Money Matters
It was a season of shifting fortunes in Boldhome, where the weight of coin and favor carried more weight than blades. Lt. Warlord Fionn and Torben had turned to the moneylenders for support. Their borrowed Lunars were a lifeline, though a heavy one that would soon require repayment.
Meanwhile, Warlord Quatlu had become a known patron of Silk & Sapphires, a shop of fine wares and luxuries. His sudden indulgence in conspicuous consumption had tongues wagging throughout the city, drawing envy and suspicion in equal measure. Torben, too, succumbed to the temptations of wealth, frequenting The Scribbled Scroll. Yet, even as his pockets grew lighter, Torben found stable employment as a groom at Lt. Warlord Erik’s small estate, Queen’s Gift. The estate was quiet compared to the bustling halls of The Scribbled Scroll, but it provided him with the means to sustain his newfound lifestyle.
On the other hand, Hundred-thane Baroness Ivarenna had withdrawn from the public eye, abandoning her visits to The Three Suns, leaving behind a place where she had once mingled with the highborn and warriors alike.
Ranks and Appointments
The world of titles and appointments swirled with rumors and changes. Fionn purchased the prestigious rank of warlord of the Free Philosophers, solidifying his influence over the intellectual elite of Boldhome. He left the position of regimental adjutant vacant.
Lt. Warlord Garoor, despite hopes of securing the post as aide to the warking, was instead appointed to the position of aide to the Swenstown jarl. A lesser role, perhaps, but one that could still carry its own weight in the politics of the region. Meanwhile, Groom Torben, though he may have dreamed of higher appointments, remained without the favor needed to secure a role as aide to a Balmyr baron.
Cult Promotions
Within the temples, the gods took notice of the faithful. Warlord Afur, whose devotions to Orlanth had been steadfast, was promoted to god-talker of Orlanth. His piety and martial prowess had earned him this divine favor, a position that now elevated him further in the eyes of the Storm Lord’s followers. Fionn, not to be outdone, received a promotion of his own, rising to assistant rune-lord of Lhankor Mhy. His dedication to the god of knowledge had paid off, granting him more influence within the city’s scholarly circles.
Titles
And finally, the crown itself bestowed favor upon its loyal warlords. King Argrath, ruler of Sartar, had made a decision. Lt. Warlord Erik was to be granted the noble title of Baron, a title that would be officially bestowed upon him at Tarkala’s Spring Love Feast in 1632-2, during the Early Sea Season. The event would mark Erik’s ascension.
1631 - 12 (Late Storm) - Turn Report
Re: 1631 - 12 (Late Storm) - Turn Report
Week 1
The air of Boldhome remained sharp with the lingering chill of winter, but the city’s pulse continued undeterred. The temple of Orlanth echoed with the sounds of clashing bronze as Warlord Afur, now a god-talker of the Storm God, spent his days practicing the broadsword. His devotion to both the blade and his god was clear as he honed his skills, preparing for the inevitable battles that lay ahead. Each swing was precise, each block an act of devotion, as Afur’s mastery of the broadsword grew beneath Orlanth’s watchful gaze.
Meanwhile, Grumbold kept to more mundane tasks, tending to his shop with the practiced hands of a merchant. His dealings were steady, the shop’s rhythm unchanged even as the city’s elite maneuvered through their own ambitions.
At the Library of Lhankor Mhy, Erinestra, along with Arng, Fionn, and Torben, gathered for a sacred ceremony. The atmosphere within the library’s stone walls was one of reverence, as the faithful paid homage to the god of knowledge. Torben, in particular, displayed conspicuous piety. His voice rose in prayer, and his devotion was clear to all who stood with him in the hallowed halls. His fervor did not go unnoticed, drawing glances of both respect and curiosity from those around him.
Elsewhere, Hundred-thane Baroness Ivarenna made a significant move of her own. Her withdrawal from public life had not been without purpose, and she emerged this week to purchase a large house in the prestigious Upper City. The acquisition of this grand residence only cemented her standing among the city's elite, a quiet but powerful reminder of her influence.
Harold, Julian, and Quatlu embarked on a more personal journey. Along with their lovers, they traveled to the cold, rugged lands of northern Sartar to visit their partners’ families. The trip was a respite from the political and military machinations of Boldhome, offering a brief but welcome retreat among kin. Yet even there, in the warmth of family homes, the echoes of Boldhome’s intrigues surely followed.
