3. Tacticum Vita

Tacticum Vita


  • Entry 6 - Prison

    It is lamentable, that to be a good patriot one must become the enemy of the rest of mankind. - Voltaire

    Our life is full of little ironies. We see them every day and dismiss them for the most part, without ever thinking on them. The farmer who grows the wheat that will feed the town and yet cannot afford to put food on his own table until the harvest, the student who goes to learn from a master and in doing so teaches the master something new, the need for soldiers trained in the art of war to ensure peace.

    I was now living my own irony. A criminal against the state, because I was pursuing a criminal and would not break the law. It was enough to make me laugh, if it wasn't so serious. A young woman in prison, her name circulated as a traitor to the Crown. I knew the odds of my surviving the ten years untouched were almost zero.

    So, where to from the trial? We were stripped naked, no regard given for rank or gender. Everything we had on us was taken to be sold to aid the war effort… it seems that honourless mercenaries weren't cheap. Then, we were given rough clothes to wear, and chained together in pairs, each pair led to a different wagon for the journey to come.

    Our names were taken, and then, to make sure we wouldn't escape, they broke our fingers one by one. The pain was excruciating, and I'm ashamed to say that I cried out whilst they were doing it, which seemed to give the jailor pleasure. He didn't care who I was, or what I had been... all he knew was what I was. Traitor. Betrayer. Usurper. Criminal.

    Those words stung me to my very soul. I knew they weren't true, that I was only a criminal in a world of evil, but to have my homeland that I had given so much for treat me in that way was heartbreaking. Moreover, I knew now that I could never see my family again, that no matter what I did or said, that they wouldn't understand, and they almost certainly wouldn't believe me. If such evil was being done here, then it was almost certain that the nation was being lied to.

    The trip back to N'jast was slow and painful, chained to the floor of a wagon and to one of my only allies in the world. His name was Liam, he was a Lieutenant and had been with the Steelfangs for two years before I came along. A good man, he had a wife and child back home, and another on the way. We barely spoke as we travelled, treated like cattle. Every day we were given gruel and water, dried fruit, and some bread. Trying to eat with broken fingers is perhaps the most painful thing I have ever done, and the food, although barely enough to survive on, would get us by.

    We knew that the Captain would want us to see this out, to complete our sentence and then start again, somewhere else. And for me, personally, I knew in my heart that Tempus wanted me for some other purpose than to die in a cold cell, or in a wagon chained up like an animal.

    When we got to the prison, they rebroke our fingers and reset them, then used magical healing to finish the process. I was seperated from Liam, and taken into general population, where they announced to all the prisoners who we were, and that we were traitors against the Crown, that we had disobeyed direct orders in a time of war. A sea of faces turned to me, and I knew there and then, that I was going to die.


  • _Another day, another hard memory to work through. Sometimes she would work the forge to let her mind process the past, today though, she decided to focus on her music. There are a few ways to seperate the mind from the body, if you look hard enough, and over the years she had found many ways to ignore the complaints that it raised to her mind. Even better, she could seperate the here and now, from the possible, if she tried hard enough.

    She found a quiet spot in the Druid Glenn, a place that had been made open to her as a guest, and took out her harp. It truly was a marvel, a gift from a dragon for her skill at riddle and rhyme. Oak inlaid with gold and strings of finest silver, it seemed to glow with a life of its own.

    Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh, and gave her fingers the freedom to do as they wished. Slowly, they began to dance along the strings, bringing forth music of such beauty that she scarcely believed that it was really her playing. The pixies in the glenn heard her music, and came to listen to it, enraptured… but she didn't notice their presence.

    All there was, there and then, was a moment of peace, and utter freedom.

    When she came back to her surroundings, the day had passed and it was night. The pixies slept around her, their wings fluttering every now and then. They looked contented, and she could hardly blame them... she felt the same. She knew now, that she could continue her writing. Quietly, she pulled her red journal from her pack, along with her quill and inkwell. The harp glowed for her, providing enough light to write by._


  • Entry 5 - The Great War, treason

    _In modern war… you will die like a dog for no good reason.

