3. A Brief History of Peltarch

A Brief History of Peltarch

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    "These pages record some of the more important events of my life. Since my life was, and remains, dominated by the affairs of my home city of Peltarch, this is also a kind of history of the city. I write these memoirs for the usual reasons. At 40, a man begins to take stock of his life and his accomplishments. By 60, the memories of those accomplishments are all that he has left. I write these memoirs because I am old; because I can; because I may soon forget them, as so often happens at my age; and above all, because they are stories worth telling.

    'To him that watches, everything is revealed.'

    • Sir Roland Brynmor
      Peltarch, 1481 DR"

    _Much has changed since I wrote those lines some twenty years ago, and much has remained the same. I am certainly older now, though I seem to have been spared many of the ravages of old age. I tire more easily, and the memories of my youth have faded somewhat, but oddly, I have suffered few other disadvantages. Whether this is due to my gifts from Helm, or my exposure to all varieties of magic and other oddities during my travels, or a combination of these different factors, I know not.

    I do know that since I wrote those lines, I have had the rare experiences of being trapped in the Abyss for an extended period, of travelling through time, of visiting other planes of existence, of meeting heroes and battling villains from Ancient Narfell, and of generally avoiding death or serious impairment against virtually all the odds and against my own understanding of the natural cycles of human life.

    I would light a cigar to celebrate my survival thus far, but I seem to have run out, and the rest of my supplies went up in smoke with the City Hall a few weeks ago. Seems I've managed to survive that, too.

    I can only conclude that Helm still has a purpose for me here, and intends for me to stay until it is fulfilled. I will watch and wait, and do what I must, and be grateful that I have been allowed to enjoy life for this long, that I have stories to tell and experiences to share.

    I hope that my stories will be both informative and inspiring for new generations. Who can say what the future will bring? Unless, of course, you know a gnome with a time machine, and can go there.

    Sir Roland Brynmor
    Paladin of Helm
    Senator of Peltarch
    Champion of the Order of the Divine Shield

    The Temple of Tyr, Peltarch, 1499 DR_

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    And then Marcus Ash arrived.

    Now that's what I call timing.

    "Fight, men! For Peltarch!"

    With a flash of steel, sword in hand, he charged fearlessly into the back ranks of the undead forces blocking our retreat. Thirty of his City Guards let out a cry in unison and followed him, cutting a bloody path to the beleaguered defenders in the Commons.

    "All of you fall back! We will hold them as long as we can!"

    Shouts went up for the defenders to retreat to the Civic District. Taking a last look back at Ash and his men before I left, I watched an Armature smash one of the stone columns in the Commons. Chucks of rock came raining down on friend and foe alike. Two more Armatures and troops of N'Jast footmen followed closely behind, and that was the last I saw of the Commons for a while.

    Back in the Civic District, Peltarch's soldiers had prepared a last line of defence on the hill surrounding the ruined City Hall. Most of the approaches were blocked off with debris, rubble, wagon carts, and anything else that could be found. We managed to hold out just long enough for the remaining defenders to retreat.

    As the sun set on the third day of fighting, I stood atop the walls of the Citadel and watched the storm clouds gather over Peltarch. The rain came to douse the fires and wash away the blood, but the morning was sure to bring more of both.

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    Part II, The Battle for Peltarch: N'Jast Attacks. High Hold Attacks. Undead Eastlanders Attack. (Engine Limitations Preclude Further Hostiles From Being Spawned)

    "If buttercups buzz'd after the bee,
    If boats were on land, churches on sea,
    If ponies rode men and if grass ate the cows,
    And cats should be chased into holes by the mouse,
    If the mamas sold their babies
    To the gypsies for half a crown;
    If summer were spring and the other way round,
    Then all the world would be upside down."

    • The World Turned Upside Down

    As I watched three hundred Renegade Defenders storm Peltarch's West Gate, I couldn't help but think that things were not as they should be in a just universe. Just then, a cry rose up to the east - the N'Jastians were attacking, too. Seeing that the line was still holding against the Renegades, I hurried back to the Commons.