The air of Boldhome remained sharp with the lingering chill of winter, but the city’s pulse continued undeterred. The temple of Orlanth echoed with the sounds of clashing bronze as Warlord Afur, now a god-talker of the Storm God, spent his days practicing the broadsword. His devotion to both the blade and his god was clear as he honed his skills, preparing for the inevitable battles that lay ahead. Each swing was precise, each block an act of devotion, as Afur’s mastery of the broadsword grew beneath Orlanth’s watchful gaze.
Meanwhile, Grumbold kept to more mundane tasks, tending to his shop with the practiced hands of a merchant. His dealings were steady, the shop’s rhythm unchanged even as the city’s elite maneuvered through their own ambitions.
At the Library of Lhankor Mhy, Erinestra, along with Arng, Fionn, and Torben, gathered for a sacred ceremony. The atmosphere within the library’s stone walls was one of reverence, as the faithful paid homage to the god of knowledge. Torben, in particular, displayed conspicuous piety. His voice rose in prayer, and his devotion was clear to all who stood with him in the hallowed halls. His fervor did not go unnoticed, drawing glances of both respect and curiosity from those around him.
Elsewhere, Hundred-thane Baroness Ivarenna made a significant move of her own. Her withdrawal from public life had not been without purpose, and she emerged this week to purchase a large house in the prestigious Upper City. The acquisition of this grand residence only cemented her standing among the city's elite, a quiet but powerful reminder of her influence.
Harold, Julian, and Quatlu embarked on a more personal journey. Along with their lovers, they traveled to the cold, rugged lands of northern Sartar to visit their partners’ families. The trip was a respite from the political and military machinations of Boldhome, offering a brief but welcome retreat among kin. Yet even there, in the warmth of family homes, the echoes of Boldhome’s intrigues surely followed.
Re: 1631 - 12 (Late Storm) - Turn Report
Week 2
As the snows began to recede and the chill of winter softened, Boldhome was alive with the rhythm of daily life and the undertones of personal ambition. Julian returned to the barracks of the Royal Foot Guards, the familiar clang of weapons and the steady drill of soldiers creating a cadence that matched his determination. His week was spent immersed in the grueling discipline of battle axe training, each swing a testament to his growing strength and readiness for future conflicts.
Meanwhile, the temple of Orlanth was once again the site of a solemn ceremony. Afur, Grumbold, and Quatlu, each with their lovers, made their way to the halls to offer their devotion. Quatlu stood out among the congregation, his voice rising above the rest in fervent prayer. His conspicuous piety drew attention as he gave thanks to Orlanth for his recent successes: his appointment as Aide to a City Ring Member, the rigorous battle training he had completed, and the many blessings the Storm God had bestowed upon him. His gratitude was palpable, filling the temple with an air of sincerity and devotion.
Elsewhere in the city, Fionn was hard at work at the Military Academy. His knowledge and leadership were called upon to guide the next generation of warriors, his presence a steadying influence amid the chaos of battle drills and strategic lessons. His role as an assistant rune-lord of Lhankor Mhy was never far from his mind, and his time spent at the Academy was a blend of military discipline and the wisdom of the god of knowledge.
Erinestra, on the other hand, found herself immersed in the quiet, scholarly atmosphere of the Library of Lhankor Mhy. Her studies of Homeland Lore took up much of her week, her focus on the ancient texts and histories that lay the foundation of Sartar’s proud traditions. In the library’s hushed chambers, she sought the deeper wisdom of the land, connecting with the past to better understand the future.
As the snows began to recede and the chill of winter softened, Boldhome was alive with the rhythm of daily life and the undertones of personal ambition. Julian returned to the barracks of the Royal Foot Guards, the familiar clang of weapons and the steady drill of soldiers creating a cadence that matched his determination. His week was spent immersed in the grueling discipline of battle axe training, each swing a testament to his growing strength and readiness for future conflicts.
Meanwhile, the temple of Orlanth was once again the site of a solemn ceremony. Afur, Grumbold, and Quatlu, each with their lovers, made their way to the halls to offer their devotion. Quatlu stood out among the congregation, his voice rising above the rest in fervent prayer. His conspicuous piety drew attention as he gave thanks to Orlanth for his recent successes: his appointment as Aide to a City Ring Member, the rigorous battle training he had completed, and the many blessings the Storm God had bestowed upon him. His gratitude was palpable, filling the temple with an air of sincerity and devotion.