    • Ernest Hemingway_

    The mercenaries orders sounded bizarre to my ears, so I tried to ingratiate myself with them… never an issue for a pretty lady. Stripping out of my Steelfangs dress outfit, I pulled on some city wear and pretended to be one of the many who followed the army. They took me for a silly girl looking for some fun with no idea of the real world, and that suited me just fine. It meant they underestimated me just that much more.

    The Sergeant of their unit was sitting there, laughing and drinking with his men, talking about just how easy they had their job. Perhaps to impress me, or maybe they were just that drunk. In any case, he was bragging that all they had to do was sneak into the town during the next attack, and kill as many civilians as possible. How they were doing the job that the Grand Marshall had hand-picked them to do.

    Using the time honoured excuse of needing to attend to nature, I slipped out of their camp and back to my own unit, where I took my Captain aside and told him what I had learned. He shook his head, hardly believing it to be true, but knowing that I had no cause to lie to him. We didn't know who this new "Grand Marshall" was, things from the brass had been quiet of late, but it seemed we had a new commander who was calling the shots. And her orders were not right, honourable, or justifiable. Fighting a war for justice is one thing, using foul and evil tactics like this was totally unacceptable.

    The other Steelfangs spoke their disapproval of the orders, and after some discussion, the Captain asked for us to clarify. Were we saying, as one, that we would fight these orders, no matter the punishment? And we were agreed. We would not allow such horrible things to occur under the flag of an army to which we were attached. Not under any conditions. He nodded, and began to draw up plans.

    It would be very simple. We all pulled on black tabards, to cover our Steelfangs insignia, blacked our faces and weapons a little so as to look more scruffy, and dispensed with our normal disciplined stances and such. Under this guise, our captain approached the leader of the mercenaries and said that he had been sent by the Grand Marshall, to help them with the next days actions. Their Sergeant laughed and didn't even question us, just told us to pull up tents and get ready.

    Dawn came. The first and last action we would take on the Narfell front as a combined unit. We armored up and took out positions, interspersed within the mercenaries ranks. The trumpets sounded, the first wave marched in and assaulted the walls, supported by assault weapons. Catapults, Ballista, Trebuchets, and the like let loose against the wooden defenses with great effect.

    The second wave followed the first half an hour later, trying to make good the purchases gained by the first wave. We would go in on the heels of the third wave, when hopefully the walls were breached. The mercenaries around us were in high spirits, making jokes and lewd comments as they waited. Our moment would come soon... but we had to take it quickly and efficiently.

    The third wave moved in, and we drew our swords and shouted various war cries, keeping up our cover. Then, we charged with my heart pounding, the blood in my veins singing. Arrows flew through the air around us, and I raised my shield to deflect them. Onwards we ran, and when we were within one hundred yards of the walls, I screamed at the top of my lungs. My allies knew to expect it, and had put wool in their ears, but the mercs hadn't. Most of them fell to the ground, clutching their heads in their hands. Those that didn't were quickly subdued by the other Steelfangs, who moved through the prone men and knocked them out, leaving them to be run over by the other waves or shot by the enemy. Our last act of defiance was to throw off our black tabards and show our Steelfangs insignia, then retreat to our own lines in silence.

    One of the Generals approached us, furious... demanding to know what we thought we were doing. Our Captain punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground, and threw a gauntleted glove at him. The General spat some blood out, tossed the glove onto the ground, and ordered some nearby soldiers to take the Captain into custody. That was the last time I saw him alive, his departure leaving us in a very somber mood for the rest of the day.

    The very next dawn, we were all given orders to stand down, to leave our weapons and armor behind, and to attend the Grand Marshall. We were to be put on trial. Knowing that this was likely to happen when we took up arms against the mercenaries, we did as we were ordered, although reluctantly. All I was able to take with me was my Steelfangs dress uniform, my cloak, and ring.

    The Major, the Grand Marshall, and the other high ranking officers were in attendance... our Captain was not. His Signet ring and cloak were handed to our Sergeant, the next in command. The men around me reacted to this with a mix of anger and denial. Our Captain, executed? Something had gone very wrong here, very wrong indeed. Who would dare to anger Tempus by executing one of his elite for simply doing what was right?

