if there is anything to be salvaged from all this it is that those lives at least have been preserved. Those who would not accept the hand of Lord Rain made a different choice and embraced the Gift of Kaela. A terrible choice, and one that the Cupbearer would have denied them if he could. But it was theirs to make.

And now, as he said he would, Elder Fossegrim will turn his face away from the Empire. There will be no more boons, and he will not agree to parley. Those rituals he has shared with his friends will remain, until their assurances are broken. Any gifts he has given likewise will remain until time claims their power. No more of his heralds will visit the Empire, not to offer their aid to those in need, nor to the Greenwatcher, nor to the fight against the vallorn.

Perhaps in another hundred years, if the Empire survives, they may speak again. But for now, it is farewell.

As the herald turns away, it’s sad message delivered, the rain breaks. As it walks, fresh green shoots burst from the footprints it leaves in the sodden ash. Within a few minutes these shoots have blossomed into bushes and vines, with more and more greenery rippling outwards from the path like raindrops on the surface of a mountain pool. Within half an hour the ruins of Peakedge Stead are gone and in their place, a garden of green leaves and pale white flowers. Where the palisade once stood, a ring of young saplings begin to grow, making the outskirts of the sanctuary.

“The vallorn cannot come here while the trees live,” says the herald in parting. “Let this be a memory and a promise. It can remain a place of sanctuary and hope to those who need it.”

And with that it is gone.

Hew the Stone and Break the Door

The Druj have fled east, no doubt seeking to outpace the vallorn which they at least believe will be seeking to overgrow the Tarn Valley. No doubt some of them are in for an unpleasant surprise. The day after the armies enter Therunin, they encounter what they take at first to be the vallorn, but is in fact something entirely different. The Druj have unleashed Spring magic in more ways than one it seems; this at least is something that the Empire and the Wolves of War in particular are familiar with. Something akin to Thunderous Tread of the Trees has settled over Therunin, calling and releasing countless numbers of spirits to inhabit the plantlife of the territory.

No doubt the intention is to help the spread of the vallorn - the magic seems not to differentiate between an oak and a willow and whatever aberrant plants grow in Sweetglades and Greenheart. Unlike the more familiar magic, which sends trees rampaging against settlements and fortifications, the spirits called by the Druj prefer to ambush those that come within reach. Often they pretend to be normal trees and bushes before striking suddenly when their victims least suspect it. The smaller plants like to entwine and entomb their prey, strangling, smothering, or starving them.

It all adds yet another obstacle to the attempt to protect Therunin, beyond the Druj and the vallorn itself. Even apparently wholesome plants may hide something malignant and cruel within, and it is very hard indeed to predict where the animated vegetation will strike. As the only significant force in the territory, though, the Golden Sun and the Wolves of War bear the brunt of the curse’s violence.

That Hill and Wood Shall Slay

The first true vallornspawn are sighted on the fourth day, while the Imperial forces are engaged with sweeping out left-behind guerilla Druj. The enemy are clearly are not expecting them - they are focused on hunting any remaining Navarr and coming up with abhorrently novel ways to kill them. Shortly after noon, a dozen misshapen flying things, each as large as a well-fed sheep, approach out of the east. Similar in part to wasps, and in other parts to vicious beetles the size of wolves, and yet still something entirely their own and entirely wrong, they pass low overhead. The high-pitched whine of their wings grates on the nerves of those below, setting teeth on edge and causing a few naga in particular to succumb to nausea and disorientation. Sometimes keen senses can be a curse, rather than a blessing.

Several of these airborne horrors are shot from the sky with longbow and crossbow and hurled javelin. They don’t seem to be capable of gaining height, too poorly built for flying much above the treetops. Examined close up they have far too many eyes at one end and barbed venom-dripping stingers at the other. One of the creatures is cut open, its bloated abdomen proving to be full of horrible wriggling maggot-like grubs that wail like cursed piccolos when exposed, curling in on themselves and dying in the steady rays of the early morning sunlight.

