“We will not allow the Federation, forged from our dreams for a better world, to be used as a tyrant's weapon to enslave our people.”  – Stalwarte Gemfist, The Final Heir

"Fate is a ship." – Louis L'Amour, No Traveller Returns

Sarge is a rare mood. She’s squinting up at the low grey sky, chewing on a cigar, daring it to rain again.

“Fuckin’ Horde,” she paces.  Well, more like hobbles. “Fuckin’ airships,” she spits. “Fuckin’ Horde airships.”

Then to no one in particular she lets out a long stream of expletives that turn into angry puffs of storm clouds in the cold afternoon air.

“Fuck. Bitch. Pillars. Shit. Plentok-Fucking-Veris. Cornhole. Fuck. It was bad enough fightin’ these fuckin’ fuckers once on the ground… Now we gotta’ fight them in the fuckin’ air?” She pauses for a long moment. Balances on her prosthetic leg, which she does when she’s thinking.

“Fuckin’ Gallantine.” She tries to take a drag and realizes her cigar isn’t lit. “Fuck.”

Sarge has to be 55 years old if she’s a day. Human. Veteran of the Sunfalls campaign. No wonder she’s angry. Sunfalls was the former capital of Bithal – “Glory of the Lake Dwarves,” the old folks say.  You wouldn’t know it now. It’s been on the other side of Tufimatix’s Folly for the past 7 years. That’s what people called the DMZ between the Federation and the Horde. When there was still a DMZ. When there was still a Federation. Ah shit, Sarge’s mood is contagious.

She stares fiercely at the sheets Gifu Squad found stuffed hastily into the root hollow of a felled tree, “Someone stow all these, what did you call them? Tinker!?”

A be-goggled gnome pops up from underneath one of them. “Ooo! Uh, well, those are parachutes, Sarge. Actually, you see, it’s quite a fascinating conce(pt)…”

“Great. Parachutes. Shut the fuck up. Fuckin’ gnomes. Look for any more of them. Stow all these… “parachutes” you jackasses.”

“You jackasses” are the mostly untrained recruits of the 3rd Auxiliary Platoon, Bithal Irregulars Company out of Ft. Tcyz. Hoo-ah! That’s a fancy way of saying road builders. If you’re looking for the engineers, they’re down the way. Too boojy to slum with this rabble of orphaned legionnaires and “Auxen.” That is, until they need a rock moved. At this point, rocks are all that’s left of Bithal. The entire province is the frontline, but if you don’t have roads, how you gonna’ retreat when the Horde rolls through. Any day now. Yup, even the frontlines need roads. And apparently lots of ditches. Something to do with drainage. That, and an army’s need to do as much stupid shit as possible.

Oh, and graves. You’ve been digging a lot of graves.

I know what you’re wondering, what’s a platoon of road builders and gravediggers doing so close to the frontlines, messing with goblin parachutes? And what the hell’s a parachute?

Well, to tell you that story, I’m going to have to tell you this one first.

Two days ago, the Lieutenant descended from on high with dispatches from headquarters. Well, from what used to be headquarters. They were sent before Dissolution... the official end of the Federation.

Final Orders to the closest unit: Rendezvous with a travelling merchant making a bee-line down Ogram’s Alley.  From there, escort “the package” back to Riot’s Gate. Scratch that. Now Forward Advance, the Legion’s last stand at the End of the Fucking World. Ahh, the Church of Heironeous! Too stubborn to accept defeat, too stupid to know how to spell it.

"Who the hell's gonna pay my pension now?" Sarge mumbles to no one in particular.

So, you’ve spent the last two days and most of the last two nights on double-march in the cold through early winter swamps, bramble and blasted heath so our important new lieutenant can hobnob with an Agent of the Unspoken.

He, she or “it” probably has critical fucking intelligence to offer like, “there are Gobs and Orcs in the fucking Horde” or “Gallantine has three balls.” And another thing, what’s the purpose of a super-secret spy agency whose name everyone knows? No wonder the Federation fell apart!

Sorry. Too soon? Yeah. Too soon.

So now Sarge is trying to piece it all together. Where’s our merchant? What’s with the parachutes? Is there an airship still hiding in a bank of clouds? How many Hordelings did it drop?  And what are they here to do? (It’s not like they’ll have an easy way back…) If she’s not careful Sarge is going to hurt herself.

“Uh, Sergeant? Uhm… Sarge?”

“Whaddafuckd’youwantImetryantathinkheah!! Oh… Lieutenant.” Sarge coming to attention for Lieutenant Fellcourt is almost indiscernible to the naked Human eye. They say only ratmen can see it. “Sir.”

“Where’s our merchant? What’re those sheets? Do you think it’s going to rain again? Or snow? I, uh, think the troops are tired, can we rest now, I mean, can I order a rest?”

