This account of the Battle of Harag Pass has been taken from questioning those who fought on the fields of battle, as well as what I witnessed myself as an observer. This record has been made to ensure that the deeds and honour of those who fought on this day are kept and remembered. Though this is not my cause, I am honoured and humbled to have witnessed the conviction and commitment of the men and women who fought for both sides.
Harag Pass
Harag Pass is a key logistical location in Mjoll, resting in a large basin surrounded by mountains on all sides. The large town residing within it, Harag, is fed by a series of streams and rivers that run through the mountains and built-up roadways and dense forest, home to much game. Whoever holds this pass holds the key to moving soldiers, supplies and equipment through the mountains of Mjoll.
The forces of Revna Mothersblood of Clan Oslo took the Harag Pass in the early days of the war, with a quick raid and the pacification of nearby towns and ports. Harag Pass has acted as a staging point for her forces, with more and more of her army beginning to congregate at the pass, presumably for a decisive march on Orin the Bastard's personal holdings in the heart of Mjoll. These movements did not go unnoticed, perhaps validating the rumours that those within Revna's ranks had taken Malar-Skaw gold for information. What is known, however, is that in the days before the battle, the surrounding towns and ports received vast shipments of coin and wealth. They did not act or raise the alarm as Orin's forces moved in by road and river, no doubt due to this.
With this information, the stage was set for the battle, and the battle can be described in three phases; the day, the night and the morning.
The Day
On the morning of the battle, the basin of Harag Pass was covered in a magical fog accompanied by the sound of constant buzzing bees. Under this cover, a convoy of Orin's ships made their way up the river to the town of Harag. Only when the vessels were near the docks did the town's watchtowers spot them and light their beacons. The defenders on the docks sprung into action. Strong arms moved great levers to raise chains from the riverbed, but not in time. They only managed to entangle the rearmost ships, though they caused great damage as the hulls were forced into each other, cracking and splintering, forcing crew overboard. From the stone walls along the docks, those in kilts of Hunhil black and white could be seen pouring vats of alchemy down into the waters below. The unfortunate spirits forced into the waters soon found their skin being burned as the acid made contact. The acid would have burned away at Orin's ships had their prows not been reinforced with Conlan forged steel. Entangled by chains and decimated by acid, the survivors in the rear of Orin's assault made it to the opposite shore while the lead ships docked at the town's port.
The first off the ships had kilts of Wolfsgar black and red. They wore light shirts of woven chains and carried the weapons and looks of seasoned hunters. With them came packs of braying hounds armoured in kind. Under a rain of arrows and alchemy from the walls of the docks by those in black and white stepped one of the most vicious Einher witnessed, Festargarmr, Chieftain of the Wolfsgar. Across his body, he bore scars from blade and fang alike. "Bedriva" Festargarmr spun a length of spiked chain in the air and barked an order "jaga och döda" or hunt and kill. At those words, Einher and hound alike leapt forward to charge the barricades, both frothing at the mouth. They charged the barricades, biting and hacking. It was hard to tell man from hound in the flurry of flesh, blood and fur. The Bothnians were routed from the docks and fled into the corridors of the town.
Festargarmr urged his warriors in pursuit of the fleeing Bothnians. The Wolfsgar hunting packs drove forth into the town. They did not meet the backs of fleeing Bothnians, however. They instead charged into the long axes and claymores of heavily armoured Galloglach warriors stationed to hold these pathways; the Wolfsgar skirmishers stood no chance. When they turned to flee, the Galloglach unleashed a hail of javelins, cutting them down. Those that could escaped and went to secure the dock so that Orin and the crews of the ships sunk could get a foothold into the town.
On the other side of the town stood the front gate, with Oslo Shieldmaidens stationed along the walls. At the same time as Orin's ships hit the dock of Harag, from the dense forests the gate looked out upon came tartans of Gotlands black and blue alongside those of Fenrik black and yellow. Revna's Shieldmaidens braced as Orin's forces began to unleash a torrent of spells at the walls.
