Kingdom of Belmorn


A New Crown, A New Beginning

King Alfran, 79, has formally announced his decision to step down as the human population's monarch and joint head-of-state of the Kingdom of Belmorn. Blaming his declining health and advanced age for this decision, he thanked his supporters for their allegiance in Belmorn's darkest hours, and he also thanked the peoples, both humans and Elves, for their stalwart courage in the face of destruction. This was a widely anticipated move by observers, as King Alfran's recent lack of public appearances in recent times often sparked rumours of his possible death or ill health. King Dryadson I, Alfran's co-monarch since the establishment of the Joint Crown state, met with the King in a private meeting of warm words and well wishes.

However, in a highly unanticipated move, King Alfran has elected his grand-daughter, Alistine III, to pick up his sceptre in his stead. This has caused immense anger in the human regal House of Ferren, who feel the rightful heir is Constance IV - Alfran's nephew and originally the next in line to the throne after Prince Irvin (Alfran's only son) died in battle three years ago. Alistine, who has barely reached the tender age of twenty-two, has been removed to an unknown location and placed under heavy guard until the crowning ceremony can take place.

King Dryadson I and his Elven court have supported Alfran's decision to elect his grand-daughter as his successor, describing her as a 'gentle soul, with a firm heart'. He went on to describe Constance IV as an 'honourable warrior, who would be better suited leading the Kingdom's human army, rather than the Kingdom itself'. These comments have fueled the fires of House Ferren, and there is talk of an active plot to place Constance IV on the throne through force - a move that would be disastrous for the realm's stability.

Alfran has dismissed concerns over his handling of the succession, and has proclaimed that 'the war is over, Belmorn is safe and now is the time for peace to take its course. A new crown, for a new beginning for our peoples!'

King Alfran's legacy has been colourful, and he will be fondly remembered by his people for his part in Belmorn's War for Survival twenty years ago. However, critics have always accused him of failing to act against the issue of racial discrimination, and of the treatment suffered by the Half-Elven population.

King Dryadson to meet with Jouria delegation

King Dryadson, 174, of Hadelmere Hold is to meet with representatives from Jouria later today to discuss the possibility of coexistence between their two nations. War has been on and off between Jouria and Belmorn for nearly two decades, and observers feel this is likely to continue for a further two decades before a decisive outcome is made. Nevertheless, King Dryadson is dedicated to the ideals of peace and compassion, and thus is attempting diplomacy. It is unknown what he seeks to achieve, but most observers feel he is aiming to secure a non-aggression pact in return for wheat shipments. Time will tell, however, if King Dryadson’s silver tongue can warm the hearts of the cold-blooded Lizardmen of the east.

Half-Elf preist slain by mob in Fengarde

A Half-Elf priest was brutally stabbed to death as he made his way from his parents’ home to his local temple of worship. Witnesses described the attackers as a ‘mob of feral street thugs’, and the town watch are investigating. They are treating it as a racially motivated attack. Critics are quick to point out that such incidents are increasingly common, not just in Fengarde but also Hadelmere.

Half-Elves are looked upon as freaks by most human communities, and as abominations in most Elven communities. This has resulted in years of violent abuse and discrimination. The names of Half-Elven parents are numberless in the ‘missing persons’ texts, and the Half-Elves themselves are prone to join them. Though most social experts expected this problem to fade as interracial relations became more common, elements in both societies have become increasingly hostile to the idea as the years and Half-Elven population advance.

The Republic of Erimir


Court Day

"...and so we rest our case against the village of Oldenbury. The village of Lowshire now grants the floor to the esteemed Oldenbury representative."

Beryl's face was expressionless, but her mind groaned. They were arguing over lettuce last month, she thought, pinching her forehead between her fingers. Now they argue over someone having moved the boundary stones! Why...?

"Oldenbury thanks the Lowshire representative for being here, even if his arguments cannot change the facts," said the puffy fellow in green and brown finery. "The matter is quite simple: the lands within the new border are ours by birthright, due to ancient, ancestral borde-"

"Neither village even existed twenty years ago!" blurted Beryl, throwing her hands in the air. "There are no ancient boundaries!"

"But my family was born on that land!" the puffy fellow from Oldenbury said.

"Like Hell it was!" shouted the Lowshire representative. "We've owned land extending acres past the boundary stones for seven gener-"

"It doesn't matter!" yelled the young Sheriff, having quite enough. "It doesn't matter if your great grand-nuncle or his aunt's, cousin's, half-brother's former roommate had a cabbage field three yards longer than the rocks indicate! The boundaries that exist presently have been laid out in very explicit terms within each village's provincial documents and were approved by both villages." Beryl took a moment to glower at each representative, knowing full well they had both been at the signing of the documents with her. "That means neither village owns any land past the boundary stones that lie between them, and unless there is a real case to be made besides unrelated personal disputes, the court finds no reason to prolong the inevitable any further!"

Beryl lifted her gavel and slammed it upon the podium.

"Case dismissed!"

With that, she slumped into her chair and took a deep breath. That was three cases down. Only four more to go, and then she could return to doing something that actually mattered and pretend Court Day didn't exist for another month. She looked over at her personal Deputy, giving the man a tired look. "Can't we just gather up all the magistrates, representatives and barristers, tie stones to their feet and shove them into the lake?"

"We could, ma'am," said the level-faced man, "but then we'd have to go through the trouble of electing new ones."

The Sheriff Moss blew brown hair out of her eyes. "Drat."

Matters of Diplomacy

The next morning started off more amiable. Beryl had a large, healthy breakfast of apples, eggs and ham, and she had an opportunity to play with her daughter. By noon, however, she was sitting in the old Sheriff's Office in the city square, poring over the regional map with her advisors.

"We need to focus on reopening the trade routes," began Armand. The old merchant always was interested in economics, but he generally knew the right places to look for good trade. He set his hand down on the map, making a line northward from Erimir. "The human kingdoms of Asax and Scharweilt are led by peaceful rulers, as I recall, and they would be likely buyers of Erimese produce and gunpowder. If we could convince Asax to trade us some of their lumber for livestock, we could probably secure passage from their land into Scharweilt. We could trade gunpowder to them, and in return have some of their famous fish for our palettes."

"I'd prefer the wine," said old Jan Janson, sipping happily from his mug of ale.

