March to Horn Hills

The Horn Hills, sometimes called the Forlorn Hills, sometimes the Fallen Hills, at times mistakenly called the Sword Hills – confused with a smaller range of hills on the southern bank of the Delimbiyr. Once a stronghold of Shield Dwarves of the long-lost Kingdom of Dardath, now a monster nest breeding and housing their filth.

You led your armies as they marched south, accompanied by your marshal Carberos – a young Elf of a hundred and twenty years and a rare Barbarian – as he rode on horseback beside you. Unlike the more humble and tribal-looking Wood Elves, he chose to wear a set of heavy plate armour, combining both Elven and Human smithing techniques. He wore a helmet shaped like a Deer’s head, the visor detachable and currently revealing his handsome features and brown eyes. A cloak of green adorned his person, providing both warmth and granting a heroic look to his person.

“It will not be long before we reach the Horn Hills, Lord Elaxalim,” He said, “Look up ahead; mercenary camps, and no fewer than five banners.”

By Torilian standards, many mercenary companies numbered little more than a thousand, perhaps two thousand for the rare few. As such, combined with Elaxalim’s own army of one thousand, they formed an army of six thousand soldiers – Dwarves and Halflings included – ready to crush the monster menace.

“Seems we’ll have about enough men to match the monster’s numbers,” You remark.

“True, but numbers and weaponry alone do not win battles,” Said Carberos.

“Let’s get acquainted with the mercenary leaders first,” You said, “I want to at least make sure we know our allies.”

“Fair enough,” Said Carberos.

As your warhost makes itself known, many of the mercenaries give you strange looks as you enter, apparently not used to seeing Wood Elves foray so far from their homes. As you approach, a guard moves to intercept you, saying, “Halt! Who goes there?”

“I am Elaxalim Thaeral, Heir apparent to Dusk Circle and leader of this army,” You said, “We come to seek audience with your leaders.”

More whispers were exchanged among the mercenaries, though the guard says, “I’m guessing you’re here for the monsters then?”

“Aren’t we all?” You reply.

The guard then shrugs and moves aside, saying, “I ain’t no general, but if you’re here to help, I ain’t complainin’. The commanders are in that big tent, just up ahead.”

“My thanks, kind man,” You reply smilingly.

Inside the command tent, five mercenary leaders surround a large table, looking at a map of the Horn Hills with Dwarven language and markings. At the head of the table was a young Shield Dwarf maiden, dressed in fine Dwarven armour and holding a mace and shield, her bare head revealing auburn hair tied in small clasps of brass.

Looking up at you, the Dwarf maiden says in a crisp, grim tone, “Ain’t many days we got Elves marchin’ so far from home. Y’don’t seem to be wearing clothing I’m familiar with either. Who’re ye?”

“Elaxalim Thaeral, of the Wood Elves of the Westwood Forest, of the Dusk Circle of Druids,” You introduce, “This is Marshal Carberos, accompanying me.”

“My greetings, Sirs and Madams,” Said Carberos.

“Name’s Tyswaen Anvan, leader of the Grey Shields and of this coalition of armies plannin’ to storm the Horn Hills,” Said the Dwarf maiden, “Monsters have taken notice of our armies and are hollin’ up, but we’ll be breakin’ them by week’s end.”

“Agreed, Tyswaen,” You said, “But we only just match their numbers; we can’t just take them head on.”

Tyswaen merely chuckles at your words, saying, “Lad, we ain’t gonna just charge in, we’ll be drawin’ them out.”

You inwardly curse yourself for not thinking of it earlier, then ask, “How? I highly doubt the monsters are that smart, but neither do I believe them stupid.”

“Very true, but who’s to say they’ll ignore us spittin’ on their pride or challenging them to battle?” Said Tyswaen, “That way, we draw ‘em into our formations and we hack them apart. Have to admit though, we’ve been strugglin’ with a lack of skilled archers.”

“In that case, I volunteer our use of longbows for this plan,” You quickly add, “You’ll find no finer bows in this region of Faerûn.”

“That, I completely agree on,” Said Tyswaen, “But get some rest first; we’ll be striking them tomorrow.”

“I will take your advice, Lady Tyswaen,” You said, before leaving the tent.

When out of eyesight by most men, you let out a small sigh of relief, thankful that your pride and dignity were left intact.

“You did good, My Lord,” Said Carberos.

“Thankfully,” You said, “Any minute longer and I feared I would have embarrassed myself.”

“No need to fear, now we need only rest and prepare for the battle tomorrow,” Said Carberos.

“Aye, I think we ought to do just that,” You said.

With that, your men rested for the night and all went to sleep in their tents. Well, except for you, somehow, because at that night, a visitor entered your tent.