A Age Lost, A Age Built [ALA|Semi-Closed]

[Itailian Maifias]

This was certainly not a age for joksters; there was no joke, no story. The Kingdom of Avalon has definately seen better days then what it's currently experiencing, and the continuation of the Chaos; that is the fault of the poor excuse of a King, Arach the First.

You see, Avalon was once a highly thriving land of equalism and just everything good about life. It had a high mixture of races; sure humans were the natives but there was also centaurs, fauns, elves, dwarves, you name it and Avalon had it, and everyone was treated the same, no racism displayed either in public or the government. It was a land of hapiness, and technology and advancement thrived. Atleast, until the Chaos.

When the undead ravaged the great Empire of Achesia and the elven lands, when Numer and Sabyema clashed with the other kingdoms, Avalon was untouched. It's stalwart isolationism ensured that it would not got involved in such a conflict, and it was proven correct in this instance. However, just about a decade after the wars were winding down, the King, the great King, was killed in the middle of open court by a rival dwarf clan. In an instant, the idyllic land was torn asunder, and the lives of the entire population ruined. For the years to come, up until the present, the Kingdom fractured into factions, who still fight to re-unite the lands.

One faction is that of King Arach, the good King's brother who had himself crowned King before his brother's body was even cold from the touch of death. He has no control over any lands except those near Pelesar and the Achesian border. Unfortunately for the others, he has control over Deepdigger Mine, a very very profitable mine that funded the entire Kingdom once. The other factions are the numerous hamlets and towns that splintered off into their own little independent things, simply begging for a strong leader, a good leader, to bring them back to a good age. The last faction would be that of Knight General Asurru, the best general of the Kingdom. When Azgerthon died and Arach began his tyrannical rule, Asurru gathered the soldiers that were loyal to the Kingdom still and not Arach and wisked away the youngest of the brothers, Aelaria, and fled to the city of Byrnhand and began a open civil war to put Aelaria on the throne and re-unite the Kingdom. It's been ten years since that day, and they have gone to great lengths, but many miles of road and blood remain up ahead....

Pelesar, Avalon

The city of Pelesar is often described with the word once, a word all too common these days. It was formerly a marvelous city, called the White City due to the pure white marble that the walls and city buildings were furnished from. Of course, in the civil war and the Chaos, the city suffered damage. It's walls still retained black marks from the undead's siege engines, while other parts had turned evergreen, overgrown from lack of use and manning. In fact, one of the most damaged buildings was Castle Arose, the Royal Palace. Once a marvelous sight that all simply marveled at, it's white walls have been turned black or faded grey. Two of it's four towers are collapsed or damaged, several breaches exist in the walls and many wings have been closed off due to lack of staff to maintain them. It'd be very fair to say that should an army come knocking, Pelesar didn't stand a chance, and that fact pissed the hell out of Arach.

Arach was not his brother, not in any shape nor form. Azgerthon was a big man, with a even bigger hunger and voice. Accordingly, everything he did had to be large and granduer. Arach, quite the opposite. Hardly towering at a meager five and a half feet, and with his stomach hanging ever so much over his belt, Arach barely held the citizens of his castle together, let alone the city, or a Kingdom as large and powerful as Avalon. His advisors, his commanders, all advised to make a truce with Asurru. Let Aelaria become King, the boy was even't a man yet, it'd be easy to make him a puppet. But Arach had them all whipped for even suggesting that his crown, his crown by birth and right, would be given to some sniveling snot nosed brat that spent more time with the commoners then he did with this own family.

