West Marches - Losing

West Marches - Losing

It had all gone sideways.

It wasn’t that surprising. Tirondian army tactics were hardly inspired. Form ranks, march forwards, eliminate things that stand in the way. Oh, bring siege weapons if necessary.

Works great when you fight opposing armies. Less so when your enemies are giant horrors of paint, or the corrupted twisted versions of your own soldiers. Fat lot of good a siege tower does against a painted horde.

Now, Sedriks ran through the woods, they’d lost touch with the cavalry a few hours back, horses spooked and the Captain had ordered them rounded up. Sedriks, and his command knew better. Three dozen was all that was left of their outrider wing, what should’ve been close to two hundred light and medium infantry. Harried at every turn, they’d retreated into a guerilla skirmish through the night.



“General, what’s the plan?”

A lieutenant, scale pauldrons adorned with the standard of the Lion. Haggard and disheveled, the lieutenant had just the traces of foam in the corners of his mouth, the effects of a long forced march.

Sedriks’ eyes narrowed, “I’m nay a General, and we keep moving.”

“Your pardon, Commander, but we don’t know where the General is anymore, and nobody seen or heard since-”

“Shut it, officer. We a’ all aware, no need tae give voice. Daylight soon, we’ll find a better vantage an’ send scouts.”

The lieutenant shut up, nodded and sent hand signals back through the motley array.

Sedriks’ ears picked up the sounds of disgruntlement.

“Why are we followin’ that one anyway. They’re not a real Commander, some noble tart all gussied up in-”

A shard of wood, expertly thrown lodged itself in the slitted visor of the troop. Sharpened points stopping a handsbredth from his eyes.

Even the raspy panting of exhausted men and women stilled, as Sedriks turned. It was impossible to miss the casual way his hand dropped to the brace of throwing knives on his waist.

“Aye, followin’ me, all through the night ye are. And ye are still alive, somehow, though ye dinnae have the brains tae show for it. If ye wish to strike of on ye own, be me guest, ye’ll be better bait for it assured.” The troop raised his gauntleted hand to pull at the shard of wood, but it was stuck fast. The others looked away, and no one stepped forward to help.

“We ae’r routed, make nae mistake. Tha goal is to find the main column, or find another position tae hole up in and rest a few hours.”

“Tirond does not retreat!” Called another soldier, leaning heavily on his bow. A friend of the first.

The derisive snort from Sedriks cut his half-hearted cry short. “Then nay retreat, but we march north and east. Ye daft fool.”

The goal was not to find the main column, although it assuage his group to think that. But Sedriks was more practical. They needed to find a glade, or at the very least a tree untouched by Fulci’s corruption. Then they could escape, and warn the Forks. If they could find other soldiers, odds improved.

The truth was, and every veteran soldier knew, with no resources and supplies, they’d not last another night, pursued as they were.

The bowman had wiped the sweat from his brow with a scrap of linen, and was about to reply when a low grumbling sound came over the group. A little like the stomach rumblings of a dog, but ten times the size. As one, they shifted low, soundless.

A scout picked it out first, pointing south, hulking, the size of a bear, dripping in the accursed paint.

Behind it, another, more like an elk, with mottled fur that seemed half sketched in and unfinished.

Sedriks signaled cleanly, instantly, and they were all soldiers once more.

North, straight for 100 spans, then set up a firing line pointed west, wait for the signal.

Thirty glittering eyes nodded once, crisply, and waited.

Sedriks stood idly, fingered a throwing knife, down to four left.

And let fly. The blade whistled as it went, became a hawk’s shriek that tore through the pre-dawn air. It was a touch too high, just a touch, but the blade slammed into the brow of the bear, which let out a gutteral roar. The elk joined in the wet sound. Sedriks was already running.

A minute later, the bard broke through the thicket and gave a sharp whistle, rolling sideways.

A withering brace of 20 crossbow bolts struck true, the bear crashed into a mess of paint and gore. A second hail of shots flew, like angry bees, and the elk fell atop, twitching. Two clean but forceful slashes from Dirge goaded them to stillness.

The clack of metal was the only sound, as soldiers bumped fists and thumped shoulders. Clean, precise. They poured out of their cover to recover bolts that may have missed, but went no closer than 5 feet to the oozing bodies.

“Good plan ser.”

Sedriks nodded, drank a rationed gulp of water from a skin and stretched aching limbs.

This section of the forest was brighter already, another hour off from dawn. The bard knelt and brushed aside some leaves, and the other soldiers, the ones not busy with bolts curiously watched as he lifted a handful of beetles and ants, before setting them back down.

“General!” came a call. The scout, she had climbed a tall pine, perched in its upper boughs.

Sedriks sighed, “Oi said, I’m nay a gener-”

“Ser! Hundreds of them, pouring out from the fields. Five, maybe six minutes!”

“Hundreds o’ what?”

“Painted ones!”

Their blood went cold. To each, they grabbed weapons and began affixing pikes down. But Sedriks was tapping and moving closely between the trees.

“Nay. There’ll be no final stand here.”

Quizzically the lieutenant looked over. The other soldiers stilled.

“Gather ye around, quick an’ smart. Scout, down with ye’”

Obeying, hearing the sharp command they formed a tight circle.

“We are escapin’, an’ we are escapin’ now. We’ll be back to kill Fulci another day.”

Sedriks spat, and to a tee the rest did as well. An oath sworn.

Then, fingers raised to the tall pine, Sedriks sang a haunting song, and the woods obliged. Cracking wide to admit passage into the breathless space between worlds.

“Come with me, and mind ye dinnae speak nay listen to any but mine own.”

Minutes later, the painted zombies and cultists found naught but the bodies of the Bear and Elk, and six sharpened pikes, and the empty woods.