Elsewhere in the city, Fionn was hard at work at the Military Academy. His knowledge and leadership were called upon to guide the next generation of warriors, his presence a steadying influence amid the chaos of battle drills and strategic lessons. His role as an assistant rune-lord of Lhankor Mhy was never far from his mind, and his time spent at the Academy was a blend of military discipline and the wisdom of the god of knowledge.
Erinestra, on the other hand, found herself immersed in the quiet, scholarly atmosphere of the Library of Lhankor Mhy. Her studies of Homeland Lore took up much of her week, her focus on the ancient texts and histories that lay the foundation of Sartar’s proud traditions. In the library’s hushed chambers, she sought the deeper wisdom of the land, connecting with the past to better understand the future.
Re: 1631 - 12 (Late Storm) - Turn Report
Week 3
The week began with a quiet victory for Ondurga, whose persistence and ambition bore fruit. After receiving several glowing letters of recommendation, Warlord Silik Harevason of the Eleven Lights regiment was convinced to accept her into their ranks. With her acceptance, Ondurga immediately purchased the rank of ten-thane, securing both her position and the necessary steed to join the cavalry. Her rise was swift, and whispers of her determined climb through the ranks spread through Boldhome’s barracks.
Elsewhere, the clash of bronze rang through the Colymar stables as Harold honed his skill with the broadsword. The intensity of his training mirrored Quatlu’s own efforts at the Royal Foot Guards barracks, where he continued to master the battle axe. The barracks echoed with the sounds of focused warriors, each preparing for the inevitable trials that the coming seasons would bring.
Julian, having spent the previous week sharpening his martial prowess, turned inward this week, delving into the mysteries of Orlanth at the Storm God’s temple. His time there was marked by deep contemplation and study, seeking wisdom and guidance from the myths and sacred teachings of the god he served. Grumbold, too, immersed himself in his own cult studies, though his devotion led him to the temple of Issaries. His focus was on understanding the intricate nuances of trade and communication, deepening his connection to the god of commerce.
Amid these devotions, Erinestra tended to the more practical matters of life. Her shop, a beacon of steady trade in the heart of Boldhome, required her attention. The rhythm of business had its own demands, and Erinestra skillfully managed her affairs, balancing the needs of her customers with the responsibilities that came with running a successful enterprise.
Meanwhile, Afur made a pilgrimage to the temple of Ernalda, accompanied by Sod. The air inside the temple was thick with reverence as they joined in a sacred ceremony. Afur, ever eager to please, toadied to the chief priestess, offering his devotion and respect with an overt eagerness that did not go unnoticed. Though the ceremony was dedicated to the Earth Goddess, Afur’s presence was marked by his unwavering loyalty to those who held power within the sacred halls.
The week began with a quiet victory for Ondurga, whose persistence and ambition bore fruit. After receiving several glowing letters of recommendation, Warlord Silik Harevason of the Eleven Lights regiment was convinced to accept her into their ranks. With her acceptance, Ondurga immediately purchased the rank of ten-thane, securing both her position and the necessary steed to join the cavalry. Her rise was swift, and whispers of her determined climb through the ranks spread through Boldhome’s barracks.
Elsewhere, the clash of bronze rang through the Colymar stables as Harold honed his skill with the broadsword. The intensity of his training mirrored Quatlu’s own efforts at the Royal Foot Guards barracks, where he continued to master the battle axe. The barracks echoed with the sounds of focused warriors, each preparing for the inevitable trials that the coming seasons would bring.
Julian, having spent the previous week sharpening his martial prowess, turned inward this week, delving into the mysteries of Orlanth at the Storm God’s temple. His time there was marked by deep contemplation and study, seeking wisdom and guidance from the myths and sacred teachings of the god he served. Grumbold, too, immersed himself in his own cult studies, though his devotion led him to the temple of Issaries. His focus was on understanding the intricate nuances of trade and communication, deepening his connection to the god of commerce.
Amid these devotions, Erinestra tended to the more practical matters of life. Her shop, a beacon of steady trade in the heart of Boldhome, required her attention. The rhythm of business had its own demands, and Erinestra skillfully managed her affairs, balancing the needs of her customers with the responsibilities that came with running a successful enterprise.