While Arach reviewed these daily venemous thoughts on the balcony of his quarters, a runner could be heard entering. The runner was a boy, hardly older than fourteen and yet he was clad in the gear of a men-at-arms of the 7th Black Standard, the de facto Royal Army ever since the 1st Red Lion Standard deserted and hid and the other two Standards turned traitor and went over to General Asurru, giving him the bulk of his forces while Arach was stuck with a Standard filled for the most part with fyrd from the few loyal fiefs and then a small core of his own trained soldiers. The runner handed the King a message and then took off back down the stairs, probably afraid of Arach's reaction towards the message, which to say the least was not pleasant and involved a lot of screaming and cursing, as typical when he discovered that the city of Alägcisc had surrended to the General's forces. It was the last city before Pelesar, and that now meant the General's eye was firmly fixed on Pelesar. Alägcisc, Pinedale, Byrnhand, and the rest of the fiefs all under his little nephew's banner, a little boy that had just turned eighteen if he had done the math right. Eighteen, fourteen, it did not matter. He would not lose his throne to some upstart boy with no manners that was encouraged by a traitorous general. Already, the city's defenses were being raised. Seven hundred fyrd had been raised and patrolled the walls daily, while repairs were done to the walls. Ballista's were mounted and the armory's anvils never lay silent, the hammering of metal ringing all throughout the night. Battle was upon them.

1 hour from Pelesar
Hamlet of Torsing

The hamlet of Torsing was an incredibly small settlement, one of the many that dotted the Kingdom's roads in between the major cities. It consisted of no more then thirty four stone houses, with a population of about no more than a one hundred and forty. It, like many, had attempted to stay out of the war but King Arach's wrath fell on them, forcing them to give up all men and women between ages of 15-40, for enlistment in his army. Of course, no one ever dreamed it'd be on the front lines of the war, but here they were, the front lines of the civil war.

Ever since the fall of Alägcisc just two days ago, the 7th Black Standard had been in full retreat. They had lost nearly a quarter of their forces at Alägcisc's walls, and possibly the same amount was cut down by Asurru's cavalry and archers in between Torsing and Alägcisc. Once the remaining soldiers arrived at Torsing, they had done what they could to fortify the settlement and set up a last stand, desparate to block the Knight General's forces. One misconception that they had was they were grossly outnumbered; they themselves numbered nearly two thousand men and women, however the General, witbh both of his Standard's combined, didn't even have half of that and it was starting to hurt them.

Asurru and his forces had stopped about two hundred yards from the settlement, and they set up camp and fortifications, mostly small wooden walls and pikes, for protection against arrows and horsemen alike. Asurru himself was just a few minutes from the front of his lines, inside a large canvas tent, surrounded by his officers.

" We need more men Asurru. Even if we break them here, we do not have enough to siege Pelesar and you know it."

The aging Marshall was one of Asurru's best officers and usually agreed with him on most of his tactical plans. However here, he was quick to point out where Asurru may fault. Asurru was seated at the edge of the tent, his long salt and pepper colored locks flowing freely down, touching his red plate armor, his helmet laying at his feet. He nodded in weary agreement and then leaned back in his chair " Ten years, and we're this close but can't do any more. They think we outnumber them 3 to 1, but in truth, one charge from them led by a barely competent commander and ten years of work and blood goes down the drain. We need more soldiers."

" And yet they aren't any to be found. Either us or Arach has enlisted and drafted every fyrd, peasant and farmer in between the seas and here. There is just simply no more men."

" Or is there?"

The officers looked at each other, exchanging doubtful looks and weary expressions " General, with all due respect, the Royal Standard is long gone. They probably fled to Empire of Man, and rightly so. Even if they didn't, they personally stated they would only follow the rightful King, which you are not."

" No, but he is."

Asurru pointed at a young man collapsed in the corner of the tent, his sword covered and blood and underneath him and his helmet discarded to his left, his snoring starting to fill the tent. The other officers if they weren't doubtful before, they were now " Knight General Ylash will not bend knee to some eighteen year old, son of the King or not. "

" I say we send him out regardless. Rumors had it they are holed up in Beorn Castle near the northern border. It's a win win, if we are defeated while he is away, all is not lost. And if we aren't and he can bring us reinforcements, then the war is won. With the combined strength of our two Standards and the Royal Army, Arach will have no choice but to surrender."