    I found out then, that the Grand Marshall, was a traitor to Narfell. A one Kara Du'monte. Later I would find out more about the reasons behind the war, and the major players, and then it would all make sense. But for now, all I could see around me was bitterness and betrayal. And we were asked why we attacked an allied unit, why we went against our orders to stay back and wait. Why would we cause our own side to lose men and resources in such a desperate time as this.

    To a man, we had agreed. Even if they would kill us, we would not allow such evil to go unchallenged. Tempus would have us do no less. And the Sergeant, the gods protect him, stood and denounced the Officers for the evil they were permitting. Some of them became enraged, others laughed. Kara simply nodded, and whispered something to the General next to her... I caught a few words. "Caged lion" and "worse than death" the main bits I heard on the wind.

    Our sentence was passed. Guilty of Treason against the Crown, and against the Sovereign nation of N'jast. Ten years in prison for each of us, twenty for the Sergeant. No more than two of us in any one cell block. No contact with the outside. Word to be sent to every town in N'jast, announcing our sentencing. Our families to be notified, specifically. And our weapons and armor to be taken to serve in the war against Narfell.

    I held my head up, I didn't cry or yell abuse. I simply looked at the Officers, one after the other, fixing their faces in my mind. And they knew what my look was saying. It said "You belong here, not us".


  • Entry 4 - The Great War, the Jiyyd battles

    _Patriots always talk of dying for their country and never of killing for their country.

    • Bertrand Russell_

    With war against Jiyyd declared, we prepared ourselves for the onslaught to come. We would be held in reserve for the most part, unless needed. Word did filter in to us of mercenaries coming in, of wild men, orcs, trolls and the like. It didn't sit well with us, but a soldier doesn't complain, so we followed orders and stayed back.

    We made our advance slowly, with siege weaponry and uniform lines in defense, the mercenaries going ahead of us. The Jiyyd defenders burnt their crops, destroyed our siege weapons, and fought far more valiantly than we had expected. Our losses were high, but most of them were troops that didn't matter so much… mercenaries and young bloods. Every loss is counted dearly, but in war, it becomes a matter of numbers and statistics, not individuals. You mourn after it's all over.

    Eventually we got to the walls of the town, and again we were held in reserve. At this point, the others in my unit were getting frustrated at how we were being kept out of the fight, away from the lines. All we got was the view from a distance, and the words of what happened from the wounded. And it didn't sit well, what they were saying.

    Deception tactics, taking out civilians, and such. We knew that the mercenaries were hard to control, but to think that they would do such things... it seemed like a bad dream. We wanted justice, but not at the cost of such things. And still, we were held back. Perhaps it is just as well that we were, as the Legion mounted a rush deep into our ranks, almost making it to our officers encampment. Many of our men died, but the Legion paid a heavy fee for this attack. They lost some of their own as well, and we were far more numerous than they were. Therefore, every loss of theirs would hurt more.

    Whilst we waited for orders to move forward, I overheard some orders given to a unit of mercenaries. And those orders, they would signal the end of the war for me, and the Steelfangs.


  • Entry 3 - The Great War, the beginning.

    _The first casualty when war comes is truth.

    • Hiram Johnson_

    Words cannot adequately express just how shocked I was, and how shocked the entire nation was, at the news of the death of King Golask the Obese. He was not ailing, nor did we have any obvious threats against us. Moreover, his death was not natural, he was assassinated. The exact details were not released to us, the killers were still on the loose. But word came from Princess Brione who was soon to be Queen, and the Chancellor. Evidence pointed to Narfell, to Peltarch specifically. We would ride to the border, and wait for word.

    I said goodbye to my parents… this was the last time I would ever see them, not that I knew that. I didn't cry, but their faces said it all. Fear, confusion, anger, denial. Part of our universe had just been removed, the continuity of life under a good King. And we all needed answers. We needed to know why, and we needed to bring those responsible to justice.

    I saw this, as my sworn duty as a citizen of N'jast, and servant of the Crown. The Steelfangs were engaged by the Princess to offer aid, and so we would ride with the army of the Realm and follow the orders of the Major General.

    Rather than the normal jovial air before a battle, the men were quiet, thoughtful. The others in the Steelfangs could sense the mood and kept quiet... the N'jastians were out for blood. It wasn't just a war, it was a matter of honour, of pride. You can't just kill a King and get away with it. Someone would be brought to justice.