Meanwhile, Afur made a pilgrimage to the temple of Ernalda, accompanied by Sod. The air inside the temple was thick with reverence as they joined in a sacred ceremony. Afur, ever eager to please, toadied to the chief priestess, offering his devotion and respect with an overt eagerness that did not go unnoticed. Though the ceremony was dedicated to the Earth Goddess, Afur’s presence was marked by his unwavering loyalty to those who held power within the sacred halls.
Re: 1631 - 12 (Late Storm) - Turn Report
Week 4
In the waning days of winter, when Boldhome’s peaks still bristled with stubborn patches of frost, the minor envoy from the Shadow Plateau arrived.
They came in a procession of grim silence, the pale sunlight reflecting dully off the blackened skin of the trolls, who trudged through the streets with a slow, purposeful gait. Cloaks of heavy, crude wool covered their broad shoulders, the edges caked in the dirt and snow of their long journey. The people of Boldhome kept their distance, uneasy eyes tracking the intruders from the Plateau. Though the trolls numbered few, their presence cast a shadow longer than their bodies, something ancient and forbidding that even the most hardened of warriors hesitated to challenge.
Among the group, it was easy to pick out the cult affiliations. Some of the trolls bore the unmistakable signs of Orlanth’s cult, though their worship seemed a mingling of storm and darkness. Rough-hewn symbols of the storm god hung from their necks, jagged runes etched into crude stone or iron, their eyes occasionally flickering with a strange reverence when they glanced upward toward the sky, as if seeking the winds that favored them.
Most, though, were unmistakably children of Argan Argar, god of the shadow traders, their presence heavier with mystery. These trolls wore the insignias of their cult with pride—discs of obsidian, jet-black beads, and thin chains of lead glinting from under their cloaks. Eyes like dull embers watched the streets, every gesture steeped in the careful poise of those accustomed to negotiation in the deep, dangerous places of the world. Their words, when exchanged among themselves, were low and furtive, spoken in the guttural tongue of Uz, thick as the sound of rocks grinding beneath the earth.
At their head, commanding the uneasy respect of all, was their leader—an ancient troll whose hulking frame was cloaked in a mantle of coarse, shadow-dyed fur. She was larger than the others, but it wasn’t just her size that marked her as their leader; it was the unmistakable aura of Kyger Litor’s priesthood. The symbols of the dark mother adorned her: intricate carvings of bone and lead hanging from her arms, chest, and tusked jaw. Her eyes, deep-set and gleaming like black pearls, held the unyielding authority of one who spoke the word of her matriarch. Her every movement was deliberate, as if the world itself bent to her will, a heavy, oppressive air following her as surely as her followers.
As they entered Boldhome’s heart, the trolls’ leader paused to regard the everburning flame of Sartar. Her expression was inscrutable, though a faint rumble, almost imperceptible, rose from her throat—approval, or warning, it was hard to say. Behind her, her followers stood in formation, a contrast of storm-worshippers and shadow dwellers, bound together by the strange accord of this dark envoy.
The city watched in silence. For though the end of winter had arrived, there was no mistaking the cold that now gripped Boldhome—the kind that came not from snow, but from the deep, impenetrable shadows that walked among them.
The winds of change continued to swirl around Boldhome, carrying with them tales of devotion, ambition, and duty. Groom Torben, eager to solidify his place among the faithful, formally joined the cult of Orlanth as an initiate.
Fionn, ever the steady presence at the Military Academy, spent his week imparting his knowledge to the next generation of warriors, while Grumbold finally completed his long course of studies at the temple of Issaries. His dedication to the god of trade had paid off, and now, with the wisdom of Issaries fully integrated, Grumbold was ready to apply his newfound insights to both business and faith. Julian, too, continued his devotions at the temple of Orlanth, deepening his understanding of the Storm God’s mysteries.
Erinestra’s week was more mundane, though no less important. She tended to her shop with the same dedication as always, ensuring that her business thrived amid the bustle of the city. Her steady hand in trade reflected her quiet ambition, grounding her in the practicalities of life while others chased loftier goals.
Afur’s path, however, took an unexpected turn. Though he had set out for the temple of Issaries to continue his studies, he was instead redirected to the temple of Orlanth, called upon to fulfill his cult duties for the second week. His devotion to the Storm God was unwavering, though his ambitions occasionally stretched beyond the sacred boundaries he served.
