Shaman's Records
Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War
Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty of Clan Glacierheart recording
White flags fly over a hill between our outposts and Fort Westmarch. Calling it a hill may be generous, given that it is hardly taller than one orc on another's shoulders. But it is a rise in the ground, and I know of no other name to give it.
Sigh. Here I am, scratching words onto a page, feeling my way to what the flags mean. White flags are a sign of truce, a call to discussion, an offering of peace. That they stand atop a hill gives them greater visibility, that they might be seen by any orc, not just the Elders. Word has spread, and the whispers started. That they flight halfway between Fort and the mid-valley outpost is another sign. Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark are willing to talk, but are not willing to yield. both they and Clan Glacierheart must come partway to speak, and the same on any lasting truce that would be struck.
The Elders are inclined to talk, and I hope that they are more than willing to come to some agreement. Clan Ironbark and Clan Westmarch may have lost one warrior in four when Clan Glacierheart captured the outposts (counting enslaved, hurt, and killed as one), but Clan Glacierheart lost one warrior in five in the same doing with every advantage we could find or make. That would only get worse the closer Clan Glacierheart came to taking the fort, when all of those advantages would be flayed away by open ground and stone walls.
The shadow across the stars changed last night. I know not whether is was natural, or the presence of Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart nearby, but it changed. The lighter shade of black flowed and began to glow. First a deep purple, then flowing, flaring, higher. Blue the color of a deep lake, edged with more in the flashing ice-fire of sun-on-snow. Then into green the color of fresh grass, lashing out across the sky in snaking whips. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come, a torch snuffed out by a strong wind. What omen that may reveal is lost to me. It was the most beautiful and sublime sight I have ever seen.
The Elders have reached their decision. We will meet Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark under white flags of our own.
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Chronicler Vian's Log
Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War
Today marks a turning point in this war. By the time the sun sets, the Fate of Westmarch, the Ironbark Mercenary Company, and Clan Glacierheart will be decided. We have marched out under flags of truce to talk to Clan Glacierheart, in the hope of finding common ground against the Jeweled Cities. If their latest letter spoke true, then we have two months before their army arrives. Two months to forge an alliance between the two nations, and then it will be tested in the fires of battle and hammered against the anvil of war.
The Westmarchers also tell me that it will be two months before the snow begins to fall. There is more than enough food in the fort for the Westmarchers and we of Ironbark Company, but probably not enough for the orc of Clan Glacierheart. They should be bringing food with them if they do decide to move down out of the mountains and into the valley.
But here I am, assuming that all will go well. It may not, or this all could end with a blood feud. But if it does, then Westmarch is probably screwed, and Ironbark along with it. So I'll go on assuming that all will go well, and plan to keep the Logs preserved if it all does go horribly wrong.
There is a delegation descending form the Outpost under a white flag of their own. It looks like the meeting is on.
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Shamans Records (in captivity)
Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War
Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glaicerheart recording
I never thought that I would see this day. Orcs and humans coming together in common cause. More than just that, if those at its heart could but see it. Common purpose, common desire, common fate. The last rune, fate, landed in the light this morning. This is to be a momentous day, for better or for worse. With any luck, I will be returned to my clan, or at least freed from captivity.
Even so, I may request to stay here. I have only just begun to transcribe the Old Tongue sections of the Clan Ironbark Records written by Innoch. So much is there that has been forgotten, buried under newer Clan-songs. A human by the name of Old Leon, an old Chronicler, is helping me. He too is fascinated to learn of the things that were once forgotten. The Chronicler in training, a young man by the name of Aris Cretu, is also interested but is often busy working on his handwriting. I have seldom seen such a clear, distinctly purposeful mess before. Still, he does have a wonderful singing voice. I can hear the sea, the crash of waves on stone, the storm in the sky, when he sings. For one who is not a shaman, he knows more of nature's fury and grace than most will ever know.