    The first wave was only meant to soften us. Footmen and crossbowmen mostly. Then came the Armatures, the ancient Nars warmachines. We managed to stop them at the southern approach to the Commons, where rubble from a collapsed building had blocked much of the road. But soon they brought up more soldiers, and mages came to hurl their magic at us from behind the enemy lines. We simply did not have the numbers to defeat them. We were going to lose the district.

    Above the din of battle, a new sound was heard. Alarm bells, coming from the jail. As if on cue, scores of rioting prisoners crashed into a line of Defenders just outside the Mermaid Inn. One of the Defenders ran up to me.

    "The prison…hells! Should I send a squad sir?"

    "Right away. I'll go with them."

    In fact, the prison was full of devils. Hells, indeed. Slamming the door behind us on the way out, we proceeded to block it with nearby crates and rubble. That might buy us some time. I turned to leave.

    "They'll try to summon more of their kind. I'm going to see if Daisy can send some priests. If things get worse, fall back to the temple of Tyr."

    Unfortunately, as I learned a few minutes later, the temple was on fire. Fortunately, it was only an exterior fire. I shouted at the nearest group of firefighters, who were frantically bringing buckets of water from the lake.

    "Is Daisy alright?"

    "Yes! She's keeping the place up!"

    I didn't have time to wait. Holding up an arm to shield myself, I ran through the doors, flames licking my face and singeing my beard. I found Daisy quickly enough.

    "Roland?"

    "We've got a problem - devils in the jail. I think they're trying to open a larger gate."

    She nodded once and turned to give a quick order to one of the acolytes.

    "I'll send a few priests, that should buy us some time."

    "Thanks. Is there anything you need here, Daisy?"

    The priestess shook her head.

    "Just time."

    I hurried back to the prison. Aelthas had managed to assemble a group to go in, so I joined them and we cleared out as many devils as we could find. I almost thought that things might be going right for a change, when the sound of horrible, crazed laughter suddenly began to echo across the city. Sounds of hideous accidents followed: a ship crashing into the docks and killing dozens of refugees waiting to get aboard, a storage tower full of kegs exploding...Someone said something about Elissa, the Beshaban priestess, and a ritual. There wasn't really time to puzzle it out, so we headed back to the Commons.

    Our problems were growing exponentially. Trumpets sounded and the N'Jastians made a fresh push on the Commons. The Renegades joined the battle at the West Gate.

    A Guard ran up to me.

    "Sir! The undead are attacking...The docks are overrun!"

    Just great. When does Rass get here?

    The fight was raging all around us now, and I could barely hear my own shouting above the battle cries and the sounds of clashing steel.

    "Any word on General Ash?"

    "He may be dead!"

    There was only one thing left to do. Running back towards the West Gate, I saw a company of Renegade heavy swordsmen marching through a gaping hole in the walls. Aelthas and I called the retreat, and everyone began pulling back to the commons.

    But we were too slow. The N'Jastians were already overrunning the southern barricades. The Renegades were closing in behind us. And our only path of retreat, to the east, was suddenly blocked by a small army of walking corpses in Eastlander garb. I briefly considered cutting through the Amethyst Festhall, wondering whether it backed onto the next street north of us. Judging by the way things were going, the festhall was likely to be full of ogres.

    What struck me at that moment was just how very doomed we were. Everything was going wrong all at once. The city's historic sundial lay strewn in pieces across the Commons. The world was turned upside down. We were surrounded, and we were going to die.

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    Kara's War
    Part I, The Peltarch Prison: You can check out, but you can never leave…

    My cell was dark and dank, but I was fortunate enough to have had a visitor or two every few days since the arrest. This visitor in particular, however, was less than welcome - his message even less so.

    "Resign now and I will see to it that you receive a speedy trial. I may even do something about getting Daisy out of here."

    The thought that I might hand over power to this jackal was absurd, especially in a time like the present - he must have taken leave of his senses.

    "You have no idea what you're doing. You'll get us all killed."

    "Your lack of imagination is disappointing, Brynmor. Have you not considered that we planned this from the start?"