These warped insects are only the vanguard of the vallorn; by the next sunrise the sky to the east is noticeably different. A greenish tinge hangs in the air that sweeps forward as the day wears on. Scouts report terrible things; legions of ettercap and shambling vallornspawn husks. The unnamable abominations that the vallorn breeds, many mixing animal and vegetable characteristics together to create something different, something altogether more grotesque, than either alone could achieve. There are also great insects, the natural inhabitants of Therunin, that show the signs of having been corrupted en masse, driven mad, driven to swarm and slaughter where normally they would be placid and disinterested. The Druj have clearly not tired of driving the innocent beasts of the marshes into the vallorn, even after their failures at Feverwater. There is even a report of a hydra, blooming red meat-flowers opening and closing like extra mouths along its body, howling and hissing a bowel-loosening combination of pain and fury as it comes.

At first the line is easily held. The vallorn is not a thing that uses tactics, or strategy. Some of its horrors are as keen to attack each other as they are the interlopers from the Empire. Some charge the nearest living thing that does not bear the mark of the vallorn, and try to kill it and devour it. Others are more stealthy, like hunting spiders or predatory wasps, sneaking up on their victims and using venom, razor-sharp barbs, or talons and fangs to kill. Still others move more slowly - great masses of twisted vegetation given awful momentum either by the Druj’s curse or by the vallorn - it matters little which is which in the end, the results are the same.

Those who have fought the vallorn elsewhere are perhaps a little unprepared for the realities of facing it in a marsh. While the most obvious spawn are at least human- or orc-sized, in Therunin the waters and the mud and the silt provide many more avenues for awful horror. A common iteration of the vallorn here is an eyeless fist-sized mess of legs and mandibles and gripping pincers that moves through the marsh drawn by movement and when it encounters flesh it holds on tight and begins to eat. The worst part is that many of those who suddenly find their shins or knees or feet being literally eaten out from beneath them will fall backward, into the mud… and discover to their horror that these mawcrabs hunt in packs.

The Navarr are prepared, and spread a warning, but there is only so much they can do to mark the tell-tale disturbances in the thick mud or the murky water when these mawcrabs are on the move.

This is just one example of what the Empire faces in Peakedge Song. The vallorn is terrible for many reasons, one of which is that its creatures take so many utterly unpredictable forms and shapes. Skinless bears, two-headed lizard things with alligator maws and tree-climbing claws. As the miasma thickens across the region, much larger creatures come tumbling through the trees - roughly spherical balls of meat and muscle with razor-sharp lamprey mouths and staring all-too-human eyes and a dozen thick tentacles with which they swing and clamber and grab and crush. Snake-like worms large enough to swallow a full-grown soldier whole, with reaching multi-jointed legs around their mouths to scoop up and hold their prey while they suck it down. A terror that might once have been a marshwalker before the vallorn took it into itself and remade it in its image - a thing that is doubly dangerous because each part of it seems to spread corruption and when it joins together it does not take the form of a towering humanoid but a wave of mud and grasping arms and moaning tormented mouths.

It may not be only the vallorn that they face, either. There are sightings of smaller, more subtle creatures among the vallornspawn. The enchanters of Dawn are certain that these creatures are heralds of Woodwyf. They do not, for the most part, engage the Imperial forces directly but their presence has an undeniable effect of the vallornspawn around them. They bear the ruinous blessings of their mistress and they do not attract the ire of the vallorn beasts around them. A cadre of Dawnish and League monster hunters is quickly convened, and charged with specifically hunting the children of the Green Mother wherever they appear.

Over all this the miasma flows like water, pooling and spreading. It brings with it its own flavour of death - everyone knows that mortals who breathe the miasm begin to sicken. Everyone knows that those who fall while its fetid corruption fills their lungs and nostrils will rise again as a servant of the vallorn, a husk driven only to kill and spread the taint, spirit trapped forever unless its friends are able to free it with a second death.