"The fish has more practical uses," Beryl countered, "and it would keep the people's meals balanced. We haven't been making so much wheat since we started mining sulfur, and the orchards have been faring poorly of late." She looked back up at Armand. "Who would you suggest lead the trade delegation?"

"Myself," the old man said.

"Of course, we need to ensure our borders are secure if we want to be able to trade anything," Marshal Tommen began. He was lighter than most halflings in size and darker in complexion, not to mention a fair bit taller. "The orcs of Elslen are slavers, and it's only a matter of time before they turn their gaze on us, as they did before the Empire was born."

He'd be handsome if he didn't scowl so much, thought Beryl. "You make a fair point," she said. "But how do you suggest we deal with them? They won't be open to parley."

"We march on them," said the soldier.

Janson spit ale out his mouth and nose. "Are you mad?" he interrupted. "If we do so, not only will we be likely to lose the encounter, but we'll lose our reputation as peacemakers and trustworthy folk! That reputation is all that protects us in this age!"

"Would you rather we be known as the easily trodden-upon smallfolk?" snapped the marshal.

"Enough!" Beryl said sharply. She caught her rude tone, and slowed herself down. "Enough." She managed to keep from snapping that time. The Sheriff stood up and peered at the map for a long moment, then tapped her finger against another province to the east of Erimir.

"How are the two peoples of Belmorn faring these days?" Beryl asked her advisors.

The marshal clicked to attention. "They squabble," he says.

"So does everyone," Jan noted, "but their squabbling runs deeper than most. The humans and elves are starting to hate each other. Word has it there have been more murders this year than last."

"Their produce would be good to have in our markets, if they would trade," thought Armand. "And their soldiers have always been better than ours. I assume that's still the case, young man?"

"It is," agreed Marshal Tommen, "though if we can procure the right resources, we'd be able to make some quality muskets and that wouldn't matter anymore."

Beryl tapped her fingers upon the table, then motioned over at Jan. "Send a delegate to the two kings of Belmorn," she said.

"King and Queen," Jan corrected. "Old King Alfran has passed away. His granddaughter succeeds the throne."

"Oh." Beryl blinked, then gathered her wits again. "All the better. Send a delegate asking to arrange a meeting with them, perhaps between myself and their rulers, or between delegates if they prefer. Remind them of the longstanding peace we halflings have kept with our neighbors, and inquire them of their opinion of the Elslen orcs. If they have unfavorable opinions of them, perhaps we can arrange an attempt to emancipate the slaves of the orcish kingdom." Beryl looked next at Tommen. "As for us, we will begin instructing the troops along the border on how to deal with orcs in a fight. 'Duck low and aim for the groin,' was it?" she asked with a grin.

Tommen did not grin back. "Yes."

Beryl held back a sigh. She looked over the company about her. "Well, we all have our tasks ahead of us. Let's have second lunch, and then we'll get to work."

Avatar of the Phoenix - Rising from the ashes.

With the throne entrusted to the young princess of Uaruneria, comes a time of change as plans to improve the nation's wealth were set into motion. The previously isolated nation are now seeking to grow their position in the grand theater of inter-nation diplomacy and trade. The first step begins with improving relations with Uaruneria's neighbors and establishing trade routes to further prosper the avianfolk. Regardless, this is seemingly a huge task for the young queen. What with her matriarch being the much celebrated hero who have lead the enslaved race into freedom and independence; the legendary Phoenix herself. However, it remains a family secret - known only by the members of the royal family for the sake of the previous queen's safety.

"Mother, the ships are prepared to set sail." Pepelu beckoned at her mother, seemingly nervous with her first diplomatic voyage as she adjusted her garments which never seemed to feel right. It was a finely crafted robe, decorated with elaborate embroidery secured comfortably with a warm sash around her tummy. The elderly avian, whom had aged well throughout the years is clearly beaming with pride at her only flesh and blood. Her smiles gave a sense of calmness and reassured Pepelu.

"I bid you luck, my child - my queen," she spoke while embracing the young queen in her arms. Nine years had passed since she first felt her child in her stomach's embrace, and now before her a capable leader. She released her embrace and placed a small peck on Pepelu's forehead. Pepelu shook her vibrant wings of blue as a sign of embarrassment, but it made her mother chuckle a little.

"Now go, the journey is long. You shan't have your men wait any longer than they need to." Pepelu bowed and hastily made her way to the port, where the naval pride of Uaruneria; the Fleet of Fog is anchored.

Two of the sturdiest light transport vessels in the nation were chosen, to assure the safe travels of the young queen. Aboard them, were 20 Kingfishers and 40 Hummingbirds - evenly distributed between both vessels. Several noteworthy officials were aboard as well, to provide assistance or advise to their queen in worldly affairs. Food and provisions for the journey were already prepared the night before. Final checks were being made as the crew of both vessels patiently waited for the arrival of their queen.

The salty sea breeze playfully twirled her long hair of silver as Pepelu boarded the sea vessel Jhuria, accompanied by the sister ship Herantsa. Without delay, both ships set forth to the neighboring nation of the Achnon Republic in hopes of establishing good relations - and perhaps even coming to an agreement of trade between avianfolk and gnomes.

Nation Status Card

Bahapore



Military

The Southern Border

“Sir! Sir!” Yells a Krakon guard as he rushes down the manor hall and flings open the beautifully engraved double doors to the dining hall. Inside at a unnecessary long dining table sit four Krakons, two adults, and two children. “What is so important that you disturb my supper with my family?” says the largest Krakon sitting at the table, he is holding a spoon and looks like he’s about to stab someone, probably the guard, with it.

“I’m sorry my lord but there has been an accident near the border. A group of about a dozen humans were captured and one Krakon was injured, I can because it could be-”. The Krakon lord stops the guard from saying anymore with the wave of his hand. “We will speak of this later,” turning to the other three Krakons, “I will be right back my dear and Joey, remember not to stay up late, you know how cranky you get when you don’t get your sleep.”

“Yes, Father.” says the smallest of the Krakons.

“Come back soon Goard.” says the second largest Krakon, she appears to be the female and wife.

Following the guard, Lord Goard closes the double doors behind them. “Now tell me the story from the beginning.”