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It took me a few days to piece everything together, as well as reading Chronicler Vian's Records of my capture, but I now know the names of the ones who took me captive. They are the same band that I first so badly underestimated up in the goat trails, and they are also responsible for the death of Warlord Elder Lokk the Brutal. The half-orc band leader goes by Gork the Scarred, the human woman is Tam, and the third was Aris himself. All three are warriors of renown, despite their ages and lack of experience. Gork the Scarred is the veteran of the three, having survived and triumphed in three conflicts before this one and earning the right to lead his own band in the process. This is the first conflict for both Aris and Tam, and Tam in particular is hardly an adult by human or orc standards. But scars earned on the field of battle tell no lies. Tam bears them on her flesh and blade, while Aris' armor is fairly etched by them.
White banners are coming forward from the Outpost in the middle of the valley. I will lend my voice to these peace talks, for no other reason than to ensure that all present know the strength of all of the others.
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Shaman's Records, Peace gathering between Clans Glacierheart, Ironbark, and Westmarch.
Thirtieth of September, Seven Hundred and Sixty Ninth year since the Seminal War
Shaman Initiate Mul the Feisty of Clan Glacierheart recording
Present are:
* Shaman Elder Wolfbite Glacierheart and Warlord Elder Otab the Old for Clan Glacierheart.
* Captain Rivoril Syllynn and Chronicler Vian Cofaen for Clan Ironbark.
* Mayor Bilal Muhktar and Garrison Commander Nalo Samirah for Clan Westmarch
Also present is Shaman Koroc the Singer of Clan Glacierheart, held captive but not enslaved by clan Ironbark. It does my heart glad (and the Elders' hearts too I suspect) to see him alive and well.
Shamans Notation: The usual bantering and posturing for position is absent. All present know that the other has something that they want, and a pressing reason to make the exchange.
Wolfbite Glacierheart (WG): We both know that a war is coming, and that we must stand together, so what must be asked is what you of Clan Westmarch and Clan Ironbark are willing to give us for our aid?
Bilal Muhktar (BM): We had hoped that you would be willing to take the land that you already hold, that you might have a reason to stay and fight in Westmarch valley.
Otab the Old (OtO): That is quite generous, especially considering the farms that you would also be giving up, as well as all of their future produce, and the profit from them.
Nalo Samirah (NS): But you would also then be invested in defending the Westmarch valley instead of simply retreating into the Glacierhearts every time the Jeweled Cities came calling.
Rivoril Syllynn (RS): The other thing that you would giving us is a safe place for the women, children, and others who cannot fight.
WG: Alongside those of us who could not fight, and a safe place to store their food for the winter, leaving Westmarch Valley filled only with warriors and Pikes.
RS: Exactly.
OtO: This is more than acceptable to me.
WG: I agree. Do we need any ceremony to mark our agreement?
BM: None, so long as our Chroniclers and your Shamans make record of it.
Shaman's Notation: There is agreement all around. Messengers are dispatched back to the Fort and the Outpost with word of the agreement. The mood shifts, hardening as it comes to the tasks of the sword and pike.
RS: That leaves getting your warriors and my soldiers to work together in the next two months.
OtO: Two months?
NS: Aye. The Jeweled Cities will be arriving by the end of November, and we will need to be ready for them
WG: Then perhaps we should start by moving the non-warriors and the food. Give our peoples experience working alongside each other before asking them to fight together.
Koroc the Singer (KtS): Sharing Clan-songs would help this process. Would Clan Ironbark be willing to spare one of its Chroniclers to aid in the translation effort?
Vian Cofaen (VC): I think I could Spare Aris for such an endeavor, if you would be willing to lend me an assistant in exchange, or at least the results of your endeavors.
WG: I am not sure that we have a Shaman Initiate whom can be spared from their studies. What works would be translated Koroc?
KtS: From Clan Glacierheart, some of the older clan-songs. The ones that date from around The Seminal War perhaps. From Clan Ironbark, perhaps Innoch's Records?
VC: If you can make sense of that language, then I am more than willing to lend you Aris in exchange for learning what they say, and a guide on translating the rest.
OtO: It sounds as if we have an agreement on these matters. The fine details can be worked out at a later date, if all are in agreement?
RS: Ironbark is in agreement, and are willing to let Koroc the Singer go with you as a sign of good faith.
BM: Westmarch is in agreement, with the understanding that particular details as to who owns which farm will be settled after this winter is over.
WG: Then we are all agreed. May the Gods bless us all with good fortune in our future endeavors.