    A crooked grin spread across the old man's face as he pulled on his gray, oiled moustache. My work had afforded me a great deal of experience in separating lies from the truth, but I couldn't tell if this was just another one of his ploys. I didn't have enough of the puzzle pieces to make sense of it yet.

    "What are you talking about?"

    He gave me one last glance as he turned to leave, his face half covered in the shadows of the faintly lit corridor.

    "Fire and brimstone, Brynmor...fire and brimstone."

    Could he be serious? Did he really have any idea what was about to happen? I needed to know who he was working with. I needed more of the pieces.

    "Wait..."

    But he was already gone, and the sound of soft leather distantly scraping on the stone floor soon gave way to the ominous silence of the prison once more.

    "I'm too old for this shit."

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    The Dragon

    "Well, that's not good…"

    Doubtless, a famed bard like Zyphlin Re'cual had seen many things in his lifetime, but a living dragon must have been a rare treat even for him.

    And there it was, towering over the group of heroes in all its terrible glory, its oppressive stench pervading the great lair. Lord Harshnar was not particularly old for a dragon, but he was old enough - his icy white scales were hardened from many years of battle with the other ferocious denizens of the Giantspire Mountains, and he had sharpened his teeth on the bones of more than one would-be wyrmslayer. Legend held that Harshnar had once attacked Tidus, the Fisher King of Peltarch, killing some of his closest companions and scattering the rest. Of course, that had been centuries ago, and no one had heard of the dragon since. But the many varieties of bones littering the heart of his lair suggested that the reason for his obscurity of late was that he had simply killed everything that ever came near his mountain since Tidus. It just so happened that the Fisher King had been one of the lucky few to see the beast and escape with his life.

    "Roland…Brynmor..."

    Harshnar's maw opened wide, his sardonic laughter reverberating throughout the icy cave for a few moments. A long tongue slithered out briefly from behind rows of man-sized razors that could not rightly be called teeth.

    "You know...when I close my eyes, I can still taste your grand uncle's blood on my lips..."

    Perhaps to the amazement of the others, separated as they were by the dragon's trap but still in plain view, Brynmor stood alive and defiant.

    "I can remedy that, Harshnar."

    The dragon laughed again, his red eyes flaring at the challenge. It had been some time since he had dined on paladin.

    "Give him my regards in your afterlife, knightling...your foolish quest ends here."

    Brynmor drew his sword in a single, practiced motion.

    "You forget...I am not here for myself, but for Helm. And He always repays debts like these."

    Harshnar's roar shook the cave and he lunged forward with surprising speed. Brynmor was prepared, however, and ducking low, his shield held over his head, he remained unharmed. The dragon's claws narrowly missed shredding him, marring his shield just above the staring eye emblazoned in its centre. Rising swiftly, Brynmor stepped forward and slashed at his now unbalanced foe, the white scales turning red with the creature's foul blood.

    That is how it began, and that is how they fought for some time, with neither gaining much advantage over the other, but the dragon paying for each apparently careless attack he made. Still, for those who watched, it soon became clear that there was a method to Harshnar's approach. He had had been pressing Brynmor into a corner and, once there, the paladin would be doomed.

    "I will feast on your frozen flesh, knightling, and add your bones to my trophy pile!"

    With that, Harshnar, spawn of Cryonar of Mount Nar, drew himself up to his full height, his eyes full of rage and bloodlust. Brynmor was caught between the beast and the cave wall - even if he had room to swing his blade, which he did not, he was but moments from being torn apart by the dragon's mighty claws and teeth. Yet, as it is said, "To him that watches, all is revealed," and in that moment of seeming triumph the dragon had left himself exposed. Brynmor, dropping his shield, charged forward and with both hands drove the point of his sword through a narrow space between the scales of Harshnar's chest, and into his black heart.

    The dragon fell back with a thunderous crash, cried out, partly in agony, partly in astonishment, and died. Among his many treasures, the heroes found the famous Ring of Tidus that the Fisher King had lost to the dragon in battle centuries ago. They also found the remains of Brynmor's ancestor, who had fallen guarding Tidus' retreat, and his sword, said to be blessed by Helm. Brynmor took these back with him, burying the bones of the fallen knight with his ancestors in Peltarch, at last giving him rest. As for Harshnar, his bones remain on the spot where he fell in his lair, and peace, of a kind, now reigns over his ice-covered mountain.