“Yes Lord Goard. As you know, the border south of here is always patrolled in case of invasion.”

“Yes I know, now get on with the story.” says the lord impatiently.

“Well, a patrol of about half a dozen Krakons soldiers were patrolling near a small village when they noticed a group of human-like figures with a cart full of crates. There was a confrontation, the man delivering the cart managed to escape but the remaining humans were captured and the cart seized. A krakon was injured after one of the humans glazed his neck with a sword. The cart was full of crates of gun powder, cannon balls, and rifles, enough to storm this town.”

“Show me to the humans, I want to speak directly to them.” says Lord Goard. A few minutes later, they arrive at a wooded area and a group of figures were slouched by the trunk of the tree with five Krakons surrounding them. The guards part way as Lord Goard walks up to the figures. They are clearly human as one of them looks up at their visitor before slouching down again. Crouching down, Lord Goard says “I would like to speak to you for a few minutes.”

“I got nothing to say to you.” says the human, only lifting his head to spit in Lord Goard’s face. The guards lift their guns and aim it at the humans but Lord Goard raises his hand to stop them. “I just need you to answer a few questions and I could easily let you go.” The human says nothing. “Your buddies too.” The human says nothing. “Guards, take these criminals and throw them in the dungeon.”

“My lord, do you think they were supplying the Haba Resistances?” says the guard that lead Lord Goard here.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” says Lord Goard, “I want a messenger sent to the King and I want extra patrols near the border.”

Other Major Events

While this was going on near the south, in the far northeast a Horean cargo ship was damaged by a Elthana ship with two sailors injured. The Minor Militia was partly assembled by the local human and elven towns as a number of incidents caused the death of twenty elves and humans, witnesses report that they were injured by human and elves. A large number of Horean Air Guard members were recently reassigned to the upper Elthana border. The humans and elves in the middle lake region are requesting help as violence is rising.

Economy

“You know that with the violence in the lake area is affecting our economy.” says Councilman Kes of the Hapore Council to the council.

“And what do you expect us to do? We can’t do anything without Geward here.” says a Horean with a slightly bent beak.

“May I say something?” says an elderly looking Horean. “According to law, an action can be performed if less than two member is missing and all featured members support the action, as long as the missing member is informed.”

“Well that settles it, we need to conduct some trade routes or we are going to go bankrupt.” says Kes. “I suggest sending messengers to the nations of Helor, Achnon, Obana, and I would also suggest requesting access across Achnon waters to reach the nation of Uaruneria. Who supports this action?” All the hands in the room go up. “Well that settles it, I will be dissipating messengers right away, meeting dismissed.”

Diplomacy

A defensive treaty has been sent to the nations of Achnon and Helor
A diplomat is sent to Obana.
Trade agreements are sent to Achnon, Helor, and Obana.
A messenger is sent asking permission to travel across Achnon.
A diplomat is awaiting permission to travel across Achnon to Uaruneria.

Freywyn


The Scarlet Blade

It wasn't a morning like the others. This one was a sunrise hundreds of 15-year-old boys have been training for since they could understand basic vocabulary. They would get their once-in-a-lifetime chance to literally fight for their future. Each one, depending on how well he fared in the Provings, would be assigned to a caste and from there, he would learn his trade and aid the nation while keeping his body trained and his sword sharp as dictated by ancient law.

«My lord, your presence inspires us all.»

«Master Ellis, a pleasure to see you.» Toryllis Brosca, the Blademaster of Freywyn, First of the Forgotten, Lord Oblivion himself, replied, his young face serious as always and carrying a wisdom unexpected for his age. «Tell me, what of this year's class? Will they put me to shame or shall I carry the title of Blademaster for a year longer?»

«You're too hopeful Lord, swordsmen like yourself appear once every ten generations and you're still young and healthy.» the short but respected Ellis Vinfordell, trainer of thousands of men and slayer of even more according to the stories spread like wildfire between his students, replied to his ruler -and former student of his, of course- before they sat on the pleasantly cool stone surface surrounding the Gauntlet, a marvel of architecture and a place where the blood spilt made the sea pale in comparison. Soon, the 392 boys split into four teams and marched towards the center of the arena under the cheers of three thousand of Freywyn's finest. Once they stopped, the whole stadium went silent as it was time for the Lord's speech.

«Brothers and sisters.» Toryllis began. «Once more, our children will prove to themselves today that there is indeed nothing they cannot achieve through unity. Some will rise higher than ever before and some will fall, the first lesson we are ever taught.» he continued as he stood up.

«Vol naurn dethan kongo!» he yelled, the ancient phrase which pretty much defined their culture before hearing the crowd excitedly reply with the also ancient answer.

«Av'Vol kongo, naurn!»

***
The fights began and before sunset, 294 men were left standing and allowed to join the nation as true sons of Freywyn.
***

Once they were cleaned and dressed, they presented themselves before the Lord who was now holding the prize of the finest among them, the Scarlet Blade for the fighter who stood above the rest.

«Move forward Akun, son of Keras.» Toryllis's calm voice echoed throughout the arena. A man, for someone who has seen so much death cannot still be a boy, stepped forward and bowed in front of his Ruler, barely holding the tears back.

«These tears, why are you wasting them boy?»

«For my brothers!» he yelled, breaking down.

«Stand and bear this blade! This will never let you forget how killing your own brother feels like, how killing in general feels like! I was once, in the same situation as you and still there are nights when the faces of the slain visit me in my dreams. Rise soldier and wield this blade with pride, for you are carrying not only your dreams but the dreams of those who fell as well!» the Lord said and the young one accepted his prize, if one could consider it a prize.

***

«What a beautiful afternoon.» Ellis's soothing voice sounded behind him. The ceremony ended a few hours ago and Toryllis was taking a little break from his duties, enjoying the view of Freywyn's valleys before returning to Admeryn where he spent most of his days in the Halls.

«It would be nice if the Queen was here, wouldn't it, Ellis?»

«Well Lord, for me, I'd rather if my Lady wasn't here.» the old man said and they both laughed, unaware of the days to come.