“Excellent idea sir, I’ll get the troops right on it.” You’ve been on it for the past hour.

“Yeah, about that. Shouldn’t we be dissolving the units and sending them home to defend their lands? I mean, why are we even bothering?”

How does she not murder him right in his neck? This is why Sarge is the Sarge.

“Come on sir, let’s talk in private.”

FOLLOWING THE COMMANDOS’ TRAIL

Following the Gnoll attack. The lines are in a state. Where’s Sarge? Where’s the lieutenant? What were skrimishers doing out here? What do you do next?

Sarge arrives, wounded. There will multiple skirmisher parties. Time to pick up the trail.

〇 Merchant deliberately hid his trail

〇 He did a poor job of it, because he was in a hurry

〇 This original trail has been trampled by a goblin war band

〇 Normal Structure of Scouting Party: Four Goblin Squads with one leader, usually a Hob or a tough old Gob – scouting. Normal Structure of a Foraging Party: 8 specialized Hob Gob Squads including at least one squad of Ogre handlers - raiding

〇 Something unusual, which might explain why gnoll skrimishers are being used to guard their flanks. Why skirmish for a raiding party?

〇 This "Special Forces" group is made up four Hob-Gob squads (20 individuals), including an Ogre Handling Squad = speed and strength (and innovation).

〇 They mustered about a kilometre from the drop zone, and they are prejudicing speed over stealth.

The Horde party splits into four groups . Lieutenant decides to stay, split remainder and follow all four…

Sarge tries to say something… asks him if he’s sure… he ignores her… other NCOs look at Sarge as he starts to give orders and ignores her completely. The LT is jealous and irritated. The Sarge is worried. Fellcourt pulls rank and insists.

Sarge sighs and says: “Monster Squad, you’re with me… I want to know where that Ogre is going…”

EXPLORE THE MERCHANT’S CAMP

You reach an area that was clearly a camp, before it was trampled by the SOF Team you are following…

Main features: a low rocky formation that hid a campfire, a wooded area with plenty of cover, a place to stash the wagon and let horses forage.

〇 This place has been searched already, but quickly.

〇 Something scared the searchers away

〇 The searchers didn’t find what they were looking for

〇 Rocks: “dead drop” inside the rocks. Looks like it was found. Something was taken out of it. It was almost “too easy” to find.

〇 Trees: There is a very well hidden “dead drop” – someone looked at it recently, but not the searchers

〇 Where horses were kept: a bit of black ribbon can be found. It looks like scrap (“it’s an underworld signal, an old one, to indicate I know I am being followed, taking evasive manoeuvres… ”)

EXPLORE THE NEOGI AMBUSH SIGHT

〇 The trail is suddenly disrupted. New tracks appear out of nowhere and it appears there was a sudden skirmish.

〇 Something with large burrowing claws. Very heavy. Three of them

〇 A large spider is staying far at the edge of the action… always careful not to get too close to your Hobs and Gobs

〇 There’s no mistaking it… Ogre, 4 goblins, and a hobgoblin – their tracks end here. 

The merchant looks at the party, sees Luckums… and grabs her arm… “They know what’s driving the Horde. They know what they seek. Take what’s inside... Alert Sadore of the Lunar Elven Embassy in Riot’s Gate. Our sphere holds the key.” Crossbowman put two more bolts into the merchant. He is now an ex-merchant. 

When you reach the deck, the sky is everything.

It must be night, because it is black. And yet it is deeper and more textured than any nightsky  you have ever seen. It is as warm as a midspringday, and the deck is bathed in the light of a full and unhindered moon. Yet Seluna is nowhere to be seen, though there are stars. So many stars. A dizzying quantity of stars. They’re so close, you feel as though you could reach out and grab one, like an apple from a tree. They hang from the purple smudge of light frolicking off the starboard bow.

Aft you can see a pale blue ball, wreathed in white swirls. The side facing you three grey sticks emerge from its surface organized in a tiny triangle that reaches above the swirls. A ball and an oblongish rock circle it slowly. Sentar and her moons and the Pillars themselves shrink behind you, nestled i the contours of the velvet sheet of night.

[...]

Excerpts from the Private Journal of Guardsman Khalid - Day 1

Dakarday Umberweek Fharlanga in the 48th Annum Independencia

After arriving at Fort Tcyz, I found an empty bunk in one of the tents and threw down my gear.  I was wounded and exhausted.  I stripped the rags and dirty clothes, washed and went to sleep.  It was Dakarday and I reported to my new platoon warrant, a stern human who was apparently only named Sarge.  She told me to see the medic, draw new gear and return to her after the mid day meal.  I got through that quickly and was able to repair "Albarud" with the parts I had scavenged from the last battle.  When I saw Sarge, she had a squad assembled for me:  an orc Shrokthath the Disavowed, one of the rat folk Basile Antrax and a goblin Luckums.  The platoon marched out right away towards Forward Advance to find some merchant connected with the Unspoken that had an important package.

