Stories from Erayax capture of Sartinia - Ashay 1258

Ildres 26, 1258 - Geldheim Forces arrive at Sartinia

As the shadows grew long from the mountains backing the fortress, a small but rather toned Gnome wanders the curtain wall, running his hand along the freshly hewn stone of the parapets as he nods, greeting a few masons and stoneworkers going about their duties for the evening before a high-pitched whistle rings out from the yard below.
“Alright folks, dat’ll be all for tis evenin!!...”, a burly dwarf coated in dust and with small chips of stone buried in his beard calls out with cupped hands amplifying his already deep voice,

“… da Tavern ‘ill be openin’ in five, an’ I heard dat a wagon from Bardaga arrived tis mornin so there’ll be some proper brew on da taps!!”
A wave of sighs followed by the clatter of metal on stone from hammers, pickaxes and chisels hitting the ground as stoneworkers begin their descent towards the tavern in haste, a few chuckles and cheers in excitement for some true dwarvish ale.
The Gnome smiles as he watches his masons still in such high spirits, they had been working on the repairs and much required upgrades to Sartinia’s defences for the past two years; having completed the bastion tower on the northern side of the gorge and the cannon emplacement being lifted in tomorrow and the diversion of the small creek running nearby now running parallel to the wall; adding another challenge for any would be invaders.
Getting the attention of the last mason passing by, the Gnome speaks up,
“On your way down, find Foreman Slate and tell him to take it easy tonight”, pausing for a moment, he taps the wall,
“Remind him that we need to move that cannon tomorrow and I don’t need him drunker than a son that stole his father’s whiskey, that’d be greatly appreciated.”
“Shall do Wendell, I’d better get a hurry on as he’d be first in line”, the mason chuckles as he starts towards the ladder nearby.
With a knowing grin, Wendell smiles as he turns to look over the parapet with his chin barely matching the height of the stonework.
After a few minutes, a dark bird lands on the wall nearby and chirps twice drawing Wendell’s attention. With a questioning look, Wendell makes his way slowly towards the bird, noticing its sharp features and underlying blue feathers.
“Shard Hawklings, always a beautiful bird, though you’re a touch smaller than most aren’t you?”, he chuffs as he puts his hands up slowly to show no fret to the bird before it chirps again.
“Stonesplitter? Stonesplitter? Codeword” The Shard Hawkling asks, with a high pitch whistle emanating of the ‘s’s in its mimicry of speech.
Wendell pauses for a moment and turns his head from side to side check his surrounds, and confident he is alone quickly states,
“Eight”.
With a little hop, the little Hawkling flaps its wings once softly as it chirps again,
“Stonesplitter, Stonesplitter, we recommend all suggested foodstuffs. Feast to be hosted in fortnight, expect guests within ten days”
With a slight pause, Wendell puts a thumb up on his left hand and nods twice, the bird fluffs its feathers up before outstretching its wings and takes off into the darkening sky.
Wendell’s eyes darken as he takes in the information before quickly turning on his heel and making his way towards his quarters with haste and purpose in his step. The sounds of happiness and comradery falling deaf on his ears as he pulls a small ring adorned with a black gem out of his shirt pocket and rolls it in his palm whilst opening his door, Wendell sighs as he slams the door behind him, the clunk of a heavy lock setting into place following shortly afterwards

Ashay 4, 1258 - Hadoveans arrive at Sartina

It was nearing nightfall as a half dozen troops and a covered wagon entered the gates of Sartinia under a green and grey pennant, signalling the first of many emissaries coming from the Hadovean Empire, with this particular contingent arriving from Bloodwood Forest.
They are not the first to arrive; however, two wagons bearing emblems of the Kingdom of Geldheim and a small cart, far too ornate to be a workman’s utility, rest in a line along the wall of the fortress and a few horses stand nearby, being attended to by a few unremarkable individuals. Inside the tavern, two folk with Fleur De Lis worked into their clothing, and flanked by an armed guard on either side of their seats chatter about their respective lands,