Halls of Unity

Avaris Tonya, appointed Master of Commerce and representative of every trader in the nation, kept pacing back and forth with a candle in his hands, praying to the Gods for a way to convince the rest of the representatives about the severity of the problem at hand and how dire their situation would become in a few months time if they didn't take immediate measures. Behind him, the rest of the Whispers sat in silence and in darkness since only the one speaking could carry the flame. The Hall of Unity was located in Admeryn's Cloud District and it was built in such a way that even the weakest of whispers could be heard inside its stone walls while blocking the noise of the always busy port below.

«Dear brothers.» He never liked the complete blindness and silence of the Hall. It made him uneasy.

«What is a trader's most valuable possession?»

«His pouch o' coins!» a voice yelled, earning many laughs.

«I kid you not, but 'tis not the pouch! It's his horse! His trusty horse which carries the cargo through winter and spring, day and night, rain or snow. It'd even tread on Hell's dirt if we ordered it so!»

He paused to catch his breath.

«But what if I told you that, the current number of horses in our lands will not hold us for another year? 'Tis imperative that we break these walls of solitude that we built so many years ago and start trading with the outlanders! Who knows what luxuries and what materials we have ignored for so long! We should immediatelly contact our neighbours and be it through gold or through blade, we must get our horses!»

And of course, after such a proposal and as expected, Hell broke loose.

Avaris couldn't quite make out what the representatives were saying since there were so many of them with each one yelling at the top of his lungs but he was certain that a third of them was openly challenging him to a duel, another third was swearing on their mothers' bones that they had seen a vision where the Gods warned them of this while the last third was declaring war on every horse owner out there. And all that, in total darkness.

«Witness world, the Whispers of Freywyn. The men representing the nation.»

The woman's mocking voice stopped the 100 yelling men faster than an arrow travels. Only one had that kind of power and only one was allowed to set foot in those Halls.

«Queen Myra, we... we were not aware of your presence. We do know that Lord Oblivion is currently attending the Provings in Caan but we thought that you wouldn't be interested in such... mundane matters.»

«Master Varanis, a matter where the breaking of the Oath is discussed is something I do find myself very interested in. Would our Lord not attend this meeting? Would he find it, how did you put it, mundane?»

«No, of course not, milady, apologies.»

«Do not apologise lord, for it is great courage and love of the nation that drove you to face the Whispers with such a seemingly mad proposition. And fear not for the fate of this country for we will do what we must do therefore I, by the authority vested in me by our Lord, call for the Oathbreaker and with the Mother as my champion, I will prevail.»

The silence was even deeper this time as Myra Falkenbrough, a woman with twice as many haters as fans and someone who was not part of Freywyn but rather found as an abandoned newborn, invoked one of the oldest traditions in their culture, the right for her to drink a potent hallucinogenic poison which, if she survived, would proclaim her Godborn, someone with the blood of a God in her veins and mark her worthy of carrying the Oathbreaker, a blade which would give her the right to break the oath to never forge ties with other nations taken so long ago.

Vanguar


Fruit of the Shale
The swings of the pickaxes brought forth a shower of sparks, and a chaotic song of metal on rock that echoed throughout the winding tunnels of the mine. The pink fleshed creatures that wielded the axes groaned under the exertion, their backs criss-crossed with the kisses of the overseers’ whips. Stryke smiled as he walked the dimly lit corridors of the mine, thinking about how the humans once ruled this land, now were brought low to carry out the tasks beneath Orc-kind.

“Captain!” Called a rough voice. Breaking from his thoughts, Stryker turned to see the First Overseer, his second in command, Haskeer.

“What is it, Haskeer?” Sneered Stryke, “Have you finally come to give the report I asked for hours ago?”

“I’ve been busy keeping the soft-skins from slacking!” Snapped Haskeer. Stryker folded his massive arms in front of his chest, impatiently waiting for the Overseer’s report. His second looked around wearily, setting his untrusting eyes on the humans around them. “Perhaps it would be better to hear this topside?”

Stryker tossed his head back and laughed. “Even now you fear the humans!”

Haskeer bulked, growling low. “I fear nothing, these soft-skins least of all! But I am no fool. It was not long ago that it was a human that sat within Grimmhold.”

“Their empire is crushed, scattered as ashes in the wind. Even if this lot had the sense to understand our words, they could do nothing, bound as they are. So out with it!”

“As you say, Captain,” Haskeer ceded. “The fourth tunnel has slowed to a crawl, and tunnels one through three have begun to follow suit. I have ordered to set the whips upon the humans non-stop to coax more work out of them, have them flayed alive if need be.”

“I give the orders here, Overseer, not you!” Barked Stryke. “Cease the whippings, lay some dragon’s powder on the shale wall and blow a new tunnel. I won’t have humans needlessly dying under my watch.”

Haskeer’s maw spewed insolence. “I am sure your brother would have words to that effect if he were here.”

Stryke closed the distance between himself and the overseer in a flash, flexing his shoulders and chest, his eyes seething as he jut out his lower jaw. “I am captain here, cur! I rule in my brother’s stead, unless you dare challenge me?” Haskeer shrunk away from Stryke, nodding sullenly and turning on his heels to carry out his orders.

The eyes of the captain followed him as he disappeared deeper into the mine. Stryke detested being reminded of his inferiority with his brother. It had been a source of many brawls in his past, and sure to be the source of more in the future. A faint horn from above ground broke the Orc captain from his thoughts. With long sure strides, he made his way to the mine exit.

Stryke’s eyes were momentarily blinded as he stepped out in the grey light of day. Before him were dozens of yurts, fashioned from bone and leather. The hammers of smiths pounded to work the shale-fruit into swords and spears, and tanners laboured under the dismal light to cut skins and craft leathers. Beyond the chaotic placement of yurts was a high palisade wall of sharpened bone. This was the capital of the Shale, the seat of power for Clan Bloodknot and named after the Chief of Chiefs, Fort Bloodwroth.

The fortress was cut into the side of the Veradun Volcano, where plumes of ashen smoke blot out the sun near every day of the year. It was hard and unforgiving landscape but rich in the precious resource, shale-fruit, or iron ore as it was commonly referred to. The land itself was known as the Shale, a charred and burnt land that even the wild wargs avoided. It molded the Orcs of the clan into fearsome warriors however, bravely facing hardship on and off the field of battle.

The horn blew again, loud and clear. Someone was coming.

