Unlikely Alliances

The Clan-Record of Kennard Fiochmahr, Tale-Teller and Lore-Keeper of the Fiochmahr Clan
Three Weeks Before Midsummer

It's not what ye are, it's what ye're willin' ta die for, that's the thing. Most Gogajin weren't willin' to die for all that much, but loved a good natured fight like they was bloody married to it. 'Course, this was anythin' but a good natured fight.

It started all at once about three weeks after Grim and the lads had tossed that underhanded mechified over the walls. There weren't no warning, no announcement of intent, no speeches, and no time to do anything but stand there like a bunch o' asses: the blue-armoured Cheldrun appeared in little wisps of smoke and started layin' waste to the clanhall right quick. Afore we even knew what hit us, three lads had blue knives buried in their throats, and one of them Cheldrun refugees had one blooming from her heart like a pretty blue flower. She dropped dead, but the lads, Sages bless 'em, they knew that they were dying, but they weren't dead yet. Each one of them plowed into the crowd of blue-armoured figures and started brawlin' like the best of em even as they bled out.

That were what bought the rest of us enough time to rally and drive the devils back. Things got heated then, and all the clan was roused to arms, and out came old Grim shouting and hollering like a madman about thieves and murderers in his house. Their popping in and out in little wisps of smoke made it a harder brawl than it should have been, but we brought them down, and those what we didn't bring down vanished for good.

When it were over, three of our gogajin lads were dead, a score more wounded, and five of the Cheldrun refugees were dead, too.

That weren't the last attack, either. They came again the next night, and the next, and soon it were clear as a Zipsum on gostberries that they would not stop until every last one of the Cheldrun refugees we'd taken in was dead. Men, women, and children. Some nights we fought them off without any losses at all. Some nights three or four guards were found dead along with a refugee or two. It went on like that for a week afore Old Grim had enough.

That's where we are now, the whole clan and our Cheldrun guests marchin' to Blackfield to air our grievances. That's what Grim called it, 'airin' our grievances.' Grim says that it's not just us, that these blue-armoured folk are raidin' all across Gogajin lands. He says he's not heard of a village or clanhold that's not been attacked at least once. I don't know if that's true or not, but I hear we're not the only clan to be attacked this way, neither - rumour has it the Griolsa clan way out near Ben Hamor took a beatin' something fierce half a year back, and the Dilseacht clan got raided a month back for their store o' Whiterock and lost fifty people in the battle.

Grim says he means to unite the clans. Some doubt him, but he's got that fire in his eyes, and I've seen that before: that there is the look of a hero.

Sages help us all.