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    Part III, Smells Like Victory

    "CLEAR!"

    Bolts of lightning shot from the gnome's hands into the lifeless body on the ground. My body. Apparently, Koreth had trained his knights very well, and now I was dead. Not that it stopped the colourful gnomish sorcerer from trying to revive me with his magic.

    "CLEAR!"

    "Fool…he's dead. Does anyone have a diamond?"

    The elven priestess of Tempus, Eowien, made her way over, crushing a diamond in her hand. Tagnar, the dwarven wall, stood guard as she performed her ritual. Within a short time we were on our way again, leaving behind the bodies of a few dozen renegade Defenders and Black Dragon Knights. My head was still ringing as we reached our destination.

    Before us lay a chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Along one wall were rows of shelves, a workbench, and a few overturned chairs. The floor was strewn with metal parts. In the corner, half hidden by the shadows in this underground workshop, stood a warmachine. Even in its current state, frozen, lifeless, it seemed to inspire awe and fear. From the look of things, Koreth hadn't figured out how to activate them. It seemed most of our work had already been done for us.

    Zyphlin emerged from the shadows, rapier and main-gauche in his hands.

    "There are a lot of enemy soldiers above us. More than I can count. We're directly below Koreth's headquarters in the City Hall. We'll need to find another way out of here."

    We turned away from the enemy, instead moving down a small access tunnel that opened onto a much larger main tunnel. After several minutes, the stench seemed to be getting worse, and we decided that we were now in the docks. We reached a large chamber with steps leading up to a door. There was no mistaking it - we were at the main sewer entrance for the Docks District. We paused for a moment, then began our ascent to the surface.

    It was night when we emerged, and the moonlight played on our polished armour and weapons. Jirka, the fearsome dwarven Kaxanar, banged her battleaxe against her shield and grinned. Sir Mariston was uttering a prayer to Torm. Half a dozen renegade Defenders and a robed elven mage were waiting for us.

    In the sewers, we had hesitated. It was difficult to kill people who had once been on our side. It was also difficult to find one's bearings in smelly caverns deep underground. But there was no hesitation here. Our group moved with frightening efficiency, felling each renegade in a matter of moments. We did not leave the mage enough time to finish her first spell.

    We moved down the narrow alley into the open street along the harbour, passing the deserted tavern that had served as the Blood Spiders' base. As we approached the bridge, another dozen enemy soldiers came into view. The shoulder flashes on their leader's armour identified him as a former Defender Lieutenant.

    "Kill them."

    His order was punctuated by shrieks of pain as a storm of flames struck him and his troops. Before they could recover, Tagnar and Jirka were already at work, the first laying down deadly sword strokes, the second swinging her axe wildly like only a Bloodmaiden could.

    The fighting continued for what seemed like hours. Fool alone must have killed a dozen Black Dragon Knights, each one the equal of ten normal soldiers. Never underestimate a gnome.

    At some point, we stumbled into an open home near the jailhouse to rest. We were close to the main enemy force led by Akton Sent, a dockrat who had risen to the rank of Defender Captain. Just then, we began hearing noises beneath us. Pulling back a rug in the middle of the room, we found a trap door that opened to reveal a small group of frightened children. We spent some time treating their injuries, and our own, before the gnome teleported all of them out of the city.

    Stepping outside again, we could see the sun on the horizon. It would be morning soon, and if the city was not secured in a few hours, then we would know that Lavindo's attack had failed. Before us stood the Peltarch jail, surrounded by renegades of all colours - former Defenders, Black Dragon Knights, mercenaries, humans, and elves. Sure enough, their leader was with them. Captain Akton Sent stood, flanked by two knights, behind a line of his best soldiers.