Stryke made his way to the main entrance of the fortress, where two guards maintained a vigilant watch. One had a horn in hand and saluted as the captain approached. “Captain! A caravan approaches.”

Squinting into the distance, Stryke could make out a banner held aloft by the figures that closed on the fort. He turned to the guard, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Prepare the Chief’s yurt. Set out fresh food, water and grog. The High Chief returns to Fort Bloodwroth.”

After some time passed, the entire garrison stood in formation outside the gate, Stryke at their head. Bone horns blew a clear note to welcome High Chief Skar Bloodwroth back home. As the Chief’s party neared, he could make out some hundred Orcs riding wargs. Some were tethered to carriages pulling stores and arms. Finally the van halted, the leading ranks parted, and upon a silver warg of pale blue eyes road Chief Skar. He wore the skull of a troll as a helm concealing his face, heavy iron spiked pauldrons covered his shoulders, and studded leathers draped over his wide chest. Clasped around his neck with a jewelled brooch was a cape of blood-red. Skar stepped off his warg and approached Stryke with purpose, stopping only a few feet in front of him.

Stryke fell to his knees. “Welcome home father, Chief of Chiefs.”

“Follow me to my yurt.” Skar said unceremoniously, walking in a brisk place past the garrison, through the gate, behind the bone palisade of the fortress.

Stryke’s mind raced as he pondered the purpose of his father’s visit. It had been nearly five years since they last spoke, and they had not exactly parted on the best of terms. His arrival could only mean one thing; the clans were in revolt once more.

Stryke hurried into his father’s yurt, finding Skar had already tossed aside his armour, now shirtless and wearing plan breeches over his legs. He had hold of a cistern of water that was laid out on smooth stone slab that served as the table. A flagon of grog and basket of meats were left untouched for the moment. His father’s skin had taken a greyer tone from the deep black it had once been, a sign of his age. His bottom tusks jut out in typical Orc fashion, his muscles still every bit as large and ripped as he remembered. Here, without a doubt, was the strongest Orc in Vanguar.

After a long drink, Skar set the cistern down, and turned to face Stryke. “Your brother is dead, Stryke,” he said with a frost tinged voice.

Stryke felt the wind go out of him, his knees buckled, and he felt his arse find the dirt floor. Aside from his father, Scythe had been the toughest, meanest Orc he knew, though a bastard to the core. “It can’t be!” He objected.

Skar tilted his head to the side, giving a growl as he stepped toward his son, roughly pulling him up on his feet. “I sent Scythe to Amplesh, to press my rights there, to make the coastal Orcs recognize my claim as Warden of Orc-Kind. Your brother failed. The Chiefs of Amplesh saw fit to send back his head.”

Stryke howled a long and mournful note as his father looked on, showing little emotion. “They will pay for this, I swear it!” A sudden blow from his father knocked him to the ground.

“You swear it?!” Skar growled. “He was my first born, destined to rule the Clans upon my death! Now, I am left only with you!" He did not bother to hide the contempt he felt for his sole surviving son. “It is time for you to shake off the skins of adolescence and become an Orc worthy to bare my name!”

Stryke rubbed his stinging cheek, rising up to his feet. “I march to war then!”

“No. A Bloodwroth must always sit upon the high seat of Grimmhold. The Clans are ever restless, and may seize on any opportunity whilst I fight to avenge your brother. Rule Vanguar in my stead, be worthy of the name you hold, Stryke Bloodwroth, my only son.”

Stryke felt as if the entire world was about to explode. In the matter of mere minutes he learned his brother was dead and he would be thrust with a crushing responsibility in the time ahead. In a daze, Stryke stepped out from his father’s yurt, his feet finding his way to his own home. He stepped inside, looking down as egg shells crushed underfoot. A voice called to him.

“Stryke, my husband… We have a son.”

Stryke embraced Coilla, his wife, feeling her tusks rake across his neck, their babe cooing in her arms between them. The joyous kind of responsibility was now sapped in the wake of sombre news. He gave his wife a grim look. “We are leaving, Coilla.”

A scroll is sent to the Chiefs of Amplesh…

Tremble and quake in fear at my coming. Know that I am the harbinger of death and I carry with me the instrument of your demise. There will be no mercy given, no quarter to take. I seek vengeance for the death of my son. I will rain down such unfurled death upon you, that even the Gods will balk at my wrath, giving no peace to you even in the afterlife!

I am High Chief Skar Bloodwroth, Lord of the Vanguard, The Shale and all the Clans, Warden of all Orc-Kind, Wielder of the Wold’s Hammer, and you will curse me to your dying breaths, I swear it! Ready yourselves, for I ride an ashen wind to your deaths!
~ Skar Bloodwroth, Chief of Chiefs

Scharweilt

---

Running out of Food

---

The kingdom of Scharweilt is running out of food because of the war and many people is starving.Now, King Laurence III made a letter for every region about a request to import food to Scharweilt.After that King Laurence thought that he should make a temporary solution for the problem while waiting for the kingdoms to reply.He thought that maybe giving away some food in the castle would work.It was a very hard decision but it his duty as King of Scharweilt.Also there is an another one and that is to search the island for food and the King hoped that they will find many.Plus, they started to plant many fruits and vegetables in the orchards instead of grapes due to the emergency and the King made a new law about some restrictions in fishing so the fishes can repopulate.

---

Coast Guard Report

---

King Laurence was in the middle of helping his people with planting fruits and vegetables when one of the coast guards talked to him.

"Excuse me your majesty but do you have a moment?" The Coast guard asked.

"Uhh... Yeah!" The King replied.

"Your Majesty I'm afraid to tell you that we got attacked by pirates but do not panic the pirates they were strong but we defeated them" the Coast guard reported

"Are there any casualties?" The King asked

"No sir but there are a bunch of us is injured" the guard answered

"Ok I'll send some doctors there later, keep up the good work!" The King added the the guard leaves

The Republic of Erimir


Negotiations with Asax

Dealing with the human kingdoms north of Erimir was proving a little harder than Armand had anticipated.

The old halfling carefully picked up his signet ring, turning it over in his hand as he gave the letter he had drafted one last inspection, in case he was missing any details. There was little to be said, but it was always best to make certain it was all recorded properly.



Satisfied, the old halfling dripped hot burgundy wax onto the envelope and pressed his signet into it. With that, he tucked it a pocket in his cloak and started for the door.