We moved quickly up the road and found a clearing littered with parachutes.  While we were searching, we were attacked by gnolls.  My gun was working well and my aim was true.  We dispatched them quickly operating well as a team.  Basile and Luckums found the tracks of a goblin party heading off towards Forward Advance.  I told the LT that we were continuing the search and Sarge went with us.

Following the tracks, we found the merchant's camp and determined that it had been been extensively searched by the goblin party and their ogre handler.  We were able to find a false lead and another, very cleverly hidden dead-drop in the woods.  The merchant had got away with his package but with the goblin party in fast pursuit.  Farther up the trail, it seems that another hunter was in this chase, serious enough to threaten the goblins.

Finally, we came upon the merchant and his wagon.  Him and his horse had been attacked so we rushed to him.  He was a lunar elf, so rare I had only read on them in my history studies as a boy.  He was still alive and we learned his name was Sandor and he was from Riot's Gate. He only said, "our spear holds the key" [What he said was: “They know what’s driving the Horde. They know what they seek. Take what’s inside... Alert Sadore of the Lunar Elven Embassy in Riot’s Gate. Our sphere holds the key.” - DM] and three goblin arrows killed him.  We are under attack from the ridge.

I knocked the wagon on its side for cover.  Shrokthath raced to the left flank and I went to the right.  By Luckums magic, Shrokthath became massive.  I surprised the goblins on the right only to discover a viscous monstrosity attacking them.  I shot it in the head, it turned and looked at me and suddenly I felt like I was encased in ice.  I could hear and see but not move.  Suddenly Shrokthath charged through the goblin lies and grabbed me like a syka ball.  He ran to re-group the squad and we were surrounded by those monsters.  Then it became black...

We awoke inside a galley, slaves chained to oars.  The squad was there with the Private Coalman and LT Falcorte.  A goblin came in and undid our chains as she led a rebellion against our captors.  We went up on the top deck and our captors stopped the revolt with barely any effort at all.  The monstrosity spoke and called us "meat".  I looked over the side of the boat and saw that we were not on the water but in the sky, in the air, no, among the stars.

I got assigned to yet another platoon today (if that is what it is called, I should pay more attention), I wonder if they will last any longer than any of the others. Hopefully the clerical error that caused me to be here in the first place will be reversed and I’ll be able to return to Riot’s Gate soon. I don’t miss the Viper’s Watch as much as I thought I would, but I do find my thoughts wandering to the Libriohenaeum. I've been trying to work out a few details on some new magic but going on all these patrols has really cut into my research time. Why do the orc, ratfolk and goblin need to follow the human? Is this some sort of bad joke? Anyway, seems like the situation out there is getting desperate and more dangerous. I’ll have to remember to play it smart and follow my instincts. We are looking for some merchant with a lost package. Hopefully they will have some magic scribblings to acquire.

There were a bunch of skirmishes as our platoons engaged scouts and elites from the Horde. I was glad to be in this new platoon as it didn’t crack under pressure. They still have that unwise tendency to rush straight towards danger. Things seems to be going well so far but I’m not sure our luck will keep up.

We are tracking the merchant and found his last camp. Shouldn’t be much longer before we find him. Something else is hunting around here. Not our goons, not the Horde. Maybe some wild arachnids or something more organized. I can’t help but feeling like we are walking into a trap. Oh, well.

We found the merchant, a lunar elf with a magnetic personality for arrows. Of course we got ambushed from higher ground and the hordlings dispatched our contact before we could get any useful information. All the elf mentioned was some spear hiding a key. Mental note: go to the moon and retrieve a hidden key in some ceremonial spear. Keys to a skyship? Vroom-Vroom. Maybe. [What he said was: “They know what’s driving the Horde. They know what they seek. Take what’s inside... Alert Sadore of the Lunar Elven Embassy in Riot’s Gate. Our sphere holds the key.” - DM] 

But then I saw it: The circular coronet headpiece crafted from steel stone. (Shivers) Ooooo! It called me with sweet inaudible whispers only meant for my ears. The arced shapes of it’s curves, the ancient craftsmanship, the forbidden materials plucked from the Roots of Sentar, and most of all it’s obvious arcane power! Finally it has found me. Somebody tried to distract me but I stayed focused on my prize. I had to growl a bit and show a few teeth but I was able to keep my civilized composure and hide it safely.

Nothing worse than being ambushed, except when the ambush is further ambushed. The predators we got hints about are an off world races of arachnid pirates looking to press-gang a slave crew. These spidernoids have mental abilities that can freeze a victim. I hate being press-ganged repeatedly. I’m going to take their ship and claim it as my own.

What I am asking myself now is not why did the rest of the platoon run towards danger, but rather, why did I not follow my instincts and run the other way? Those spider monsters could probably read my mind, so hiding was useless. Now look where this got me.