    At least, it looked like Akton Sent. After the smoke had cleared, it was hard to tell who he was from what was left of him. As I stood staring down at his mangled body, the mad dwarven priestess let out a cackle from behind me. Looking around, I saw that there were too many dead to count, all littered among the rubble and burnt cobblestones. The jail itself was mostly in ruins. The fires would take care of the rest of it.

    A few Defenders with purple sashes ran up to us, and we narrowly avoided another fight. The paladin Kara Du'Monte was with them to bring the good news.

    "General Lavindo is moving this way. The Commerce District is secured...and Senator Black's group has recaptured the temple of Tyr. The worst of the fighting is over."

    I hoped so. If the rest of the army had done half as much work as our group, Koreth would be running for the hills by now. The fact that he might have escaped, not to mention the death and destruction that he left in his wake, precluded any celebrations in the immediate aftermath of the battle.

    I thought of the children we had found huddled in that abandoned home the night before, some of whom would be orphans now. I looked at the others. We stank of sewage and death, yet we were alive. It was a victory, yes. But for the moment, I could find little pride in it.

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    Part II, The Meeting

    A veteran soldier, Captain Varid was not easily fazed. Still, his scarred face betrayed a hint of surprise at my suggestion.

    "Well, to be honest Senator…Captain Lavindo and I had already decided that he should assume overall command of the remaining Defenders."

    It was difficult to hold back my grin. If Koreth could have an army, why couldn't I? I looked better in full plate anyway. Then again, Lavindo was born for the job. Years of experience, a commanding presence, and a mind like a steel trap. He might have been a little short on the personal charm, but sometimes that's what you needed in a General - someone who could scare the hell out of people. Hard not to respect old Kaster Lavindo, harder still to disobey him. Just the man to rally a divided army.

    "Ah, of course. Well, he was my second choice."

    "Indeed, Senator."

    The others nodded and murmured in approval. There were several of us gathered in the ship's cabin, all huddled around a single table with a large map of Peltarch spread out over it. Captain Anakore of the Cerulean Stars stood watching quietly, his strange curved Kara-Turan blade sheathed at his side. Sir Mariston Thel also stood by, a hand on the pommel of his bastard sword. He had done well to organize the safe evacuation of many innocent citizens during the early fighting, working closely with High Priestess Daisy in setting up the camp at the south watchtower. As for the others...It was assumed that Senator Gelon had slipped away with his Advisor, the venerable elven mage Keram Nathiem, though neither of them could be found right now. Senators Syne and Bravickus remained unaccounted for, and Rath Ashald was apparently still in the city leading an isolated contingent of loyal troops. Or was it a loyal group of troubadours and dancing girls? The rumours varied. Senator Mildsilver, the Magistrati of Azuth, had managed to escape and was present at the meeting. He regarded us with his usual cool gaze before speaking.

    "Well, now that we are decided on the matter of a General, I will leave you gentlemen to plan the attack. I fear that military matters are beyond my domain of expertise."

    With a slight nod, the gray-robed mage turned and left, the sound of his glowing staff tapping on the wooden planks of the ship growing more faint as he went. The Sembian did not exaggerate, and we would not see him again until the end of the war.

    We turned our attention to Lavindo, who was already drawing lines on the map before us with his finger.

    "We are encamped here, at the south watchtower. We have fortified our position with ballistas and catapults, which we will use in the assault on the walls. There are many refugees from the city, and our supplies will not last very long. Captain Varid and I have been working on a plan to retake the city."

    Talgrath, the former mercenary turned Defender who stood towering over the rest of us in the cabin, interrupted.

    "General, any plan to attack the walls head-on won't work. It's suicide against professional soldiers with an organized defense."

    He spoke out of turn, but he had a point. Koreth had hired a large number of mercenaries from Damara and elsewhere, forces which even included a cadre of elven archers. They would be deadly along the walls.

    Lavindo held up a hand.

    "There are still pockets of resistance within Peltarch. We have already arranged to use their help in retaking the city, district by district. When the time comes, all loyal troops will raise purple banners above the city. That will be the signal for the main attack to commence."

    The General moved a few toy-like wooden pieces across the map. They seemed only appropriate for the occasion.