    I left most of my belongings behind with my parents. I only took my trusted longsword, my steel plate and shield, my cloak, ring, and supplies. That was all I would need, I hoped. With any luck, Peltarch would find and hand over the criminals responsible for the assassination, and we could go home.

    We got to the border, and made camp for a month. Diplomats came and went, their words no matter to a soldier. At the end of that time, we were told that Peltarch would not accede to our demands, and so we would move into Narfell, to bring them to justice ourselves, and those who would defend them. A shout of approval went up from the ranks, although I could see that some were uneasy about this. We would have to go through another town, Jiyyd, on our way to Peltarch, and if they didn't let us through peacefully, we would have to fight them when they had done no other wrong.

    Sleep was hard to find on the march, too many thoughts running through my head. Dying in service to my nation, my homeland, and my god, would not be a hardship... but those I would leave behind would find it hard. A life is valued by the strands that connect it to others, and I knew that there were many who counted mine dear to them, soldiers and friends alike.

    When we got to Jiyyd, again, we made camp. Diplomats went to and fro from the town. This was the first time I encountered the Legion, the very organisation that I am now a Sergeant of. We received intel on their various members, it seemed they were a very small force, but elite. Not unlike the Steelfangs, although far less disciplined. Some of their members seemed almost comical in their attitude to life, but they were certainly not to be underestimated.

    Whilst the orders we received were to stay in camp and only patrol our border, not to attack unless attacked, and so on, some "radicals" took it upon themselves to attack the citizens as they fled Jiyyd, which was before war was declared. Those found guilty who survived, were disciplined, and never seen again.

    The end result of the talks? No, they wouldn't let us pass without a fight. For whatever reason, the rulers of that small town chose to defy us rather than survive, for the only result when a small town takes on a nation, is defeat. Mind you, it took them months to come to this decision, during which time the evidence against Peltarch mounted, and our resolve was strengthened.

    Finally, war was officially declared between the nation of N'jast, and the township of Jiyyd.


  • _Several days passes, the brown haired woman going about her duties as she must. Time spent in Peltarch in the College, leading lessons and speaking with students, watching practices and performances. When these are over, she makes for Norwick to check on the Union Hall, making sure everything is secure and clean. As she moves about the building, she runs a hand gently over the anvils, checks the tools… the call of steel something that is bound to her.

    She picks up a hammer, and some ingots, brass apparently, and sets to work. She can't work steel yet, she can barely mine iron, but she dreams, and she strives. A thousand hammerblows ring in her ears, a hundred helms are made and discarded. The metal is strong, but under her strikes it changes form, becomes what she wishes of it.

    Finally, for practice, she takes some of her precious silver from a pouch in her pack, and heats it up. Silversmithing is delicate work, requiring careful ministrations, and patience. And rather than make a tool, armor, or weapon, she slowly creates a small knight. Every detail is there, albeit small, every line and every mark put in deliberately.

    One last time in the flames, to heat and set it.... and she can tell that it is done. For in the light of the forge, she can see her own reflection on the surface in the silver she holds there. It's an irony to her that she can make objects of beauty with such a fine material, but a weapon of war, that is still beyond her.

    After she cleans up her workstation, she sits down on the floor, leaning against the anvil, and takes out her journal, the silver knight in her lap._


  • Entry 2 - The Steelfangs

    _Everyone's a pacifist between wars. It's like being a vegetarian between meals.

    • Colman McCarthy_

    So my own coming of age had been eventful, and definite. You could draw a line in my history, clearly showing where things changed, and that would be it. Perhaps I should be grateful for this small evil, for it put me on the path I now walk. Nonetheless, without the ability of foresight, I could not see at the time what good it would do, all I knew was pain and betrayal.

    So it was with a heavy and distrustful heart, that I set out to find my own future. And I found it, or rather, it found me. I'd heard of work going in the temple district for scribes, and so I went there, hoping to get something that would put me on my way to a brighter future. Ideally, I wanted work with some kind of travelling historian or scholar, so that I could see more of the realms.