The other officers nodded in agreement, and within a few moments, the young Prince was awoken, given a single sealed message and sent on his way, north, towards the border. Meanwhile, Asurru and his forces sat and waited, for that's all they really could do at this point.

[The Nuclear Fist]

Kaprich, Syr

The town of Syr was little more than a dusty frontier village midst the endless sands of the Great Desert that made up central Syr, stretching from one border to the other and ending at the border with Avalon. Kaprich itself was made up of some fifteen sandstone hovels centered around a somewhat larger stone hovel, the symbol of Hastur emblazoned upon it. This marked it as the town's administrative building and temple. The town boasted a population of fifty, made up mostly of undead. Kaprich itself had existed for hundreds of years, once being a bustling and vibrant city whose population rivaled the capitals of many nations. But it had fallen into disfavor many centuries before, its dynastic rulers siding with the Bronze King over Hastur. As punishment, much of Kaprich was swallowed by the sands, its population ravaged by blistering storms for decades, what remained having been given the gift of undeath.

Today, its shambling inhabitants were treated to a show. The town was being occupied by the Eldritch armies, as it was to be used as the forward post and command centre for the invasion of war torn Avalon, which came at the behest of one of its warlords, an aspiring king named Arach. In total, nearly fifty thousand soldiers had been prepared for the battles to come, although Kaprich held but five thousand, as they were deemed what was necessary for the time being. The five thousand strong force itself was made up mostly of undead, most of their ancient flesh torn from their bleached bones by the desert's harsh winds, what little that did remain being naught but thin leather. Gleaming chariots pulled by undead horses strode through the town's stone streets, crossing the border into Avalon. Chimera and trolls lumbered along forward under the watchful eyes of the necromancers. There were fifteen of these trolls, more than adequate enough to replace the siege equipment this army was deprived of.

At the head of this force, riding atop his personal chariot pulled by several chimera, was the general himself, Enitekh. The general and aristocrat was ancient by mortal standards, yet relatively young by the standards of Hastur. Strands of thin, black hair still hung limply from the leathery patches of scalp he still had, clumps of hair upon his face hinting at what had, in life, been a magnificent beard. He watched and waved at the citizens as his forces passed through the town, knowing full well that upon his return the vizier would grant him the full luxuries such a backwater patch of dirt as Kaprich could offer. Namely, very little. Still, he awaited battle. The forces of Syr had besieged and terrorized the people of Avalon for a long time, and he relished the thought of the reactions of the Avalonians' reaction to having the undead stride through their streets, knowing full well there was nothing to be done about it. He knew little of what was going on in Avalon itself, only having been told that some sort of civil war was ravaging Syr's neighbour, and that he was being sent to aid its rightful king, some sort of madman bearing the name Arach.

Enitekh cared little for the machinations of mortal politics, he cared only for the chance to harvest their souls and add their dead to his ranks. Luckily, his forces would be upon the walls of Pelesar in hours. He was inpatient, but three and a half centuries of undeath had taught him to swallow such impatience. He watched as one of the harpies above him's droppings crashed through the roof of a building. A raspy, hoarse chuckle escaped his throat. Even in death, there is humour to be found, he thought to himself.

---

Several hours later

Pelesar, Avalon

The sun blazed high in the sky as the forces of Syr reached Pelesar, her walls still bearing the blackened marks from the undead's last harassment. Enitekh called down his harpies so as not to frighten the guards atop Pelesar's walls, raising his ceremonial dagger high and shouting that he came to aid the rightful king of Avalon, Arach. After some time waiting, the gate finally opened, allowing the stream of shining bronze and steel to lumber forwards once more. Enitekh stared down at the inhabitants of the city, giddy at the faces of the mortals his people so often terrorized. He waved at them, even going so far as to toss a satchel's worth of Syrite gold shillings into the crowd, to see if they would scramble for it or avoid it like a plague. He laughed regardless. But soon enough, the army had reached Castle Arose, and with a wave of his dagger the shambling undead came to a halt. The trolls themselves were being kept at the entrance of Pelesar, having those giant beasts walking around was a bad idea.