“… speaking of, that cannon tower is something I should put to my Lord; a defensive asset like that would be worth its weight in labour and coin!”, a bulbous gentleman with hair beginning to bald declares rather loudly.
“More like the weight of your belly, Heartbreak Keep hasn’t had to face an enemy more threatening than a leper ever since Hillfort was erected!!”, the rather lithe half-elf across the table ribs with a broad grin as he raises his mug to take a sip.
Smiling and pointing a finger that more closely resembles a sausage at the half-elf, the Heartbreak Keep emissary chortles before his eyes turn towards the door, now swinging open to reveal an older woman in a brown gown with a deep emerald scarf wrapped around her shoulders.
“Speaking of enemies, as if right on schedule”, the half-elf mumbles into his cup as his grin disappears.
As the woman makes her way across the room, the screech of wood on wood sounds out and a third chair suddenly bumps up against the table of the two Geldheim emissaries and a large barrel-chested figure with a bull head adorning a pair of large horns plants themselves down along with three pints of dwarvish ale and quickly shunts two towards the now bewildered men, the bigger of the two having pushed backwards in concern.
Shocked by the sheer audacity of the minotaur, they both raise their hands to stop the guards mid draw of their blades.
“You’d be careful with your words otherwise we might all not leave this gathering in one piece, and between us, I quite enjoy being intact”, the minotaur jests as he settles into his seat and kicks his feet up onto the corner of the table, taking a deep draught of his ale.
“And who in the blazes are you?”, the balding man questions as he rights himself into a more dignified posture once more and quickly glances at the ale, tempted by the free drink.
“My apologies, my name is no importance mostly due to the fact you fine folk probably couldn’t pronounce it”, the minotaur smiles as he places a now empty pint on the table,
“but I was sent as the emissary of Whitewell Council, hopefully to ensure a *peaceful* gathering here as we’ve all been called to inspect and determine that the new defences of Sartinia will hold the next time those brutes in the Old Lands decide to come back south.”
As the half-elf goes to speak, the minotaur cuts him off with a raised finger,
“And if you’d indulge me, as a poor folk not under either of the high and mighty banners of the King or Empress, I’d like to enjoy a moment of *civility* between you lot, no matter how brief this will be.”
The Geldheim emissaries slowly nod their heads, be it in agreement or simply to end this conversation and begin to stand,
“I shall be retiring to my quarters, it has been a *pleasure* to make your acquaintance”, the lithe half-elf states curtly before being tailed out by his guards, followed by the Heartbreak Emissary, clutching the gifted pint in his grip.
As the door swings shut behind the last Geldheimer, the minotaur sighs and reaches to take back the pint still sitting on the table and smiles, rather pleased with himself and his efforts for the evening.  

Ashay 13, 1258 Fleeing Sartinia

The sight of the Erayax streaming through the fallen Sartinia defenses was horrific and brutal. It was clear to the defenders that they needed to get as many of the townsfolk out to safety as they could or leave them to certain death of arguably a far worse fate. The townfolk were terrified and to be fair, even the soldiers from Hadovea, Geldheim and the Contested lands, although for the main outwardly calm, internally their minds were racing looking for an opportunity to escape though the chaos.
The going had been tough from the outset with several of the first groups slaughtered mercilessly by the Erayax along with their protectors.
Then the breakthrough came and the warriors protecting them began to cut down some of the Erayax assailing them, all the while though the taunts from Under Chief Drazz and his dark and evil commanders chipping away at moral. Yet the Geldheim and Hadovean warriors rose above their terror and faced down enough of the enemy to successfully rescue over three hundred (including the warriors who survived) of the roughly 500 that had inhabited Sartiina before the fall.
Sartinia had fallen to the Erayax’s overwhelming numbers and sheer relentless brutality. More than a few who got away would count themselves as very lucky. Wendell would report the outcome at his first opportunity, a day or so he estimated, although he guessed word would travel perhaps even faster than the survivors – things were funny that way.
 

Ashay 15, 1258 - Erayax commence thier next actions after taking Sartinia:

Defences had been errected with great efficency. To assist, those captured were put to work, working through long hours through day and night. Those that slowed were further motivated by the whip. Those that could work no longer were simply put to the sword. Soon after trophies were taken the dead were burned.
The encampment was rapidly established in typical Erayax fashion. The air was split every so often with the blood curdling scream of whichever unlucky prisoners were being “toyed” with today. They knew it would be each of them, eventually.
Under Chief Drazz smiled as he closed the shutter on his makeshift ready room, he was quick to establish his accommodations. He enjoyed the sounds coming from the yard, the sounds of success he considered them. He would partake in the sport soon enough himself.
“Well Lads,” he said, as he turned to face the two with him.
“We have acheived out objected and rooted those flithy lowbloods out of this place, The Lord Warchief will be well satisfied.” He paused, in truth, enjoying the moment. "I've sent word of our success and a request for for soliders the maintain the garrison here. I have also made arrangements to transfort the flithy lowbloods to the slave trader. A handful of them may even make handy gladiators."
“We all now have our individual task, Rask, I believe you leave tonight!” It was not a question, it got a curt nod in response, and perhaps a grunt.
“And of course, Salcor, we knew you were already on your own mission, so best of fortune”. Drazz smiled, a smile that could almost briefly have been considered warm.
“Tamarax go with you” was all Salcor said in response. He and Rask said their farewells and departed one south and the other towards the Machete Mountains to the southeast.