    Instead, all I was greeted with was polite priests with unhelpful words. Said I was too young, or too small, too weak, too this and that. Words that spoke to my own self-esteem at that time, reinforcing how I felt. I was almost ready to give up and try adventuring, when I walked into the breastplate of a shining warrior in steel fullplate.

    Apologising profusely and holding my bleeding nose, I must have looked a sight. The man for his part, waved a gauntleted hand as if to say that it was of no consequence. And then he stopped, and asked me if everything was okay. I don't know what made a soldier of Tempus think to ask a sixteen year old girl that, but it was something more than the blood pouring down my face.

    I told him of my plight, of the scholarly training I had had, and my desire to see the realms. Nothing was mentioned of my betrayal by Kallum, and thankfully, he didn't push for more information. He simply nodded, and asked if I would come with him.

    That day, I started my training with the Steelfangs as an apprentice War Historian.

    Even now, I can't say why or how this happened how it did. Honestly? I think it was divine providence, for the gods have plans beyond the ken of mortals. Raised in a house devoted to Waukeen, I learnt of the ways of Tempus, of the Warriors Code. How to wield a weapon, how to wear amour effectively. The Long Chant, the Death Rites, the Lay of the Honoured, all these were committed to memory. And I found a faith, in a god that asked me to merely fight with honour, and to not fight needlessly.

    After three years, my training was complete, and I was tested. The Steelfangs are the best of the best, the elite amongst those of the faith. And I earnt my place amongst them with song and spell, with herbs, with steel and wit. I would never be the strongest, nor the toughest, but I would hold the line, and I would fight until my last breath.

    Never did I take a man to my bed, nor allow one to take me to his. I closed my heart to all but Tempus, and he gave me a reason to live. He gave me companions who fought proudly, who lived life like a burning flame. Everything was done with gusto, bravado.

    And, you know what? I loved it.

    The next year passed quickly, with our unit moving between realms, working with this army and that. I saw more of the world in that time than I had in six years with my father, although a lot of it was battlefields and medic tents. I killed men who spoke a dozen different languages or more, and saw my allies fall to the same.

    Finally, we were at home again, and I was on leave. My parents weren't sure how to take me now, their daughter, the soldier. My once pristine skin was littered with scars, my hands were rough and callused. I could see pride in their eyes, but I could hear fear in their voices. Fear of loss, of how they would cope if I did not return. Fear of what that would mean for them, perhaps, or fear of what it would mean for me. And that fear, and uncertainty clouded my stay. So, it was with relief that I greeted my superior, Captain Jathark, after five days.

    His words chilled me to the bone.

    "The king is dead. We ride to war."


  • _As she dabs the quill in the inkwell again, she looks out at the sky and sees the clouds clear for a moment, the storm abating. A crescent moon shines out over the Nars Pass, lighting up what was a dreary night. In the distance, the sound of the gnolls celebrating something can be heard on the wind, perhaps a birth, or a death… maybe a coming of age. No matter.

    The gnolls were one of her enemies in this place, this "Narfell". They harrassed travellers, they slaughtered all who came into their lands, and they worshipped foul gods. And yet... there were things she could respect about them. Their strength, their resourcefulness, their seemingly endless energy to protect what was theirs.

    She saw the same strengths in the men and women she served with. Traits that all who survive in this land must have, for it is a hard land, beyond the end of what most would term civilisation. Here, you either get tough, or you die.

    She'd gotten tough again... it had come easily. So many years behind the sword came back to her like a long lost friend. It felt right to grip a weapon, and to face down the foe. And yet... something has changed for her. It shows in little ways, and she knows it.

    She dreads speaking of it to those she knows, and so instead she puts off the inevitable, working through her thoughts, and offering her prayers to the gods. The bread is mostly gone now, the cheese too. The water canteen ran dry some time ago, but water was easy to get here... probably the easiest thing to find here, asides from death.

    Whether it was given or received, it was a daily occurance. And there is something in that which grieves her soul. She lets out a sigh, and runs a hand through her hair, cut short to sit above her armor. Little signs give things away... like the soldier without scars, the change in her battlecries, how she introduces herself.

    Like the distance between her and those she once called kindred.