Waking up to being a prisoner is not all that unusual, being drugged so I can’t use my magic or being chained and forced to work is. This ship appears to be more than a simple skyship. We are travelling through the wild realm. Jennifer seems nice, I like her positive personality in the face of an unpleasant situation. Nice ears too. She has a way around locks and freed us without any difficulties. She lead a rebellion which failed and now I’m not sure where she is. Again we rushed towards danger and look where it got us. We will have to plan this a little better if I am to get control of my ship. Where is my Steel-Stone coronet? The spiders will pay for taking it from me. But first we must find Jennifer and take control of my ship.

It’s best not to ask too many questions. You fight when you’re told to fight. You sleep when you’re told to sleep. You march… You get the idea. Better than kicking around towns in the ass end of the world, picking through refuse piles, doing the best you can to shrug off insults and jeers from the townsfolk, and scrapping when you can’t. Sigh. For a while it seemed the army was my new home. It was just so nice to be valued. But it didn’t take long to figure it out - valued because I could fight, and still viewed with suspicion, mocked behind my back (“the half breed”) and sometimes not so secretly, viewed as lesser than, suspect-yet-occasionally very useful. The army was a harbour in a storm. Long storm. What would come next? It looks like I’m about to find out.

I’d been serving with Sarge for a few months now. Good sort. So when she ordered that I join up with a new group, I didn’t pay much mind. Who knew how long any of them would last. Some puny goblin with a weird name. Plucky? Ducky? A ratfolk - also puny - with a spice for a name. Some human who’s hand kept going to his gun like it was a second dick.

Anyways, fucking Horde parachutes in on our camp, Sarge says to investigate… What the hell do you think is going to happen? Fighting. Out of nowhere, arrows flying, war cries, the usual. At least this new platoon didn’t shit the bed. In fact the guy with the gun came and stood up for Shroktath in a tight spot. I got a good feeling about him. Maybe I should learn his name.

Track ‘em down, Sarge says. We’re meeting a guy with a thing, Sarge says. Got to get to them before the Horde. Okay. Search when you’re told to search. Not exactly my strong suit, but okay. Luckily (?) the other guys were good at that sort of thing, especially that ratfolk guy. Thyme?

Well, they find the Merchant. But he’s about to get a serious bolt infection and die. Says something about the sphere? They’re coming for the sphere? Whatever the fuck that means. But something’s starting to feel off about this mission. Stupid fucking lieutenant aside, the merchant doesn’t seem like a dumbass. He was pretty smart and sneaky, really, hiding stuff, and almost making it through a hardass ambush by the Horde. And I’m no ranger, but there’s all these weird tracks around the sights that sure as the Emperor’s balls don’t look like any goblin tracks I’ve ever seen. 

And then, it all went to shit. An ambush. The goblin uses her magic and suddenly I’m just like a giant - what a feeling. A rush to the fight. I’m itching for it, actually, and I laugh at the hobgoblin as I face off with him. Would’ve been a good fight. And then… the nasty, nasty surprise. Turns out the Horde were the least of our worries. Some weird creatures I’ve never even heard stories of before with weird eyeballfacemouths on top of snake necks start making everyone, and I mean everyone, didn’t matter which side, slack jawed and dumb worse than a peasant seeing the biggest pumpkin ever at a country fair. And I don’t know if it’s magic or what, but I’ve seen enough fighting to know this has gone seriously wrong and fast. I can feel these creatures trying to get at me, like hot, spiky fingers trying to dig into my brain, and a chill runs through me. “Mind control” I yell, but it’s too late. Gun guy’s looking like his just exploded. Ratspice looks about as the same. I don’t know where the fuck Ducky is. We have got to get out of here. “Never leave a man behind,” I can hear Illeyesar practically shouting in my brain. Fucking church. For just a breath I steel myself, and then I”m off. It’s just like that game of syka ball where I won the game for my fellow charges. I’m piling through the goblins like wheat stalks. I tackle gun guy and pick him up. I turn hard and head back to where Ducky was and scoop up Ratspice without breaking stride. I’m feeling like a champion…

And then one of those weird things pops up in front of me, and it’s game over. The fingers pierce into my mind this time, and suddenly it’s like I'm watching the situation from afar.

Slavers. Fucking slavers. Sky slavers? Next thing I know we’re chained oarsmen on some weird boat, but it’s no sea we’re sailing through. Some goblin manages to engineer a rebellion… that goes about as well as you might expect against weird ass critters that have MIND CONTROL. Fuck. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to rip their little heads off their bodies and watch the blood squirt through my fingers like ripe gujamellon juice… but for now, I bide my time and hum a Hieronian hymn as a I row. Even now, it still brings some comfort and helps to quiet the fury inside.

You row when you’re told. Or you get whipped.