Despite their unwavering courage and unyielding defence, the relentless assault of the Gotland mages and Fenriks proved too overwhelming for the Shieldmaidens. A Fenrik contingent led by Tyrik the half-man made an attempt to assault the walls. Upon the walls, Tyrik and Revna clashed. Fury was in Revna's eyes, and each blow of her blade sent Tyrik reeling until a final blow removed his head, and his body fell from the ramparts. As the battle wore on, exhaustion began to take its toll, and cracks began to appear in the once impenetrable shield wall. The maidens fought valiantly, but their numbers dwindled as the day wore on, and the enemy's magic began to overwhelm them.
The setting sun gleaned off spears that could be seen coming down the mountain pass to Harag. The thunderous beat of hooves echoed through the basin. Skarde the Ironbred of clan Bothnia, arrived alongside Arvid-Vano of clan Oresund, all mounted on horseback. A cheer rose up from the defenders of Harag. The cavalry crested the hill, the sounds of hooves drowned out by the screaming of wood and metal as a trebuchet fired from the other side of the dock. The sheen of mail and spear was blocked out as shadows took shape from the sky. Where the rocks fell, the column broke. Horses fled in whichever direction seemed safe. Clan Oresund fled the field, broken and scattered.
A devastating surge of eldritch energy from the Gotland mages finally shattered the gate's defence. A series barrage of meteors falling from the sky and columns of flame crashing against the battlements sent the Shieldmaidens reeling backwards. The townspeople cried out in despair as they watched their defenders forced to retreat, their spirits crushed but not broken. With heavy hearts, the Shieldmaidens regrouped deeper within the town.
As they fell back, the Shieldmaidens held their heads high, knowing that their sacrifice had bought precious time for the townspeople to prepare for the next wave of the assault. Determined to defend Revna to the very last, the Shieldmaidens prepared to face the Gotland and Fenriks once more, rallying the townspeople around them to stand united in the face of Orin's forces. The battle for Harag was far from over, and the Revna vowed to fight with even greater ferocity to reclaim their gate and drive the attackers back.
The Night
The sun set on Harag with Revna and her remaining forces encircled, parts of the town burning from the day's conflicts. Orin's naval assault regrouped on the docks under cover from Conlan's siege weapons. On the other side, at the gate of Harag, the clan of Gotland is reinforced by the Lofoten. The axes and swords of Galloglach, alongside the shields of Oslo, hold until the moon's rise, full and bright across the sky.
Orin had timed his battle for this night for a very good reason.
The berserker werewolves of the Lofoten cursed with a feral madness, charged recklessly through the gates of Harag. Their eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, their fangs glistened, and they howled with an eerie resonance. Their fury seemed boundless as they wielded their weapons—a combination of ancient Einher weaponry and their own savage claws.
Across the narrow streets and wooden buildings, the Galloglach mercenaries stood firm, their stoic expressions betraying no fear. These battle-hardened warriors from the lands of Galloglach were renowned for their combat prowess and unwavering loyalty to their chieftain. They formed an impenetrable wall with their long axes gleaming in the moonlight and claymores held at the ready.
As the Lofotens charged, the clash of steel against steel rang out like thunder. The Galloglach mercenaries defended with skilful precision, their long axes striking with lethal accuracy and their claymores sweeping through the air with deadly grace.
Javelins whistled through the night, hurled by Galloglach marksmen, seeking to impede the werewolves' advance. But the berserker werewolves, with their unnatural speed and agility, dodged many of the projectiles, their fur bristling with anticipation. While the Galloglach stood brave, many of their blades could not pierce the hides of the Wolves of the Lofoten. It is said that Adair the touched came from his tent reeking of whiskey and ordered the warriors of the Galloglach in a foolish countercharge against the enraged and blood-soaked Lofoten. The inner gate of Harag was taken by Orin's forces shortly after. Those survivors who bore witness to the fighting in the inner gate say it will be a tale they pass down to their grandchildren.
Those on the other side of the river where the Conlan siege weapons sat silent for the night. Figures under cover of darkness, their tartans unknown and unseen, came- taking out sentries, slitting their throats and strangling the siege crew as they slept. They were like weasels in a hen house as they did their work. They skulked along the surrounding mountain range, one by one removing sentries, blinding the rear of Orin's forces along the dockside.