Traveling to Belmorn

Kipp understood the gravity of his mission, and he worried that maybe he was taking it a bit too seriously, but he was more concerned that he was not cut out for the task.

Oh, on the surface, his skillset was perfectly tailored to what the mission demanded. As a member of the Erimir's small standing army, he was trained in the use of the sling, the short sword, the shield, and the dagger. He had been taught the Underfoot Technique, making the best of one's short height when fighting powerful opponents, and was versed in basic battlefield tactics. He also happened to be a terrific woodsman, having been an herbalist's apprentice before he joined the Infantry, was a natural at finding good hiding places, and had sharper ears than most. So, truth be told, Kipp should have felt prepared.

But the elves could probably do all of that and more, and better! And what if they attacked? What if they didn't want any halflings marching through their woods?

The scenery would have been enjoyable on any other occasion, really. The trees were tall and green, the scent of pollen rose from the vibrant purple and blue flowers in bloom, the wind was gentle and mild, the sky was clear, and his belly was full from a snack of succulent sausage. Despite all that, though, Kipp found himself wanting to pop the sausages right back out of his mouth so he'd be lighter on his feet.

"Don't worry yourself," came a gravelly voice next to him. "The elves en't but people like us. They're just taller an' skinnier, 'at's wot."

Kipp looked over at the old straw-haired soldier behind him. "I don't think so," he muttered, though he did feel more at ease with that. "I just wish we had a bit bigger of a company. I mean... three guards and one ambassador? We're not very, um... stately."

They weren't, really. The ambassador rode astride a pony and wore a simple blue cloak with a blue-and-white striped shirt and pantaloons and a simple brown leather jerkin for a vest. Kipp and the other soldiers, Gammel and Flynn, had green shirts with leather armor and sturdy caps of the same material, and of course they had belt pouches full of snacks.

"I mean, aren't ambassadors and their entourages supposed to, uh-- make an impression?" Kipp's voice got weak toward the end.

"We are making an impression," said the ambassador, brushing at his red sideburns. "Halflings have always had a reputation for being simple and down-to-earth, and it's served us well enough in the past. People expect us to be easy to dupe and catch off-guard. Letting them think that is important, and making a stately impression might just cause them to reconsider what they know about us. Don't worry," said the red-haired man, tugging his blue hood over his head. "Everything will be fine."

Kipp nodded, then started paying attention to the trees. "We've reached the border of Erimir and Belmorn," he said once they reached a part of the woods he was unfamiliar with.

"Well," said old Gammel, "bes' put on 'r bes' smiles 'en. Dun' want the Glade Watchers t'think we ain't friendly."

Kingdom of Belmorn


The Throne of Fengarde Remains Empty

Though King Alfran has stood down from his position as King of Belmorn’s human population, his granddaughter has yet to ascend the throne. This has created an atmosphere of apprehension, as half the Kingdom is left leaderless, and many of the gentry are angry that Alfran did not remain with the crown until the succession ceremony. The old man has withdrawn to Hadelmere Hold, where he is seeking the medical council of the Elves.

Until Alistine’s crowning ceremony can take place, Fengarde has been placed under the temporary governance of Constance IV who has accepted the duty of ‘Regent Guardian’ until his cousin has been formalised as head of state. Many people in Fengarde see this as a coup, and already tension is building on the streets.

King Dryadson is monitoring the situation closely, and has moved the bulk of the Glade Watchers into position around the human city. He has urged calm and patience, and that all proceedings take place at an official capacity.

Halfling Delegation Intercepted

Four small beings walking down the forested footway. Twenty slender figures cloaked in green, watching from the trees. Had Belmorn’s borders been more unstable, the Glade Watchers would have leased their arrows and vanished to leave the dead for the carrion. As it was, however, Belmorn was a peaceful land – despite its internal disputes – and outsiders were handled with warmth where practicable.

Appearing from the shrubs and bushes, the Glade Watchers approached the Halfling Delegation with bows unstrung. After a brief discussion between the two groups, the Glade Watchers formed an escort for the Halflings.

They head for Hadelmere Keep, and a private meeting with the Elf King Dryadson.

Elven Quarter Besieged in Fengarde

Owing to the lack of a human monarch, many of Fengarde’s residents have started to believe there is a conspiracy by the Elves of Belmorn to subdue them. Although there is little logic in this belief, and even less evidence, people are taking to the streets. Regent Guardian Constance IV has so far held back the Fengarde militia, allowing mass protests and riots to storm towards the city’s Elven Quarter.

King Dryadson has warned that he will directly intervene if his Hadelmere kinsmen are harmed on the watch of the Regent Guardian. Many fear this may lead to civil war, but others consider this a mere spat between Alfran’s nephew and King Dryadson.

Nevertheless, spat or not, King Dryadson has ordered the assembling of a further Glade Watcher Regiment, which would boost their total strength to 600.

Jouria Non-Aggression Treaty Signed

King Dryadson has achieved an uneasy peace between Belmorn and Jouria, after intense talks between himself and the Lizardfolk. Though it is understood that Jouria interprets the Elves of Belmorn as potential assassins of King Almon IX, a six-month non-aggression treaty has been agreed in return for wheat shipments from Fengarde.

It is expected that this will deescalate the tensions along the Kingdom’s eastern borders, and perhaps make way for stronger relations in the future.

UNKNOWN SHIPS ALONG ORYSSON COAST

Swarms of black ships without banners have been spotted patrolling the waters off the coast of Orysson. For the time being, they are keeping their distance as local navies scramble to see them off. The situation is currently stable, but the numbers and organisation of the ships suggest they are no mere pirates.

It is known that Arion, the continent north of Orysson was largely under Imperial control prior to the Empire’s collapse. However, it can not be verified that these ships hail from the north.

Earth Quakes Strike Hightower

The Human Enclave of Hightower has taken a heavy beating from earth quakes. Though this kind of natural event is common to the Hightower region, the destruction it has wreaked has not been dampened by this knowledge. Villages have vanished beneath mudslides, and the towns and cities have suffered severe damage.

Hightower has placed its military forces on high alert, and much of it is helping civilians deal with the devastation. It is estimated that it will be some weeks before Hightower returns to normality, and during this time, it will be greatly weakened.