Enitekh exited his chariot, adjusting his ceremonial armour and placing his dagger in its scabbard. His guards in tow, he strode forward unto the castle, waiting to soon be embraced by King Arach, whether for better or worse. He was eager for his orders, eager for battle. It had been a long time since he had done much more than quell the occasional uprising or peasant revolt in Syr. And now he stood in the beautiful Avalonian lands, to. . . help quell and uprising. A sigh escaped his chest, perhaps this was his fate after all. The Syrite allowed his hands to fall behind his back, patiently awaiting his first meeting with Arach or one of his subordinates.

[Itailian Maifias]

Castle Arose

As Enitekh's forces reached the gates of Castle Arose, the deep wooden oak doors would have remained sealed for a few moments, the iron reinforcings on her gate still bent and caved from a siege not to long ago. Within a few seconds, they would have slowly opened, revealing two haphazardly dressed fyrd, both armed with spears and a shield, their chainmail hardly fitting them. Entering through the gates and it's hallway would have brought them before a massive weirwood tree, much like a weeping willow with it's extremely long limbs and lack of leaves. The courtyard itself was deserted, typically the center of the daily activities of the court, the court was either dead, dying or fighting just a few miles south at Torsing. The only remaining inhabitants of the Castle was Arach and his one hundred and seventy peasant fileld Royal Guard, the best he could come up with ever since the Royal Guard deserted after the death of his brother, the last King.

Arach slowly decsended down the flight of ivory stairs, his head sweeping under the large black banner that bore a white spider, his sigil. He was garbed in some sort of plate armor, a plate chestplate and pauldrons firmly fixed upon him and a steel sword only slightly larger then a smallsword hung from his hip, upon his head a simple cornet that served as his crown, on either side of where were two fyrd guards to protect him in case someone tried anything.

As Arach reached the General, he would have given a slight nod of the head, not out of respect but simply because custom demanded it. " So you are the great General your King sent? What is your experience in war? I've read the tomes and never came across a Enitekh. What did you do in life? I must know the commander of my allies if I am to trust him."

[The Nuclear Fist]

Enitekh stood at his full two meter height upon seeing the king, allowing him to physically tower over the shorter Arach. Upon being greeted, if what happened could even be called a greeting, he glowered at the Mad King, a scowl set upon his face when Arach questioned his credentials. I am actually sad to be supporting this impudent dwarf. Thought Enitekh, once he had stopped talking. However, he began to beam upon speaking of his accomplishments, his already massive ego swelling to its full size.

"I am General Enitekh, of the House of Mar. I shall admit, I am a young general, barely four and a half centuries. But in my time, I have achieved what no inferior mortal could hope to." Enitekh began, clearing his throat and tossing several beetles to the ground when they erupted from his mouth. He really needed to bathe more regularly, is wrappings were infested with insects. "In my time, I have quelled ten uprisings in seven different regions of Syr. Additionally, on the ninetieth year of the Fifth Era of the Harvest God I took part in the crushing of a civil war in Syr, when the Worm King attempted to usurp Hastur the King in Yellow. I lead the charge that would result in the encirclement and annihilation of his Third Horde. For this, I received the title 'tekh', meaning Lord in the gods-given language of Eldritch. Furthermore, I served as commander during an attack on this very city some time ago." He finished, tapping the head dress he wore, which was gifted to him upon being made a lord.

"I can assure you, King Arach of Avalon," said Enitekh, "I am a far wiser general and a far greater warrior than any mortal. The warriors of Syr will batter down your enemies. The necromancers of Syr will harvest their souls, and they will join us in undeath." He said smugly, rotted lips twisting into a cruel imitation of a smile.