Broken is the Barren Bough

Yet here at least the Empire has the upper hand. Winter magic has been bound around the armies, around the soldiers, and settles like a barbed shawl over the captains and warbands who march with them. Many do not realise that the magic is woven with the resonance of the Wasteland; it leaves them feeling hale and hearty, full of the power that preserves. Their instinct for survival has been subtly enhanced as well; again few realise what is happening.

But this is Winter magic and it would be odd if there were not some lingering unnaturalness to it. The soldiers and champions fighting in Therunin find their appetites shifting slightly; wholesome food and drink becomes just a little less appealing. Without really thinking about it, many of them adopt a new diet. Drinking brackish water straight from the slow-moving rivulets; devouring bugs, termites, weevils teased from the bark of the marsh trees; favouring bread and biscuits and tack that is marbled with mould. Yet they show no ill-effects. The only folk that seem broadly unaffected by this unnatural urge are the draughir, some of whom seem to relish the fact that the best food, the freshest food, is passed over by their companions in favour of midden-fare.

All of this is a result of a ritual that has never been tested before, encumbered with the lugubrious name Why Sulemaine Walked Away From The Baker, it protects soldiers from poison, and from venom, and from the miasma of the vallorn… or at least it protects them from the miasma in theory. Before now, its effectiveness has never been tested…

It is tested now. The miasma is thick as fog around the vallornspawn, spreading like fingers of corruption spread by the winds. Those who fight within it find their wounds fester, their injuries drag them down into death or awful half life. It breeds sickness in those exposed to it, filling lungs with spores and fluid, causing skin to corrupt and break apart with vines and flowers. Yet not a single soldier of the Golden Sun, of the Wolves of War, nor of the warbands that fight with them, succumbs to the sickness of Green Lung. Wounds may fester, death may come, but the worst effects of the miasma are mitigated by the Winter magic. While some of those who die within the miasma rise as husks, it seems to be no more than a third of those slain - and the Navarr agree that the transformation is taking much longer than usual in those who do succumb allowing for their bodies to be burned or turned away from corruption.

The wards surrounding the Imperial forces do not match the power of the Vitality of Rushing Water - the magic is too widespread, too focused on preservation and survival compared to that particular enchantment of Spring magic but it provides vital protection, and frees the physics who march with the armies free to treat wounds and save lives without worrying about that hollowing-out sickness.

Darkness Falls At Last

Almost from the moment the vallornspawn begin to spill into Peakedge Stead, the armies of the Empire must fight. It is relentless - day and night the attacks come. Battalions of ettercaps and husks; small packs of horrible vallorn warped beasts; great corrupted insects. Again and again they come and the Imperial armies must stand against them.

As the season draws on, the armies begin to flag - but again the power of the Winter enchantment helps stave off exhaustion. This is a double-edged blade of course - it does not actually heal those warriors tired to the point of collapse. It simply provides them with the will and the strength to push themselves beyond their natural limits… and when they snap the results are grim indeed. Just as well the magic protects the warriors from the miasma - the physicks have their work cut out saving those who have battled on to the point their bodies have begun to shut down.

Painful, cruel, but it works. As Autumn deepens, it works and the vallornspawn are contained. They do not spill out across Peakedge Song, they don’t taint the marshlands with the touch of the vallorn. They are contained, and thrown back. Yet they still come. There is no sign that their strength is weakening, or their drive faltering. Inasmuch as the vallorn want anything it is clear that the roused force will continue to seek to reclaim this land that was once Terunael, that was wrested free from their corrupting touch over the course of a thousand years.

And if the defenders falter, even for an instant, the green tide will wash over all and condemn Therunin one more to its verdant hell.

