History has always been written by the victors, so as a proud member of the Douglas Clan, here is how I remember the Battle of the Two Bridges

This day of the year of our Lord 997 was a glorious one, the sun was there shining high in the blue sky, a cool breeze was blowing from the west...

We had assembled a great army on the eve of that day lad. One like which will never see again, it was an era of idealism and heart filled men and women. Freedom and Humanity were at the heart of this very bloody mess. The Celts, filled their ranks with lads from many clans... McGregors, McLeods, Douglases, O'Reillys, Frasers, McRaes, Buchanans and many more. Still a young nation a that time, we joined forces with the nobles sons of Andore. The army also included barbaric and fearsome mercenaries as well as highwaymen and those merchant guards draped in red... Many other factions has flocked to the banner of General Henryk of Brabancourt all united in a common cause : the eradication of Orcdom in Andore. The real objective was of the most crucial importance. Our army had to place a mystical moonstone in a totem across the Orc camp... This stone would shield our realm from an imminent full scale Orc invasion....

Opposing our march were Swamp Orcs of all kind, aided by the young and rebellious Legio Inferna, mercenaries, renegade Celt Clansmen and to my great surprise some Elven Kin had joined forces with their ancestral nemesis... To top it all a towering and gruesome blue Stone Troll...

The day began with our priests and monks giving us the last rites and blessing, then in a long column of march we went to meet our enemy. The highwaymen were scouting in front for possible ambushes and other Orc traps, they lead a small detachment of the army to the great plain surmounting the river... There the Orc scum were already waiting for us... We maneuvered to form the battle line and fought them off quickly, they retreated to their camp, across the muddy river... Losses were kept to a minimal on both sides. Atop the plateau, looking downwards to the river bed was an impressive sight to behold...A green army massed against the barricades, bridges and towers of the camp.

As we began the slow descent from the steep slope, the highwaymen scouting party left off to find a way around the river to flank the opposing army... At the bottom of the slope, both armies were left to a stand off... Orc marksmen and slingers let loose deadly volleys of barbed arrows and edged stone... Our healers were kept to a busiest state of affair...

After assessing the situation with his council, General Henryk ordered the flags to be raised and the charge was sounded to the beat of the McGregor drum...

The ensuing combats were very ferocious... Heavy infantrymen positioned themselves on the two bridges hacking and swinging at the enemy. Bodies and weapons clashing everywhere, horrifying sounds of warcries and death threats filled the air. As I stood there, in the middle of the battle, holding high our beloved St-Andrews Cross, I was mesmerized, shocked... Both sides refused to give way to the oncoming enemy: The hatred for Orcdom fed our battered bodies while their stout resistance and ironhard hide kept them upstraight against us...

Then, as the sky darkened, the tide of the battle turned, for a few moments, in favor of the enemy. Out of nowhere, the gigantic stone troll embarked upon a slaying journey on the small high bridge to the right. Every blow he struck laid waste. Far too many soldiers perished, crushed underneath his awesome power... Our commanders sounded a fast retreat of the right bridge to give time to our hunting party to arrive... Time seemed to have stopped for an instant all eyes were turned to the great beast. Then, coming from atop the hill behind, like the fast fury that drove them, the men of Gorghor Baey threw themselves at the monster. Equipped with, raw fury and runic warpaints they met in a titanic clash with the blue killer.... and then, when everything seemed lost, the troll fell. One last blow crushed his massive head to a bloody pulp...

The combats on the bridges redoubled in stubborness and weapon prowess. As the fights intensified, I noticed the corpse of a fellow soldier laying in the water, face up looking at the heavens calling his name... One of our healers jumped in the cold murky water to retrieve his body and try to bring him back from the realm of the dead... At this very moment I knew what duty was mine. I decided to cross the river at the corner, right between the bridges.. As my hauberk was dragging me down, I heard the voice of my fellow clansman Joseph McGregor... He was shouting for me to wait for him ! If I was to die that day on that river bank, I would not be alone....

As the two of us reached the other side, we met few resisting forces; most of them fighting of our army on either of the bridges... Once across the barricade, we laid waste to everything that moved. With every blow struck, we avenged a fallen comrade, a friend, a clansman... As Joseph and I secured a beach head arcoss the river, Guillaume Le Bref, one of Henryk's young nobles, ordered all able bodied light infantry men to go across the river and storm the camp. The enemy's rear guard couldn't stop the flow of fresh troops swarming across the river and to their camp... As we cleared the huts, the two enemy regiments on the bridges panicked and retreated high on the hill in front of the totem, our main objective...

As the enemy lined up behind a shield wall, our commanders launched an all out assault on the hill. At the same time, the highwaymen came back to reinforce the battleline and many other detachments were sent off to chase the other fleeing enemies in the woods...

As I watched from across, standing in an endless field of corpses, I saw at the crest of the hill our precious wagon, carrying the mystical moonstone. The sky darkened once more and the wind grew stronger and stronger as the carriage reached its final destination.

Henryk took the moonstone in his hands and placed it in the heart of the totem at the same time thunder crackled and bolts of lightning shot down from the skies.... When the stone was well placed and the lid closed, rain started to fall on the battlefield, putting out fires, washing off blood stains from our faces and hands, hiding tears of joy....

The field was ours, the day was ours...

Alasdair Douglas