[Dbrought]

The winds had been fair off the coast of Avalon, as they usually were this time of year, giving easy passage to the Zelbaen galley that sailed by. The sight of the red sails of Zelbae were not one uncommon to Avalon. While the ports of the kingdom had become far less profitable to galley traders as their civil war dragged on over the past decade, the ports of Numer in the south still held vast profits to those Captains willing to make the journey. It was for that reason that the Frostoar had traveled south, with Zelbaen ice silk in her hold. Now the Frostoar, sailed north again, with gold and exotic good to take back to the homelands. While the Frostoar had left with mercantile intentions, there were reasons why red sails signaled money to be made to every large city and port, but struck fear in every small isolated coastal village and hamlet.

Zelbaen captains were nothing, if not ruthlessly entrepreneurial. For the vast majority of Zelbae it was the galley captains who made up the lifeblood of the city, and it was expected that they bring wealth to their home, be it by trade, or less amicable means. Captain Drake Cromwell had spent the day scanning the coast of Avalon, for any opportunities, that may arise. He like many other captains knew of how the once stable nation was now very vulnerable with all its armies spent fighting for either the king or rebellion. Many coastal towns would be lucky to have even a few armed men protecting them, and with the 83 fearsome sailors at his command, it would be better for them to run, than try any means of resistance.

For the past hour the Frostoar, had sailed closer to the coast and now was about to make landfall near the small village Captain Drake had spotted on a hill near the shore. With the wind in the ship's favor, there had been no need for oars and without the beat of the drums signaling their approach they had been unnoticed by the village. On the deck of the ship the men had made ready to disembark, each holding their own favored arms, be it a sword and shield, or a heavy axe.

"They haven't heard us men, so save ye voices till ye see the people. We already have a good haul, this voyage. Let's see if we can't make it a tad richer!"

As the ship slid onto the shores the men were silent save the crunch of metal and leather of the men disembarking from the vessel. They approached at a steady pace, and it was not until they were almost upon the village that a woman noticed and screamed in terror. Most fled, but one of the men remained trying to bar them from entering his house. His resistance was short lived as one of the men bashed him over the head with his shield rendering him unconscious as his body was taken back to the ship. You keep what you take. You keep your take., Words that had been custom to Zelbaen sailors since ancient times. It was the rule of raiders, that what you took to your ship was now yours be it goods, gold, or people. Though it did not end with capturing. Your take would be kept well. There was no graver sin that the maltreatment of your spoils, be it human or otherwise. They may become servants and tender of the farms up north, but they would not be left to die of starvation, nor be treated harshly without reason. Women taken often became wives, and the men faithful tenders to the lands their captors owned. It was with pride that a sailor led a comfortable existence, with contented abducted living in peace and safety under their new master's protection.

As the unconscious villager was taken back by one sailor to the ship, the other two Zelbaens that had flanked their comrad saw why the man did not leave. Inside his house lay his woman who wore a brace for her foot which had been broken, and a pair of beautiful, and young twin daughters. You keep what you take. You keep your take. They would be treated well, but since they, like many, did not know that their lives were not about to be ravaged and forfiet, they let out a scream of terror until they were silenced by firm grips and gagged by a ragged dipped in sleeping potion. in seconds their bodies went limp, and were carried off to the ship.

In the center of the village Drake stood, commanding the careful search for any good of value they may plunder. Many a shiny gold piece, would be earned for him and his men for the raid. A thought that gave Drake a very wide grin indeed.

[Marzarbul]

The Reawakening of the Undead had ended. After several years of fighting beneath the surface of the world, deep in small tunnels and immense caverns, victory was had by the living. While some argued divine intervention was the cause of this victory citing the newly discovered deity Mondoru as the cause. The majority of dwarfs however looked towards their own strength at arms along with the valiant assistance of the elves as being more realistic in being responsible for the Queen of Parasites demise. While victory might have been had after the final battle near the mining complex of Barathaz Grum, the tunnels were still dangerous to traverse alone as small bands of undead continued to roam the dark halls. Not to mention the death toll suffered by the dwarfs alone totaled in the tens of thousands which has left many small mining communities vacant and abandoned for the safety of the big communes and cities. After the final large push was made and the tomb city of Gabil Azan was recaptured once again the elves soon departed. They did so with both oaths of friendship renewed and the gratitude of all the Clans in various forms of gold and silver. So after all of that violence and bloodshed something miraculous did occur; the earthquake that had destroyed much of the earth surrounding Gabil Azan had revealed new mineral deposits that had before lain undiscovered. This discovery had led to the largest "Mithril Rush" that had been seen for an age as thousands of those newly homeless and jobless dwarves rushed the ancient grave site and began turning it into a dwarven mining town. It remained to be seen which clan would dominate this developing city and already many were beginning to jostle for power between one another to claim it for their own.