Game Information

Therunin remains nominally under the control of the Druj The vallorn has been stopped in Peakedge Song Imperial forces are about a fifth of the way toward reclaiming the region of Peakedge Song An effect similar to Thunderous Tread of the Trees is making the situation in Therunin even worse for Imperial armies

Imperial forces have prevented the vallorn of Therunin claiming any land in Therunin. Where it would have spilled into the Upper Tarn Valley - perhaps at the direction of the Druj magicians - it has instead moved to try and destroy the largest concentration of uncorrupted life in the territory. To whit it is focused on the two armies and hundreds of warbands accompanying them, and on claiming Peakedge Song. The Wolves of War and the Golden Sun have born the brunt of the assault and saved the region - at least for now.

The Empire is around a fifth of the way to reclaiming Peakedge Song, but it is an uphill struggle thanks to the vallorn force that is also trying to claim the region.

There has been little sign of the Druj - a few encounters with ambushes and guerrilla fighters in Peakedge Song, and a number of traps left behind. Whatever Mallum forces are still in Therunin seem concentrated in the east.

Against the Vallorn

The vallorn continues to try and expand into Peakedge Song It will attack wherever there are enemy armies or fortifications Winter magic has significantly reduced the damage taken by the armies fighting here

Fighting the vallorn while it is expanding in this way has proved to be very dangerous. The vallornspawn spreading into Peakedge Song have brought the vallorn miasma with them in some fashion, endangering everyone who tries to face them. It appears that while an expanding vallorn does not take an order in the way an Imperial general would do, it is effectively always taking a special order that potentially poisoning anyone who fights - an order that doubles all casualties it causes.

Fortunately, Why Sulemaine Walked Away From The Baker has provided significant protection. It has both reduced the extra casualties caused by three-quarters, and on top of that reduced all casualties taken by a tenth. Without the enchantment, the losses to the armies here would have been significantly higher.

Peakedge Stead and Lord Rain

Peakedge Stead has been burned by the Druj The Houses of Healing and Stones from Blood have been destroyed Thornsong College is still protected - for now - by Night magic Ossegrahn has turned away from the Empire An enchanted grove remains where the steading once stood

One of the oldest settlements of the Navarr, Peakedge Stead, has been destroyed by the Druj. The people who had taken sanctuary there have either taken the Gift of Kaela and died painlessly, or taken the boon of Ossegrahn and departed the mortal world for the Primal Forest. They will not return.

The Houses of Healing have been destroyed along with Peakedge Stead, and the Hand of the Healers has lost the ability to receive gifts from Lord Rain. Likewise, there will be no replacement for the gift of the Rainfather. The Stones from Blood has also been destroyed - the incumbent, Dewi Flies Free, will be the last Factor of Stones from Blood.

For the moment, Thornsong House remains hidden within a ward of Night magic meaning nothing and nobody can locate it. This magic will end at the start of the Winter Solstice. There is no easy way to restore this protection, and it is very likely that some of those Druj waiting in Peakedge Song are there intentionally to destroy the House. Once the ward falls the house will also be at risk from the vallorn.

Ossegrahn has turned away from the Empire. He has withdrawn his support from Greenwatch, meaning that the Greenwatcher has likewise lost access to the Implements of Willowbraid and the Gift of Father Tarn will not be replaced. The eternal has said that he will continue to provide power to any ritual or arcane projection that bears his assurance, but no further boons will be forthcoming. He will not attend any parley with the Empire for the foreseeable future.

Where Peakedge Stead once stood, however, a magical ring of trees and enchanted glade now stands. This appears to be a final boon from Lord Rain. His herald claims that it will remain untouched by the vallorn, and preliminary investigation shows that it bears an effect similar (but distinct from) the Ward of the Black Waste (but obviously woven with Spring magic rather than Winter magic). A thorough investigation of this site would require an appraisal and likely need to wait until the chaos in Therunin comes to an end.

Battle Opportunity : With Doom We Come

Imperial prognosticators have identified multiple conjunctions of the Sentinel Gate that will allow Imperial heroes to reach Therunin during the coming summit. Some of them are very large indeed, and there is a major conjunction as well that will allow the Imperial Military Council to intercede in Therunin against the vallorn.