The Morning
Skarde the Ironbred led Arvid-Vano and the routed Oresund cavalry along the northern mountains. Pushing both rider and steed through the night, they positioned themselves against the now unwatched dock side of Harag. Skarde the Ironbred held a weapon stronger than any Conlan war machine, Malar-Skaw coin or Lofoten rage. He had knowledge- for Orin the Bastard was raised as a Hunhil, and Skarde had grown up beside him. They played as youths, fought as teens, drank and loved as adults. Skarde knew the mind of Orin well. He knew where Orin would put his defences, how Orin would align his forces and even what shifts Orin would put his guards on. In short, Skarde knew when and where to place a cavalry charge.
As the morning sun kissed the rugged peaks, the cavalry units assembled at the mouth of the mountain pass, their steeds pawing the earth in restless anticipation. The air crackled with a sense of impending fervour, and the soldiers' hearts pounded in unison with the rhythmic drumming of hooves. The thunderous uproar of the cavalry charge down the mountain pass echoed through the valley below, startling flocks of birds into chaotic flight. With precision and unity that only years of training could bestow, the horsemen weaved through the serpentine path with breathtaking elegance. Hooves kicked up sparks of fire from the rocks, and the dust billowed like a shroud behind them. The charging warriors exuded an air of invincibility, their faces masked with fierce determination as they hurtled towards the enemy with unyielding momentum. The sun cast elongated shadows that danced with the riders, further accentuating the almost mythical aura surrounding the awe-inspiring spectacle. In the face of adversity, the cavalry charged as one, hearts pounding with the rhythm of war, embodying the spirit of victory that surged through their veins. The mountain pass became a theatre of valour, where courage knew no bounds, and legends were born amid the tumultuous symphony of battle.
Orin led his forces in a counterattack against the devastating Oresund charge. Those who survive the encounter say that Orin cleaved through shield, armour and horse alike, blood glistening in the day's light from his twin-bladed axe. He was accompanied by a Fenrik bodyguard. It is said that the Fenrik's skin was made of black smoke, their eyes glowed green, and they had horns made of snake while their weapons screamed and cried as flesh was hewn. Orin and his guard fought through the Oresund lines and to Arvid-Vano. He came upon him with a furious rage, axe cleaving Arvid-Vano's horse from the legs. Arvid-Vano had enough time to raise his shield, yet Orin's axe bit down, cleaving shield and skull alike. The Chieftan of Oresun lay dead.
With Orin's forces engaged, Revna and her remaining forces within the town mounted a breakout, the roar of battle echoing through the air. The Shieldmaidens within Harag fought fiercely to break free from the besieged town's confines. Adorned in glistening armour and gleaming weapons, they formed an unyielding wall of valour against the enemy forces. The siege had taken its toll on those within the town, but the Shieldmaidens' determination remained unwavering. As flames raged around them, the brave warriors cut through the enemy ranks with unrelenting prowess, clearing a path towards the nearby docks where their salvation awaited. Guided by their indomitable spirit and camaraderie, the Shieldmaidens charged forward, leaping over barricades and rushing past crumbling buildings, relentlessly pursuing their freedom aboard the waiting ships that would bear them away from Harag, with Orin's forces unable to pursue in a timely manner.
The Oresund cavalry broke from the melee, regrouping. A horn call to fall back sounded throughout the basin at the site of Revna's banner flying from the ships that had broken free. By the day's end, Orin's forces would hold the key location of Harag, having missed the opportunity to defeat her completely due to the cleverness of Skarde the Ironbred and the valiant sacrifice of Arvid-Arno Chieftain of Clan Oresund. Arvid-Arno's second son Grom Gloryman tells the tale that he was the last of Revna's forces to leave the field, that he was able to turn back Orin's pursuing skirmishers by removing his helmet and blinding them with the awe and brilliance of his glorious shining hair.
The Aftermath
Since the first efforts in taking this account weeks ago, Revna's forces have regrouped and marched on Mordenholt. Orin's own forces amass at the Harag Pass, the armies of Aslak and Felnir joining with Orin's to mobilize to Mordenholt. An Althing has been called, and both sides have agreed to produce pieces to reforge the horn of the Einherjar and awaken the High King. It would seem as though at Mordenholt, this bloody and vicious conflict will end one way or the other.
Yet, we stand on the precipice of yet another. Hale and his army of wayward zealots close in on Mordenholt as well. I feel as though there will be many dark days ahead…
- Ser Alister, Knight of the True Prince of Tiefanue, Observer to the Einish Civil War