    She resigned herself to one more entry before bed, knowing that sleep would not come easily this night, nor any other now. Too many thoughts, too many worries._


  • Entry 1 - Childhood and Adolesence

    _The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.

    • George S. Patton_

    Children are a wonder. They are considered innocent by most people. They play, building castles of sand and worlds of marvel in their minds. They eat, drink, breath, love, and hate. Yes, they hate. For it is in the actions of a child, without guile or cunning, without deception, that we see the truth of the nature of mortals. Against that nature, we fight daily. Whether it is our own nature, or the manifestation of it in others, it is a poison that chokes our world.

    My own childhood, I suppose, was much like many others. Born to doting parents, I was the only child that the gods saw fit to give them. My father, Marcus, and my mother Janneka, were merchants who mainly worked in common goods, but also carried a line of fine linens. We were, I suppose, middle class citizens, but with a decent land holding within the city upon which we could call rent. This in itself is noteworthy, as it means that my family had lived within N'jast for more than two hundred years - The land a gift from the then monarch, King Ishkar the First.

    My mother looked after me almost exclusively for the first four years of my life, nursing and changing, singing, playing. After my fourth birthday, my mother had to return to the business to aid father, as our income had dropped too low from his wish to stay close to home and myself.

    On and off over the next six years, I travelled with my father when he went on his trips. Thus, as a child I saw many foreign places and tasted a veritable rainbow of experiences. I think my favourite journey was to Waterdeep, the city of splendours. So many flavours, so many different people and ideas and things to explore. During all this adventuring, mother stayed home and looked after the shop. Seeing how sedate her life was, compared to that of my father, I swore to myself that I would never allow myself to be content with a hum-drum existence.

    Eventually though, my father sought to have me provided with a more standardised education. This saw the end of my travelling days with father for the most part, which understandably left me somewhat hesitant to take part in the schooling.

    My tutor was a young man six years my senior. Blue eyes, brown hair, and lightly tanned skin, he stood nearly six feet tall and was thin with a rakish look about him. Kallum Thinder was his name, and he was my first love. As soon as we met, I cast aside my doubts about giving up my former life of travel as it were, and devoted myself to study with him as my teacher.

    It was from him I learnt much of the literary arts, languages, advanced mathematics, politics, history, and other "polite" subjects. He was a true scholar, a follower of Oghma who had learnt from the clergy since he was a small boy.

    To skip over much that is painful and irrelevant, on the ocassion of my sixteenth birthday we were finally together, and I gave myself to him. The next morning he was gone without a note or a goodbye, father telling me that I would never see Kal again, and that I should move on with my life.

    I was shattered, my world fell apart. I spent a month in my room, refusing to come out and speak with anyone, nor would I let anyone into my room. I took to walking the house at night, and my parents left food for me outside my door… giving me the time to grieve.

    The only reason I mention this, is because it was a defining point of my life. Without this heartbreak, I would never have sought out something so far from my family and the life that I had known. Indeed, I dare say I would have taken over the business from father, and travelled the realms selling silks and fine dyed cottons.

    After a month of mourning the loss of my love, thinking that he had used me for his pleasure and then disappeared without caring, I spoke with my parents about what was to come. They gave me the option of either staying with the family business, or to strike out on my own. In either case, this marked the beginning of my adulthood.

    I chose the latter.


  • Prologue

    _It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.

    • Voltaire_

    I always thought it to be self indulgent and pompous to want to record ones thoughts for the reading of others, as if any one individuals opinion was more valuable than anothers. Never in my life have I kept a diary or journal for this reason, also, for the fear of what my enemies could do should they come across such.

    And yet now I find myself writing here, lines of black on the pristine white, forever changing the landscape of the book. A journal? A diary? A writing to those who will come after me, or to explain myself? No… none of these. Merely a record of my life, of tactics and strategies. Battles fought, whether won or lost.

    I am Valerie Rebecca Kyrie, born in the year 1478 by Dale Reckoning, in the month of Ches, the third day. I am a N'jastian by birth, but I claim no allegiance to any realm now, the result of past wrongs done against me. For now, I reside in the realm of Narfell, but where the tides of war will take me, I do not know.

    This is my story, what has been, and what is.