Highvale Family/Gareth/First Battle of Evora

The sun, a fiery orb hanging low in the cloudless sky, cast long, blood-red shadows across the parched plains of Evora. A wind, hot and dry, whispered through the tall grasses, carrying with it the stench of men readying for battle – a heady mix of sweat, leather, and fear. From the crest of a low hill, I surveyed the scene below, my heart heavy with the burden of duty and command. The emerald banners of my company, the Emerald Blades, rippled in the breeze, a stark contrast to the drab browns and grays of the battlefield. Before us, the Perdani host stretched like a dark tide along their palisades, their armor glinting in the harsh sunlight. Their archers, renowned for their deadly accuracy, stood poised, their bows drawn taut.

A horn blared, a long, mournful note that signaled the commencement of this grim clash of steel. The Shadowdale cavalry, the Greys, charged forward, eager to join the other forces against the Perdani fortifications. But the enemy, well-disciplined and sheltered behind their sturdy palisade walls, held firm, their arrows raining down upon the charging horsemen from relative safety. The Emerald Blades soon joined the fray, our swords at the ready as we climbed the siege towers. The clash of steel on steel rang out like a blacksmith's forge, the air thick with the screams of the dying. Yet, for every Perdani we cut down, two of our men would fall, injured or dead.

The battle raged for hours, a chaotic mess of blood and fury. But as the sun began its descent, the tide turned against us. The Perdani pressed their advantage, their archers picking off our men with deadly precision. I felt a searing pain in my shoulder as an enemy arrow found its mark. The world swam before my eyes, the sounds of battle fading into a distant roar. I stumbled, my sword slipping from my grasp, and darkness closed in.

When I awoke, the sun had set, and the battlefield was silent save for the cries of the wounded. The Emerald Blades, those who remained, were scattered and broken, their emerald cloaks stained with the blood of their fallen comrades. We had been defeated, our pride wounded, but our spirit unbroken. However, we would learn from our mistakes, mend our wounds, and return to the fight stronger than ever before. The sun would rise again, and with it, our hope, bolstered by the promise of reinforcements. We would honor the fallen by rising to fight another day. As long as Gareth Highvale draws breath, the Emerald Blades will never forget the sacrifice of their comrades, and Shadowdale will never surrender.

-Firsthand account of Gareth Highvale