    "The main force will assault the walls here, at the south gate of the Commerce District. Securing the city will depend on us capturing several key objectives. The Commons is one such objective. In the Civic District, recapturing the Temple of Tyr is also a priority. The final objective is the jailhouse in the Docks District, which we believe to be the headquarters of the renegade Defenders."

    The General's meticulous attention to detail became clear as he went on describing the specifics of his plan. It seemed as if he had been working on this plan as a precautaion well before the war had even begun. If so, it was a prudent decision.

    "There is, however, one complication..."

    Damn.

    "...with Senior Senator Gelon gone, we cannot say what has happened to the Control Orb for the city's warmachines. If this orb has fallen into the hands of our enemies, then they will be able to use our own warmachines against us in the attack. Therefore, we will need a group to infiltrate the city shortly before the attack in order to find and disable the warmachines. There is an entrance to the sewers just outside the walls that should allow a small group to reach the City Hall from underground, locate the warmachines there, and remove their power crystals. We need a volunteer to gather and lead this group.

    Looking back, I can't quite remember if I spoke first, or if everyone was already turning towards me expectantly.

    "I'll do it."

    After all, what was a little sewage when there were so many scores to be settled?

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    The Civil War
    Part I, The Die is Cast

    "There once was a man made of gold,
    With the ladies could never be bold,
    For the linkage in his armour,
    Caused shirkage,
    And left his manhood so cold."

    • Reginald Charlesgate

    Two, four, six…ten...

    Black Dragon Knights had burst through the doors the moment Senator Koreth left the room. He was never one for subtlety. Still, this seemed a tad extreme. There must have been a dozen of them waiting outside the Senate chambers when the meeting began. Just in time for the coup. How unoriginal.

    "This is bad…"

    "We have to get out of here."

    "Very bad..."

    "I'm too young..."

    Ashald and Bravickus were already making themselves scarce. Gelon quickly disappeared in a sea of green and blue as guards and aides rushed to surround the Senior Senator. Everyone was screaming. Eowiel was the closest to the doors, and the uninvited guests reached her seat first. Fortunately, she was no longer in the seat as one of them cleaved it in two with his axe. Reaching for my weapon, I concluded that this was going to be an unusual week.

    Somewhere amidst the panicked crowd and the chaos, Barrim was shouting orders to a group of loyal guards, greatsword in hand. Several of them were now engaged with Koreth's men. A few lay on the marble floor, while others found themselves quickly backed into corners by the onslaught. It did not take long to see that this battle had already been decided. It was time to save as many people as possible and leave.

    "We will make for the city gates! Follow me!"

    The Magistrate's plan seemed brave but hopeless, considering that we were surrounded and the only exit was blocked. Just then, a storm of flame arrows erupted from one corner of the room, each one striking a different black knight in the chest with frightening speed. Tolin was giving us an opportunity to escape. The next few minutes were a blur of flashing steel and fresh blood. Much to my chagrin, Bravickus' shrill admonitions could still be heard over the din of battle. He kept insisting that he had tried to warn us all. I supposed that his daughter would no longer be marrying Koreth, as they had once planned.

    We managed to make our way out of the Senate chambers while Barrim engaged in some inspirational shouting about saving the city, etc. We lost a number of guards getting out, but most of our retinue survived intact. After two flights of stairs we were on the main floor, and we slowed our run as we approached the entrance to the city hall. Outside, the sounds of fighting were even louder.

    A Peltarch Defender - no coloured sash, he was one of Captain Varid's men - was waiting as we stepped outside to see the smoke rising from several places in the usually subdued Civic District. Even part of the temple was burning.

    "Senators, we must reach the southern watchtower and find Captain Lavindo! He has set up a camp with Priestess Daisy and Sir Mariston, and is organizing what loyal defenders are left!"

    Confused shouting from various quarters drowned out our attempts at further discussion.

    Seeing that there was nothing more we could do in the city, we set off immediately. As we hurried in the direction of the city gates, I made a mental note that old Kaster was proving to be quite a reliable fellow. He and Sir Mariston both.