This resulted in minor fights breaking out amongst the miners as rival clan factions began to solidify and claim territory in the city. The fighting was especially tense in the mining complex themselves were dwarves were keen on acquiring the most important of mineral deposits. Dividing the already fragile balance that for a short time existed amongst the miners. In the capital city of Durak Duraz the squabble over the city of Gabil Azan was also ongoing as Clan Heads on the High Council began to argue their clan's claims to the mine. After several days of arguing and gesturing amongst themselves the two strongest claims began to solidify behind clan Dor Skilami and Barathaz Baruk. So far the clans supporting Dor Skilami's claim consisted of just Heus Fausst while clan Baruk only had the support of the Silf Rond clan, leaving only clan Grimmaz Taurag undecided in their support.

Dornot de Rar Silf (The Kingdom of Eternal Silver)
Durak Duraz
Rasuh Drukat de Dorni (High Home of the King)
High Council Chambers

"Enough!" The sound rippled throughout the octagonal shaped room as several elderly dwarfs halted in mid-"negotiation" over the octagonal silver table located in the center of the room. As the Heads of the Clans began releasing their fellow High Council members from choke holds and head locks, High King Ferzgul Grimmaz Taurag bashed the shaft of his axe upon the granite floor repeatedly. In response, a pair of armed guards entered the room and carried out a pair of young scribes who continued to fight one another with their weapon of choice; the stylus. Already the two were pockmarked by several sizable welts left by the steel tip of the instrument and even physically separated the two continued their battle verbally with one insult followed by another. The guards soon pulled them outside of the room and the doors closed soon afterwards, bringing a ringing silence to the room that had not been heard since the gathering of the High Council in the waning hours of yesterday evening. Even though the dwarfs around the room had stopped fighting, they still threw dirty looks at their opposition and swarms of younger dwarfs behind them were already convening in huddled masses in preparation for the next altercation.

High King Ferzgul simply shook his head slowly, for he knew that this debate would rage for the better part of a fortnight before even the beginning of actual negotiations were to take place. At which point both sides would begin offering the other pieces and parts of power until eventually one side accepted the others dominion in the region. However, he himself had received many offers from both clans to bring his own in support; Clan Heus Fausst had been particularly demanding since it had supported Dor Skilami's claim and was a close ally of Grimmaz Taurag. While he might be Clan Head of Grimmaz Taurag, he was also High King of the realm and as such he knew that his support could lead to a possible civil war amongst the dwarfs over his leadership rather than simply ownership of Gabil Azan. Slowly he stood up from his seat at the table using his old battered axe as an improvised cane to support himself. "Gabil Azan, once a mighty fortress of the Kingdom held by the Dekhum Gunud which constituted one of many holds in the East was destroyed by the Undead hordes during the First Age of the Undead. The clan itself was thus extinguished like many clans were after the Cold Tomb War and the remnants reincorporated themselves into the Barathaz Baruk who now sit before us. We all understand this claim and recognize this right. However, the fortress was retaken in no small part by the Dor Skilami clan under Clan Head Gurn Dor Skilami along with several other now abandoned holds in the region after the fall of the Queen of Parasites. He then relinquished command of Gabil Azan to that of the Maukk de Kar for the entombment of the dead. We also understand and recognize this claim as well. Therefore, we have two strong, legitimate claims to lands that are claimed through the ancient ties of ownership and the rights of conquest."

