Syndicate Ascending

 

As the smoke lingers over Emberpeak’s jagged cliffs, its once-proud bastions now stand scarred, a silent monument to the shifting tides of war. The Steel Legion’s advance has faltered, and in its absence the Woodland Syndicate has driven their attack forward.

A Test of Resolve

The Legion General stood over the war table, the lines across the Ebonreach front growing thinner with each report. What began as a march toward glory now feels like a struggle to hold the line. The Legion had seized early victories—strong, decisive blows that put the Syndicate on the back foot. And yet, the enemy adapted.

While Legion blades pressed through the western highlands, Syndicate forces struck at the heart of the central front. Emberpeak, a critical strategic stronghold, fell prey to their orchestrated machinations. Now, Legion leaders must face a grim reality: three of the last four major conflicts have ended in defeat.

But if the Legion is known for anything, it is resolve. In the halls of their mountain keeps, steel is not just forged—it is tempered. And though their advance has slowed, the fires of their will have not dimmed.

“There is still a way forward,” the General muttered beneath his breath, eyes locked on the battered frontlines. “There always is.”

The Calculated Ascent

The most recent battle began under a starless sky, the air thick with the damp scent of moss and earth. Legion forces had made camp along the faint paths carved only by the recent passage of marching feet and the wear of supply carts leading back toward Emberpeak, confident that their western flanks were secure. But as the midnight hours stretched on, that confidence was shattered.

Without warning, a hail of arrows rained from the treeline, sowing chaos before the Legion could form their defensive ranks. From the darkness came the Syndicate’s vanguard, emerging like a rolling wave through the underbrush. Rather than meeting the Legion head-on, they struck at the outer encampments and supply wagons, igniting stores of provisions and shattering the cohesion of the Legion’s forces.

The defining moment came when a Legion phalanx attempted to rally near a narrow defile, believing they could hold the line there until reinforcements arrived. But the Syndicate had anticipated this fallback. Hidden units emerged along the ridgelines above the pass, raining down a relentless barrage that forced the Legion to abandon their position. Hemmed in and without their supply lines, the Legion withdrew under cover of darkness, leaving behind the smoldering stockpiles that remained.

By dawn, the banners of the Syndicate stood planted along the ashen remains of the Legion’s fortifications. It was not just a victory—it was a rout.

In the aftermath, the Syndicate generals gathered beneath towering oaks in the eastern front. Confidence swelled like a rising flood. Some called for immediate action, their voices sharp and insistent—press the advantage, drive the Legion fully from the Wilds before they could recover. Others urged restraint, warning that the Legion, though bloodied, was far from defeated.

But one truth bound them all: the Woodland Syndicate now held the initiative. Their victories were no longer isolated triumphs but the foundation of a broader campaign. The time to seize control of the Ebonreach Wilds had come—and with each passing day, the fires of their ambition burned brighter.