To Sundabar

[Grand Fromage]

Comfortable warmth. Cool, seaside breezes flowed over the marching soldiers. The sound of gulls in the air, the bright sun and blue sky above, with only a few fluffy white clouds to interrupt its expanse. The portal lay ahead, a bound doorway with a swirling blue vortex at its heart. The soldiers stepped in.

A few stumbled on the thick snow still piled at the portal's edge. Howling, biting wind whipped from the dark grey peaks above, their tops hidden in thick grey clouds. Snow fell in angled sheets, nearly blinding the soldiers. And it was cold, well below freezing. Involuntary shivers passed through the ranks of men. The walls of Everlund stood above them, as cold as the air, their tops adorned with enormous trebuchets and ballistae, patrolled by the green clad Army of the Vale--this day, conspicuously missing their elven members. Other members of the army and some civilians stood at the gates, with huge crates and wagonloads of cloaks, boots, gloves, and other thick winter gear, ready to hand them out to any soldiers that lacked in protection from the harsh elements of the Silver Marches.

Horns sounded above the wind as the men were drawn into ranks and marched up the wide streets to the gate. First came the Black Knights, clad in black and more walking than marching, flanked by two giant shield guardians, their iron faces blank and trunk-like legs and feet booming against the cobblestones. They passed through the gates, starting on the long road ahead.

The mail clad Black Cloud riders came next, mounted on fine warhorses and led by a powerful, mustachioed man on a chariot. They were followed by three wagons carrying disassembled siege weapons of various types, pulled by simple clay golems.

Behind were ranks of the now familiar Zhentarim soldiers, head to toe in black metal and marching in perfect discipline. Several Zhent officers who were already in the Marches took command, forming the men in two long lines to defend the more valuable wizards in the center. Black Stag mercenaries followed close behind, veterans of the Thayan war. No discipline was visible in their ranks, and their equipment ran a wide range, but their eyes betrayed an eagerness most of the other men lacked.

More shield guardians flanked a contingent of ogres, armored in heavy plate. The Army of the Vale escorted this group until they exited the city, mistrustful of the beasts. Their leader, a shaman dressed in the decapitated heads of his enemies, kept them in formation and from causing any harm to the Everlunders.

The Bull of Daerlun strode out at the head of his brown and copper clad men, tall and massive and carrying a maul the size of a small dwarf on his shoulder. He seemed instantly at home--indeed, one would easily mistake him for a native Uthgardt. His booming voice carried and he immediately began tossing curses at the cold, the Shadovar, and everything else that displeased him in his sight.

Urmlaspyr Watchblades and the Helms of Saerloon followed in tight ranks, well equipped and perfectly disciplined. For all their fine equipment and training, High Captain Marcus Haskar did not like the manner of them. Many of the other soldiers were more rag-tag, but had the look of experience to them--it looked as if this would be the first action these men had seen.

The Ordulin soldiers, however, had a warrior's look to accompany their discipline, sharp halberds, and powerful crossbows. These men were flanked by several of Everlund's wizards and a powerful mithril golem as they began the march outside the gates.

A wall of dwarves in black and brown stomped out after them, wielding wicked hammers and long beards. Several of them shouted "For Adbar!" and waved their hammers to the dwarven soldiers on Everlund's walls as they passed.

Golden clad soldiers of Waukeen with horse hair helmets followed the dwarves. It was difficult to be impressive after a group of dwarven soldiers, but the Golden Falcons tried their best within their ranks. Another wagonload of siege equipment fell into line close behind them.

The crack Black Dog mercenary company stomped out in perfect marching order, dressed in black and wielding various weapons that had all seen war before. A contrast to them was the Black Cockerels, a group of undisciplined adventurers with far more confidence than sense. Many of them boasted loudly about how many Shadovar they were going to kill. The High Captain watched, frowning. I am seeing dead men walk.

Narve Dwarfkin, a burly man built like a brick house, came next with a wagon, a gnome, and a Godsman golem. The wagon was followed by another, both packed with parts, iron tubes, various pumps, kegs of smokepowder and a pile of lead cannon balls.

The caravan stretched for nearly a mile, and wound its way along the banks of the Rauvin towards its destination. Through Lhuvenhead, Jalanthar, and up into the Nether Mountains... the treacherous Moon Pass, filled with snow and ice and winds nearly as strong as a hurricane, threatening to push them off the cliffs, down the hundred foot ravine to the icy water beneath. Snow covered flatlands opened again on the northern end, and wide fields. In the distance stood their destination. Squat, imposing, with enormous walls, Sundabar dominated the landscape. A constant column of black smoke poured from the city, caught by the wind and blown west at a sharp angle. The sounds and smells of the forges assaulted the senses even miles away, and the enormous heat of the Everfire had prevented snow from gathering near the city.

Horns blew as the Sembians began to arrive. Tools of war surrounded them on all sides, even above. Each wall bristled with ballistae and massive trebuchets, swinging wooden cranes and catapults. The western side of the city was dominated by a seemingly neverending field of tents, horses, piles of weapons, and campfires. Many of the Sembians stood in awe at the enormity of it all, and the sheer mass of the walls through which they passed.

Helm Dwarf-Friend stood at the western gates, watching the mercenaries arrive. Ten thousand trained men to supplement the already impressive forces of the Silver Marches. Sundabar would bear the brunt of the attack, and the majority of the forces were here--over one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers, mostly conscripts with no experience fighting anything more than an orc or goblin. More arrived every day from the outlying lands, some sent from Silverymoon, others from Everlund. No one knew precisely how many soldiers they had brought to bear. Some estimates ranged as high as four hundred thousand men, women, dwarves and elves standing guard over their homeland. It was perhaps the largest army of goodly races ever assembled on Faerun--in other circumstances, it would have been impressive, but it only depressed Helm. The threat of total annihilation had brought these forces together. Fighting because one has no other choice but death, was that truly courage?

The irony had not escaped him either. Sundabar had once been known as Citadel Sundbarr, one of the great cities of ancient Delzoun, alongside Barakbarr (over which Everlund was built), Citadel Adbar, Citadel Felbarr, Ascore... Delzoun, once Netheril's greatest allies. The dwarves and men traded peacefully for generations, allied against all threats. The Netherese had even helped to build many of these dwarven cities. And now, Sundabar and Citadel Felbarr stood, anchoring the front line against these returned Netherese, these former allies that were now bent only on conquest.

Perhaps four hundred thousand men. Helm was afraid to think of what that number might be after the dust settled.

[Seva]

Well written.

[Zekal]

Wow!

[viigas]

nice.... very nice