Both sides nodded their heads begrudgingly in acknowledgement towards their King but they were sure to not seem too eager in accepting that their enemy had any sort legitimacy on their side. Sitting back down again in his seat the dwarven High King leaned up towards the ceiling and grimaced slightly as a shaft of sunlight came through the center of the ceiling creating a pillar of light around him. While his ancestors might have thought having a pillar of light surrounding their High King as a good idea, he constantly felt annoyed at having to squint his eyes when trying to look around the room. The only good thing about it was that the light would eventually make its way to the center of the table and past it till it rested upon the symbol of the Maukk de Kar carved into the doors leading to the interior halls. At which point the meeting would be allowed to take a recess decided upon by the High King and Head Councilor. This tradition had lead to many meetings continuing even longer as both sides attempted to haggle and demand their own decisions on how long the recess should last.

Sitting straighter upon his plain granite seat he continued, "Therefore, since both sides have legitimate claims and neither wishes to relinquish their right to the other I propose that this be settled through a contest." Soon the quiet that had settled over the room erupted into outrage as both sides began to yell at the other over who had suggested such an atrocity. This led to another bar room scuffle as dwarfs miraculously leaped across the table with outstretched arms while those less acrobatic simply charged around the table into the waiting arms of their foe. Grimacing once again, the King raised his axe and banged it against the stone floor causing the doors to the hall to open allowing armored guards to enter the fray. Such meetings required that the guards themselves be of clan Grimmaz Taurag so that they would not hopefully become part of the brawl. After an hour of fighting and several more guards the Council Hall was emptier than before and only the clan heads and their guards were allowed to stay. Clan Head Hunkaz Silf Rond was especially battered with two black eyes emerging on his face and tufts of yanked beard drifting around him slowly. "Now then, the contest which I propose to you today is one of martial skill and valor. One that regards the growing chaos at our southern border in the Kingdom of Avalon." Nodding his head towards a set of guards dwarfs, a parchment map of Avalon was soon set upon the silver table and counters representing troops in the region were soon deposited on several points.

"According to our reports the Avalonian Civil War is currently being waged by two main sides," standing up he pointed a stubby dirt encrusted finger towards a dot marked with the name Pelasar. "Here lies the current ruler of Avalon along with what little remains of his armed forces. He commands this city alone and his army is rumored to number in the hundreds and at most a few thousand. While the rest of the country is in support of the rebel faction under Asurru who is currently from last reports heading towards the city of Pelasar. What should truly interest all dwarfs here at this table is the entrance of the Kingdom of Syr whose undead commander has taken the side of King Arach." The mention of the undead quickly caught the attention of all those at the table itself and soon all thoughts of Gabil Azan were quieted. "This conflict requires our attention and even with our assassination of the last King of Avalon we cannot allow the undead of Syr to gain any sort of foothold on our borders. Therefore we must support the rebel Asurru and his cause to remove Arach and therefore the Kingdom of Syr at the same time. The contest is that I am asking for two armies to be sent south to the aid of Asurru and the one that is able to return with the head of King Arach or his standard shall receive the support of Grimmaz Taurag and therefore should gain the city of Gabil Azan to their Thaig."

What happened after that statement was much arguing and cajoling as both sides tried to figure out the force size each would send south and both were secretly preparing to send a larger force than whatever they would agree upon. The agreed upon amount was for each side to send five thousand soldiers south but both ending up sending ten thousand secretly instead. So as ten thousand dwarves left their homes under the fanfare of trumpets and drums towards the paths south, another ten thousand left secretly by a more discreet path to meet up with their respective forces later at the Avalonian city of Stromgarde.

ORBAT:
Dor Skilami/Heus Fausst Forces
Drukat Khuzi: 8,000
Clan Forces: 1,000
Guild Forces: 1,000

Barathaz Baruk/Silf Rond Forces
Drukat Khuzi: 6,000
Clan Forces: 2,000
Guild Forces: 500
Maukk de Kar: 1,500