Meanwhile, Ondurga found herself drawn into the strange and unpredictable world of the Clown Tower. The ceremony she participated in was anything but ordinary. In the company of jesters and tricksters, Ondurga toadied to the chief clown, her actions blending reverence and absurdity in a way only the Clown Tower could produce. It was a curious display of humility, her loyalty to the regiment’s unusual traditions unmistakable.
But the week’s most significant event took place during the Orlanth High Holy Day ceremony, led by none other than Wind Lord Quatlu. His leadership of the sacred rites was a testament to his growing power within the cult, and his voice carried through the temple as he led the congregation in prayer and song. Among the participants stood Baroness Ivarenna, alongside her husband Silast, Afur with Sod, Julian, and Harold with Yeoth, all paying homage to the Storm God on this most sacred of days. The ceremony was a powerful reminder of Orlanth’s might and the unity of his followers, as the wind itself seemed to answer their prayers.
In the waning days of winter, when Boldhome’s peaks still bristled with stubborn patches of frost, the minor envoy from the Shadow Plateau arrived.
They came in a procession of grim silence, the pale sunlight reflecting dully off the blackened skin of the trolls, who trudged through the streets with a slow, purposeful gait. Cloaks of heavy, crude wool covered their broad shoulders, the edges caked in the dirt and snow of their long journey. The people of Boldhome kept their distance, uneasy eyes tracking the intruders from the Plateau. Though the trolls numbered few, their presence cast a shadow longer than their bodies, something ancient and forbidding that even the most hardened of warriors hesitated to challenge.
Among the group, it was easy to pick out the cult affiliations. Some of the trolls bore the unmistakable signs of Orlanth’s cult, though their worship seemed a mingling of storm and darkness. Rough-hewn symbols of the storm god hung from their necks, jagged runes etched into crude stone or iron, their eyes occasionally flickering with a strange reverence when they glanced upward toward the sky, as if seeking the winds that favored them.
Most, though, were unmistakably children of Argan Argar, god of the shadow traders, their presence heavier with mystery. These trolls wore the insignias of their cult with pride—discs of obsidian, jet-black beads, and thin chains of lead glinting from under their cloaks. Eyes like dull embers watched the streets, every gesture steeped in the careful poise of those accustomed to negotiation in the deep, dangerous places of the world. Their words, when exchanged among themselves, were low and furtive, spoken in the guttural tongue of Uz, thick as the sound of rocks grinding beneath the earth.
At their head, commanding the uneasy respect of all, was their leader—an ancient troll whose hulking frame was cloaked in a mantle of coarse, shadow-dyed fur. She was larger than the others, but it wasn’t just her size that marked her as their leader; it was the unmistakable aura of Kyger Litor’s priesthood. The symbols of the dark mother adorned her: intricate carvings of bone and lead hanging from her arms, chest, and tusked jaw. Her eyes, deep-set and gleaming like black pearls, held the unyielding authority of one who spoke the word of her matriarch. Her every movement was deliberate, as if the world itself bent to her will, a heavy, oppressive air following her as surely as her followers.
As they entered Boldhome’s heart, the trolls’ leader paused to regard the everburning flame of Sartar. Her expression was inscrutable, though a faint rumble, almost imperceptible, rose from her throat—approval, or warning, it was hard to say. Behind her, her followers stood in formation, a contrast of storm-worshippers and shadow dwellers, bound together by the strange accord of this dark envoy.
The city watched in silence. For though the end of winter had arrived, there was no mistaking the cold that now gripped Boldhome—the kind that came not from snow, but from the deep, impenetrable shadows that walked among them.
The winds of change continued to swirl around Boldhome, carrying with them tales of devotion, ambition, and duty. Groom Torben, eager to solidify his place among the faithful, formally joined the cult of Orlanth as an initiate.
Fionn, ever the steady presence at the Military Academy, spent his week imparting his knowledge to the next generation of warriors, while Grumbold finally completed his long course of studies at the temple of Issaries. His dedication to the god of trade had paid off, and now, with the wisdom of Issaries fully integrated, Grumbold was ready to apply his newfound insights to both business and faith. Julian, too, continued his devotions at the temple of Orlanth, deepening his understanding of the Storm God’s mysteries.
Erinestra’s week was more mundane, though no less important. She tended to her shop with the same dedication as always, ensuring that her business thrived amid the bustle of the city. Her steady hand in trade reflected her quiet ambition, grounding her in the practicalities of life while others chased loftier goals.
