A Soldier's Account of the Great War
Volume 2
The Phantom Hounds Regiment - A Call to Glory
Sunday October 12th, Fifth Year of the War; Rushback Outpost:
Once, we were mighty.
I remember our service under Cormorant, five years ago. We were the most elite fighting force in the legion. A balm to alleviate the loss of the fallen Heron Guard. The name Phantom Hounds could have become one to fill our friends with hope and our enemies with dread, and make even the Fallen Lords glance nervously into every dark corner and jump at every movement in the shadows. Our glory could have been endless. Wyrd only knows, maybe we could have even changed this war.
But Cormorant has been dead all these years, and few remain who fought for him. Maeldun loves his army, and has little use for a crack special operations team. We're scattered all over this half of the Cloudspine and its foothills, performing guard duty to free up the regulars for Maeldun's battles.
Rushback Outpust is actually a part of fortresses, situation on either side of the canyon formed by the River Toven as it pours down from its source higher up. Further up the river is Bagrada, which is why this place exists; it would be a hard trek up into the pass, but it's possible, and a back route in is exactly what the Fallen need.
We may be forgotten, but we have not forgotten ourselves. We train until our bodies ache and we choke on the canyon dust, and then we train some more. We remember the old ways; we remember how to ambush and sneak and pierce an enemy camp to its heart. And someday, we may get our chance again.
Communications with the west bank fortress have been lost. We fear the worst; a force is being sent to investigate.
Wednesday October 15th, Fifth Year of the War, Foothills of the Cloudspine, North of Bagrada:
The Tormentor's attack at Rushback hurt us badly, but we managed to keep him out of Bagrada. And now, it seems, we have an opportunity to strike back - an opportunity we can't possibly refuse.
We have found The Tormentor's pus factory. According to our scouts, it is located in the foothills, where a huge tract of wilderness has been staked out for the purpose. The whole place is teeming with the newly raised dead, waiting to undergo the plague transformation. It is here that the Fallen Lord's Wights are formed - and more importantly, his Dirigibles.
Every man in the Legion has learned to hate the Dirigibles above all of the other minions of the Dark. All of the undead are defiled creatures, but none is more grotesque - and nothing is worse than watching such a monstrosity float toward your lines, hoping that a few arrows will break through its layers of greasy fat and muscle before it gets close enough to burst and fill your lungs with searing gas… nothing, except maybe the thought of becoming one.
I wish that I could participate in the assault, but the Captain has selected a small band of our best men. Such a group will be able to reach the outskirts of the factory without being noticed. This, at last, is the sort of mission that the Phantom Hounds were meant for.
Friday October 24th, Fifh Year of the War; Rhum Crossing, on the Toven:
The Fallen Lords have played us like fools. While Maeldun's army has been engaged with The Watcher in Bagrada and to the south, and while we were dealing with The Tormentor's plotting, A huge Dark force has been on the march for Rhum Crossing. It cannot be a coincidence; The Watcher and The Tormentor are as closely allied as any of the Fallen can be. And if a band of northmen hadn’t been passing through the area, we might never have known.
Rhum, comprised of three great fords, is the only real crossing on this part of the Toven. If The Watcher were to hold it, there is no telling what he could do - flank Maeldun, most likely, or march north to attack Seven Gates, or sit on it and cripple the Legions' movements. Part of the Scales Legion was supposed to be watching it, but there has been no sign of them.
And so we've been marching double for three days, desperately hoping to reach the crossing before The Watcher. And now that we're here, all we can do is rest and pray. There's no telling how greatly we're outnumbered, but we're the only ones who can prevent the river from falling into the Fallen's hands. There is at least one small hope… if our runner managed to reach the Tenth to the north, they might be able to send us aid.
We don't know where the Dark force is now, but they must be nearly upon us by this time. We’re all anxious. There are two few of us, and we're trained for covert strikes, not open battle. But we are the best of the Legion. We are the Phantom Hounds. We must not fail.
Friday October 24th, Fifth Year of the War; Rhum Crossing, on the Toven:
The Fallen attacked us early this morning. Wave after wave of them crashed against us, and it seemed that it would never end. The Phantom Hounds have never fought so hard or sacrificed so much.. save for the day we failed Cormorant, and lost him to the Dark.
But at last the dead ceased to stumble toward us. The silence left in their wake shocked us far more than their initial attack. Somehow, I had forgotten what it sounded like. All memory had given way to the blood and fury and noise of the battle. It left an emptiness cannot explain except that it frightened me.
We tended to our wounded, and waited for the enemy to come again. Nothing came. And finally we gathered ourselves and our belongings, and moved on.
Monday November 3, Fifth Year of the War; Foothills of the Cloudspine:
You have answered the call of necessity," Maeldun told us, "and you have proven both to the armies of the Dark and to your brothers of the Legion that a handful of determined and unflinching men can repel a force many times their number. It is a lesson that the Fallen Lords will not soon forget."
We have our glory now. Everyone knows who the Phantom Hounds are. Maeldun wanted to make us a special front line unit, to put us where the fighting is hardest. The Captain has been meeting with him on and off for two days, hoping to convince him of who we are and what we are meant for. We cannot survive another Toven. But we do have our uses.
The Captain emerged from the Avatara's tent half an hour ago, with new orders. He could say little about them, save for our destination. We are being sent to a place that none of us has ever seen, but which lives in each of our hearts as though it were home.
We are going to the haunted heart of the lands held by the Dark.
We are going to Muirthemne.
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