However, Helor, whom sees Hightower as a close Ally, has warned that any attack on Hightower during its crisis will result in open war between itself and the offending nation.

An Emerging Power

Word has reached the mainland that the human Kingdom of Obana has fallen, some years ago in fact, to either an invasion or rebellion of High Orcs. Little is known of the events that have transpired, but Elthanian fishermen have reported seeing banners of black, marked by a white flame, scattered across the shoreline. It would appear that the small island nation is ready to stand and be recognised by the world as an independent nation of proud peoples.

With information so broken and distorted in these days of deep division, it is possible that the High Orc's closer neighbours have been fully aware of this all long. However, the more entreched courts of Oyrsson will be shocked to hear of another post-Imperial bastion falling to ruin.

Freywyn


The Godborn Trial

«Speak daughter, speak and let us know of the living.»

Myra wasn't sure whether she was alive or dead or something in between. Last thing she remembered was drinking the poison in front of the Librarian and fainting seconds later. Now, she was apparently only a conscience, only a voice standing in front of the Mother.

«Mother, your children honor you. I, Myra Falkenbrough, daughter of no one and wife to Lord Toryllis Brosca the High Ruler of Freywyn, have invoked the trial of the Godborn as I wish to obtain the Oathbreaker and through it, end the era of solitude.»
«You wish not only to carry the Oathbreaker, dear, you wish also to bear a son for your beloved man and become a woman respected by all in a society of men. Is it not true?»
«It is, Mother.»
«Then for letting you survive the trial, I demand a life. Will you accept, mortal?»

Myra didn't reply immediately. Gods enjoyed toying with the living and a life was quite the price to pay yet perhaps the future of Freywyn was bound to her decision.

«I accept Mother, eternal be your kingdom.»

Halls of Unity

«I understand Master York, your notes have been given to the greatest minds of our nation and soon we will be able to determine whether Bohaddon is the vile serpent you claim it to be and whether we should contact them or not. Either way, our first goal is to reach the islands in the north, a journey our ships can surely make, isn't that right, Master Shen?»

Toryllis returned to Admeryn a couple of days ago and as soon as the sun rose he summoned the Whispers in order to inform them on the preparations needed for opening the borders and meeting outlanders although many of his advisors told him to wait for the Queen to survive her ordeal. Truth be told, he argued for hours with her in order to convince her not to do such a dangerous and pointless thing yet, as always, she didn't give an inch once she had made up her mind.

«Provided that the winds favor us, we'll be setting foot on those lands within a week my Lord.»

«Excellent. General Trane, how does the Silent Watch fare?»
«Morale is still high Lord yet our fighters itch for a worthy challenge. Friendly duels and hunting don't offer the thrill, the adrenaline rush of a true kill-or-die situation anymore.»
«I want you to start planning for a possible war with every single one of our neighbours and to equip every single one of the Watch as if tomorrow we'd face the forces of every kingdom combined. I want us to be ready even to face the Gods themselves.»
«Understood, my Lord. Should I start assembling an invasion force?»
«Of course not. We swore to suppress our warlike nature therefore we will not invade even the weakest of them all. At least until we make sure of their true colors.»
«As you wish.»

«Now then, we should choose an ambassador to send-»
«My Lord!»

A young woman stood at the door of the Hall, one step away from setting foot on the sacred ground.

Toryllis recognized her, Sillia was one of Myra's ladies-in-waiting and he felt his heart start pounding as if it wanted to escape its cage of flesh and bone.

«Sillia, you bring news of my wife?»
«Yes Lord, Queen Myra has survived the ordeal and is performing the rites in order to receive the Oathbreaker from the Librarian!» the girl said, barely holding back a smile.
«Good.» he simply replied, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted of his back.
«Lords, brace yourselves. A new era is coming.»

End of an era

Thousands of Freywe had gathered in the biggest port of the nation in order to watch Queen Myra and her entourage set sail on the pride of the shipwrights, the Farseer, a medium sized vessel with a crew of 15 and enough room to comfortably accommodate 20 more.

«If you want a ship that will carry you to the ends of the sea through waves as tall as the towers of Caan, there you have it Milady.» said Cirdan Wondam, master shipwright, as he stood next to the Queen who was admiring the ship.
«Thank you Master Cirdan, I am certain it will serve me well. You should be proud of your creation.»
«Well t-thank you my Queen, it's an honor.» the old man replied with his cheeks turning red. It was a rare honor for a shipwright to be commended and it would certainly bring great pride to his caste.

«The last few crates of supplies have been stored aboard the ship, my Queen.» Lord Toryllis said, his voice a whisper.
«Then it is time, isn't it?» she replied as she turned to him, the Oathbreaker's blade hanging loose to her side, a blade older than the nation of Freywyn. «I will return with goods news, my Lord.» she said, her eyes meeting his and saying more than a thousand bards could sing in two lifetimes.
«May the winds be ever in your favor, my Queen.» A smile appeared on his usually serious-around-others face as she walked on the ramp and set foot on the Farseer, her new home for many days to come.

Toryllis left the port as soon as the ship was but a tiny black dot to the naked eye, eager to follow his own plans regarding contact with the outside world.
«Contact Viranna Jenko. Tell her I'll be expecting her in my quarters tonight and to keep our meeting a secret.» he whispered to one of his personal guards, the fabled Immortals, as he made way towards the fort overlooking the port, his home.

Vanguar




Grimmhold


The Crag

Stryke took a relaxed grip on the reigns of his warg, leading the beast through the hard rock of the shale as the flat terrain gave way to the razor sharp rocks of the Crag. Stryke's convoy of nearly fifty Orcs passed the somber grey rocks in near silence. As they put the shale behind them, surrounded by the stony teeth of the Crag, they came upon a sudden pit dug deep into the earth. Remains of a buildings foundation crept up from the ground in a grim reminder of what had once been here. Behind Stryke, Haskeer urged his warg forward, stopping beside the captain.

"What is this place?" Asked Haskeer.

Stryke scowled. "A human mine."

"A mine? But it is just a hole in the ground."

"The humans dug out the teeth of the crag, cutting and working the stone into great blocks, blocks they then used to build Grimmhold."

Haskeer's jaw dropped in wonder. "How? How could they mold the rock here to their will? Magic?"

