**Garrick Thorne's Log, Supplemental**
**Rothguard Resistance Command recording**
**38 days after Rothgard's Fall**
Old banners stir beneath the canopy.
Steel and starlight meet at last.
The forest remembers its own.
Garrick Thorne walked at the head of the small column through the hidden heart of the resistance camp. Woven-branch shelters nestled among the roots of ancient oaks, their roofs camouflaged with living vines that blended seamlessly with the canopy above. Low cookfires smoked gently under carefully placed canopies that drew the haze upward and away through hidden vents. Sentries in patched cloaks watched from elevated platforms woven into the high branches, bows half-drawn until Lirien raised a hand in quiet recognition.
Garrick moved with the easy caution of long training, boots quiet on the mossy ground. Mira walked beside him, her posture relaxed yet alert, eyes sweeping the camp with professional calm. Lira Longears kept her ears forward, nose twitching at the mingled scents of woodsmoke, sweat, and steel. Elias brought up the rear, weapons concealed beneath civilian cloaks.
Lirien led them along a narrow path that wound between the shelters. Here and there, faces peered out—tired but determined. A pair of elven archers sharpening arrows glanced up and nodded in silent greeting. A human woman stirred a pot of thin stew over a shielded fire, her gaze flicking to the strangers before returning to her work. Children too young to fight watched from the shadows of a root hollow, wide-eyed but unafraid. The entire village hummed with quiet purpose: the soft rasp of whetstones on blades, the low murmur of planning, the occasional clink of scavenged armor being repaired.
At the center of the hollow stood the largest shelter, its sides reinforced with layered hides and rune-etched planks salvaged from fallen wagons. Two figures waited beneath its open flap.
King Eldirc Roth stood tall despite the visible weight of exhaustion. His once-polished plate armor was a map of the war—deep dents across the left pauldron, fresh scuffs along the greaves, and a long gouge across the breastplate that had been hastily hammered flat. A fresh scar crossed his brow, and his beard was streaked with ash and dried blood. Queen Eleanor Same Roth stood at his side in lighter mail over reinforced leather, her long auburn hair braided tightly for battle, a single white streak at the temple catching the filtered light. Both carried the unmistakable air of commanders who had not slept in days, yet their eyes sharpened the moment they recognized the man at the front of the group.
Lirien stepped aside and bowed low. "My King, my Queen. Captain Garrick Thorne of the old Rothguard Guard returned with allies." For a heartbeat the king simply stared. Then a broad, weary smile broke across his scarred face. He strode forward and caught Garrick in a fierce embrace, gauntleted arms clapping hard against the younger man's back. "Garrick," Eldirc said, voice rough with emotion. "By Adoni's grace, you live. In your last message Jasmine spoke of finding allies. We dared to hope this was more than desperate rumor. Tell us she was right."
Garrick returned the embrace, then stepped back and saluted crisply, old habit overriding the years. "She was right, Your Majesty. She is safe, and she sends her love and her command." He gestured to the others. "These are my complete squad and our guide. Mira, our Delta operator. Lira Longears. Elias. Darius. Finn. They fight with me now under new banners." Queen Eleanor stepped forward, her gaze sweeping the group with quiet appraisal. She clasped Garrick's forearm in the old guard greeting, then offered the same to each in turn, even Mira, who accepted with a respectful nod.
"You are welcome here," the queen said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion in her eyes. "Any blade that strikes at the black tide is kin to us this day. Come, sit. We have little enough, but it is yours." They moved inside the command tent. A rough map of the surrounding woods and the occupied city lay pinned to a trestle table, marked with charcoal lines and small carved tokens. Eldirc poured water from a dented skin into wooden cups and passed them around. Small talk followed—brief, heartfelt exchanges about the fall of the keep, the desperate flight west, the first nights in these woods. Garrick spoke of the journey aboard the iron-clad and the strange new allies who had appeared from the sky. The king and queen listened, nodding, their expressions shifting from guarded hope to quiet relief.
At last Eldirc set his cup down. "Enough pleasantries. In your last message Jasmine spoke of finding allies. What does she ask of us now?" Garrick reached into his cloak and produced the small, unassuming device shaped like a communication crystal but fashioned from matte composite and etched with faint, glowing lines. "She gave me this. It is coded to her personal device. The Americans call it a comm. It will let us speak directly, no matter the distance."
He activated the device. A soft chime sounded. King Eldirc leaned forward, voice thick with hope and disbelief. "Jasmine? Daughter, is that truly you?" Queen Eleanor's hand found her husband's shoulder, her own voice trembling. "My sweet girl… we feared the worst." For a heartbeat the tent held only the crackle of the distant cook-fires. Then Jasmine's voice filled the space—clear, strong, and unmistakably flooded with relief.
"Father? Mother? Garrick—thank the gods. You're alive." Tears welled in Queen Eleanor's eyes. King Eldirc's hand tightened on the table edge. For long minutes the royal couple and their returned captain spoke in a rush of questions and answers. Jasmine told them of the safe haven in Shire Valley, the thousands already sheltered there, the growing strength of the new Republic. The king described the resistance's hit-and-run raids, the dwindling supplies, the constant pressure of Imperial patrols. Garrick relayed the Americans' offer: a supply drop of food, medicine, and weapons within the next forty-eight hours, delivered under cover of night by their sky-ships.
More than that, they offered an extended stay. "Specialist teams will remain with you," Jasmine explained, her voice steady over the comm. "They will train your fighters in new tactics, new weapons. They will mark targets for strikes from above. You will not fight alone any longer." Eldirc looked at his queen, then at Garrick. A slow, determined smile spread across the king's scarred face. "Then tell your Americans we accept," he said. "With gratitude, with honor, and with every blade we still possess. Rothgard stands again."
Outside the tent, the forest stirred with renewed purpose. Orders passed quietly among the sentries. The first supply drop coordinates were already being prepared. For the first time since the black sails had appeared on the horizon, the resistance felt something stronger than desperation. Hope had returned to the woods, carried on wings of steel and the voices of those who refused to yield.