Winter March
*Odsier Plains*
The Odonine war camps sprawled across the Odsier Plains like a vast, living beast. Thousands of tents, banners, and campfires stretched as far as the eye could see, the embers glowing like the heartbeat of a people preparing for war. The air was thick with the sounds of sharpening blades, the hum of warriors’ voices raised in song, and the steady rhythm of war drums echoing through the chill air. Smoke from countless fires swirled into the sky, mingling with the grey clouds that gathered on the horizon.
The Odonine clans had come together under one banner, united for the first time in generations by the sheer force of their War Chieftain’s will. Koshnem Gloomwilder, long black beard, tall as a mountain and just as unyielding, moved through the camp like a force of nature, his presence commanding reverence. Every warrior who crossed his path paused to bow their head in respect, murmuring prayers to Noraura and some to Fosia, that Koshnem now embodied. He had become a legend among his people, not just a leader, but a living symbol of their triumphs and future conquests. After the Battle of the Plains, where the Odsier had been crushed, and the fall of Aquilo, Koshnem was started to be seen as something divine. His name carried weight, and his victories had cemented him as the unquestioned master of the Odonine.
But his mind was not on the past, it was on the future, the great siege to come. Ostiarium, the stone city of the invaders, lay to the south. His army, emboldened by their recent conquests, would march upon it and tear it down brick by brick. The invaders had come from across the sea, bringing their foreign gods and steel, but the Odonine would show them that Arcadia belonged to them. And with the first flakes of winter snow beginning to drift down from the sky, Koshnem knew that the time to strike was near.
In the centre of the camp, beneath a banner that fluttered in the cold wind, Koshnem’s tent stood like a fortress of hide, bone and ivory. Inside, a war council had gathered, hunched over a crudely drawn map of Ostiarium and the surrounding lands. Warriors, shamans, and clan leaders offered their thoughts on strategy, but it was Koshnem who held the final say. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the map as his commanders discussed the best approach to take the city.
"The city’s walls are tall, but they’re not impregnable," one of the clan leaders said, tapping the map with a calloused finger. “If we attack from the north, through the forest, we can avoid the bulk of their forces."
Koshnem nodded but said nothing. His mind was already working through the various possibilities. The northern approach was sound, but it was also risky. The Ostiarium invaders had fortified their position since the last reports, and there were rumours of strange weapons being prepared inside the city. Koshnem was not a man to take chances.
It was then that the tent flap opened, and a figure stepped inside. The air in the room seemed to grow colder, and even the fire in the brazier flickered in response. Shalia Nix, the Voice of Winter, had returned. She had been gone for days, traveling to meet with their allies and the enigmatic Sister Locust. A foreigner just like her. Now, she had returned, her eyes gleaming with cold fire.
"Shalia," Koshnem said, his voice a low rumble. "What news?"
Shalia moved to his side, her icy gaze sweeping over the gathered leaders. "Our alliance with the Ozainae remains strong," she said, her voice as cold as the wind outside. “Sister Locust is committed to the siege, and her forces will meet us at the gates of Ostiarium. But there are… complications."
Koshnem raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Complications?”
Shalia nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “The Sister has found herself a consort, love of sorts, a man she believes will help her control the voices of the Sisterhood that plague her mind. But she is growing unstable. The weight of the previous Sisters is breaking her. If she falls before the siege is complete, the desert horde may lose their will to fight." she looked around. "Or worse, turn their eyes to Fang."
A murmur ran through the gathered warriors, but Koshnem silenced it with a single gesture. His mind worked quickly. The Ozainae were a key part of his strategy, their sheer numbers a force that would overwhelm Ostiarium's defenses. But if Sister Locust faltered, the alliance could crumble, leaving his flank exposed.
"We will use them as long as we can," Koshnem said, his voice decisive. "If she breaks, we will deal with the desert dogs ourselves. The city will fall, with or without them."
Shalia's lips curled into a faint smile, and she nodded. "I will be ready. The power of winter will tear their walls asunder."
Koshnem grunted in approval. He had seen Shalia's magik first-hand, and he knew that her cryomancy was the key to breaking Ostiarium's defenses. Her control over ice and cold was unmatched, and he had no doubt that when the time came, she would unleash a storm unlike any the invaders had ever seen. Fuel by her rage and enhanced by Be'hela's blood magik.
Over the next few days, preparations continued in earnest. The Odonine warriors, thousands strong, sharpened their weapons, tested their armour, and readied themselves for the march. The camp was alive with energy, a mix of excitement and bloodlust. They had tasted victory, and now they hungered for more.
Koshnem spent much of his time overseeing the final preparations, his eyes always scanning the horizon for any sign of the Ozainae. Scouts reported back with news that the desert horde was drawing closer to the city coming from the West, their banners would soon be visible in the distance. Soon, the two armies would converge on Ostiarium, and the siege would begin.
The air grew colder with each passing day, the clouds thickening as winter's grip tightened over Arcadia. Shalia moved through the camp like a spectre, her presence a constant reminder of the storm to come. The warriors respected her, but they also feared her. She was not one of them, her powers came from the old gods, from the across the sea, from Noraura herself. But they knew that without her, their chances of victory would be slim.
On the eve of the march, Koshnem gathered his war council one final time. The plan was simple, they would march south, meet the Ozainae at the edge of the city, and launch a coordinated assault. Shalia's magic would freeze the gates, weakening the walls and allowing the Odonine warriors to pour into the city. It would be a brutal, bloody battle, but Koshnem had no doubt that they would emerge victorious.
As the final preparations were made, Koshnem stepped out of his tent and looked up at the sky. The first flakes of snow had begun to fall, soft and silent, blanketing the plains in a thin layer of white. It was a sign, he knew, a blessing from the gods. Winter had arrived, and with it, the time for war.
At dawn, the war drums began to beat. Thousands of Odonine warriors gathered beneath their banners, their breath misting in the cold air. Shalia stood at Koshnem’s side, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. The warriors raised their weapons high, their voices rising in a deafening roar as Koshnem stepped forward to address them.
"The time has come!" he bellowed, his voice carrying across the plains. "The invaders have built their city on our lands, thinking they can claim what is ours! But we are Odonine! We are the sons and daughters of Fang and Arcadia! We will break them, burn them, and drive them into the sea!"
The roar of the warriors shook the earth, their bloodlust palpable.
"With the power of Winter," Koshnem shouted, his voice rising, "we will tear down their walls and crush their city! Ostiarium will fall, and Arcadia will belong to us once more!”
As the army began its march south, the snow fell harder, the wind whipping through the ranks like a harbinger of the death to come. War was upon them, and Koshnem knew they were ready. The invaders from across the sea had no idea what was coming for them. Soon, Ostiarium would be nothing but a memory, buried beneath the ice and blood of winter.
Koshnem’s eyes blazed with fury as he screamed to the skies, "We are the Storm! We are the Reckoning! Soon, they will know. Death has a name, and it is 'Odonine'!"