Afur’s path, however, took an unexpected turn. Though he had set out for the temple of Issaries to continue his studies, he was instead redirected to the temple of Orlanth, called upon to fulfill his cult duties for the second week. His devotion to the Storm God was unwavering, though his ambitions occasionally stretched beyond the sacred boundaries he served.
Meanwhile, Ondurga found herself drawn into the strange and unpredictable world of the Clown Tower. The ceremony she participated in was anything but ordinary. In the company of jesters and tricksters, Ondurga toadied to the chief clown, her actions blending reverence and absurdity in a way only the Clown Tower could produce. It was a curious display of humility, her loyalty to the regiment’s unusual traditions unmistakable.
But the week’s most significant event took place during the Orlanth High Holy Day ceremony, led by none other than Wind Lord Quatlu. His leadership of the sacred rites was a testament to his growing power within the cult, and his voice carried through the temple as he led the congregation in prayer and song. Among the participants stood Baroness Ivarenna, alongside her husband Silast, Afur with Sod, Julian, and Harold with Yeoth, all paying homage to the Storm God on this most sacred of days. The ceremony was a powerful reminder of Orlanth’s might and the unity of his followers, as the wind itself seemed to answer their prayers.
Re: 1631 - 12 (Late Storm) - Turn Report
The Front: Goldedge
The campaign for Goldedge was set in motion with calculated precision. Mularik’s Company (most of it) led the charge, tasked with the daunting responsibility of laying siege to the town. Meanwhile, Lt Warlord Garoor’s battalion of the Thieves' Arm was assigned to field operations, their mission to sever any Lunar supply lines and isolate the city. The winter winds carried the tension of war, as both forces moved with purpose, intent on breaking the Lunar grip over the town.
At the heart of the siege, Warlord Baron Rufus displayed his renowned patience, holding back his forces until the opportune moment. When the time came, his storming party surged through the gates with devastating force, overwhelming the defenders. The gates of Goldedge fell, and the town was liberated from Lunar oppression, though not all the locals welcomed the new rule with open arms. Some saw only the continuation of violence and control under a different banner.
In the aftermath, Baron Rufus and Lt Warlord Erik were immortalized in battlesongs, their deeds during the siege etched into the memory of Boldhome. Rufus, ever humble, refused the promotion that would have followed his success, though whispers of his potential rise to drighten spread through the ranks. Erik, however, reaped the spoils of war, looting over 1000 Lunars in the chaos following the town’s fall.
Garoor’s field operations had been less conclusive. Though his efforts to cut off Lunar supplies didn’t fully succeed, his cunning and persistence still earned him mention in the same battlesongs, and he did not leave the battlefield empty-handed, looting hundreds of Lunars during the siege.
With the town of Goldedge liberated, the regiments marched homeward to Boldhome, their campaign completed just in time for the rituals of Sacred Time.
The campaign for Goldedge was set in motion with calculated precision. Mularik’s Company (most of it) led the charge, tasked with the daunting responsibility of laying siege to the town. Meanwhile, Lt Warlord Garoor’s battalion of the Thieves' Arm was assigned to field operations, their mission to sever any Lunar supply lines and isolate the city. The winter winds carried the tension of war, as both forces moved with purpose, intent on breaking the Lunar grip over the town.
At the heart of the siege, Warlord Baron Rufus displayed his renowned patience, holding back his forces until the opportune moment. When the time came, his storming party surged through the gates with devastating force, overwhelming the defenders. The gates of Goldedge fell, and the town was liberated from Lunar oppression, though not all the locals welcomed the new rule with open arms. Some saw only the continuation of violence and control under a different banner.
In the aftermath, Baron Rufus and Lt Warlord Erik were immortalized in battlesongs, their deeds during the siege etched into the memory of Boldhome. Rufus, ever humble, refused the promotion that would have followed his success, though whispers of his potential rise to drighten spread through the ranks. Erik, however, reaped the spoils of war, looting over 1000 Lunars in the chaos following the town’s fall.
Garoor’s field operations had been less conclusive. Though his efforts to cut off Lunar supplies didn’t fully succeed, his cunning and persistence still earned him mention in the same battlesongs, and he did not leave the battlefield empty-handed, looting hundreds of Lunars during the siege.
With the town of Goldedge liberated, the regiments marched homeward to Boldhome, their campaign completed just in time for the rituals of Sacred Time.