Stryke barked with laughter. "Magic? You fool! Humans wield all sorts of devious tricks to rape and bend land to their own uses. Magic, no, but dark arts nonetheless. Take a good look at this pit. It is the fate of all mankind. All their glory will fall to ruin, to remain as a pit through the march of time."

The convoy moved on, forced nearly to single file as the narrow path led them away from the quarry. Stryke fell back down the line, stopping beside Coilla who held their hatchling protectively in her arms. Her eyes narrowed as she espied her husband, clearly still angry at having to leave the Shale. "Such a journey is not fit for a hatchling, wailing from the shell!"

Stryke straightened his back rigidly, setting dark eyes upon Coilla. "He will be fine, my seed is strong, and such hardship will serve to strengthen him."

"Do you know who you sound like?"

"Still your maw, Coilla!" Stryke barked. He took a breath, calming his blood. "I have a duty to Vanguar, as do you. I will hear no more of your moaning." He snapped the reigns and moved back to the front of the column.

The convoy snaked around a winding path up a large incline. Crossing the precipice, the land dipped down, revealing a large fortress, with a lone tower stabbing up at the air. A tall wall surrounded the tower, cut from the white bones of the Crag. This was Grimmhold, a great fortress built by the humans to project their power into this country. Now it was the seat of Stryke's father, liberated in the great rebellion that drove the humans out.

The lone tower stood mournfully in the distance, an unnatural curiosity in contrast to the landscape. A chill ran down Stryke's spine. Grimmhold; his new home.

Nation Status Card

Bahapore



The Meeting

“My lord, The leaders of Achnon want to meet you personally to discuss the defensive treaty and trade routes.” announces a bowing Horean.

“Very well, when will they be here?” asks Lord Spero.

“Um, my lord,” says the messenger, avoiding eye contact “They just arrived.”

“What?!” yells Lord Spero, “And no one bothered to tell me this till now?! Do you have any idea how important this matter is? Do you want me to look like a fool in front of the council when I tell them about how the meeting went?”

“No my lord! I wouldn’t do anything to harm your reputation in the eyes of the council but you see, the messenger that was sent to Achnon arrived with the their king and one of their princes just yesterday and-.”

“I haven’t got time for your explanations. Just tell the cooks to prepare a feast while I get ready.” says Lord Spero

“There will be no need for that my kind lord, my son and I have already eaten.” announces a voice from behind Lord Spero.
Turning around, Lord Spero sees nothing till he looks down and there is short man. The man wears a red pointed hat with the flag of his nation on his head with clothes embedded with jewels and made from the colors of his nation. He looked exactly like a king except for his height. Laughing, the man says “I mustn’t look like a king if my appearances gives you that look.”

Shuttering, Lord Spero says, “What? no, its just-”

“No need to apologize. Many people and races get that look when they look at anyone in my race. The saying in our nation is short and strong but don’ tell the dwarves or they would start a war with us.” says the gnome king laughing at his last remark. “Now have you recovered from your shock or did I come here for nothing?”

“I’m sorry king...” says Lord Spero, suddenly remembering that he doesn’t know the king’s name.

“Its King Nomes and this is my son Hobart”

“Really? thats your name?” says the messenger.

Slapping the messenger in the head for the rude remark, the lord says, “Yes, King Nomes. Right this way to the meeting hall.”

They walk to the meeting hall, well Lord Spero walks as King Nomes and his son do a part walk part waddle as they try to keep up with Lord Spero. The Lord realized this after reaching the doors to the meeting hall and turning around to allow the king and prince in only to see them still walk/waddling up the hall. When they finally arrive, the lord says “I’m sorry King Nomes, I didn’t realize that your kind was so-” The lord stops himself slow but tries to think of a more polite word.

King Nomes, laughing once again says “Slow? It’s fine. Lets just get on with this meeting that I traveled so far for.”

They had finally started the meeting after everyone was seated, though it took a while since the chairs were Horean size and not Gnome size.

“Now, before you try and apologize for inconviences, remarks, and all that sort of stuff. I didn’t come all this way to be treated like a spoiled child.” says King Nomes, with a serious look on his face.

“Yes to business. You see the council sent me to meet you and report on the topics of matter between our kingdoms. Matters that would benefit both our nations.” says Lord Spero

“I already know the matters of business so lets start with trade routes. I have decide that I will support any kind of trading between us as long as the trading is done mainly between this glorious city called Columaos and our capital city. But we fear that our merchant ships would get enough protection from raiders so we have a small request that you provide the protection.”

Jotting down the comment on a scroll, Lord Spero says “Absolutely, We are already ready to provide protection for all merchant ships. But I fear that the council won’t agree to this unless I set a small price on the protection.”

“Of course, we are a proud race of Gnomes. So, does this settle our trade agreement?” asks King Nomes, stroking his beard.

Finishing some notes on the scroll, Lord Spero hands the scroll to a messenger and says “Yes, now onto the next matter of business. The Defensive Treaty.”

“Yes, My son and I have already discussed this matter, we will provide reasonable support in the south of your nation as long as you provide naval support from those mysteries black ships patrolling the seas.” says King Nomes.

“How did you know about-” starts Lord Spero, clearly shocked.

“About the matter in the south? We are Gnomes, we have our ways. Now will your council agree to this or what.” says King Nomes, clearly get impatient.

“Yes Yes, I will get a message to them right away.” says Lord Spero as he quickly scribbles on a scroll before rolling it up and giving it to another messenger.

“We have also decide to allow your ships to travel through our seas as long as you allow us to create a embassy right here in this city.” says King Nomes.

“The council policy is-” starts Lord Spero.

“That in exchange, your nation must also have an embassy in our capital.” finishes Prince Hobart.

“We know my kind sir, we are happy to allow an embassy in our capital.” says the prince.

“Does that settle every thing my Lord?” says the king.

“Yes, but-” says Lord Spero.

“Then me and my son will be awaiting the council’s responses in our inn for the time being.” says King Nomes as he and his son get up and exit the hall.
Lord Spero quickly finishes up another scroll and hands it to a messenger. Those gnomes are smarter than I give them credit for.

The last of the four messengers comes up and says, “My Lord, should I go dispatch the Uaruneria diplomat?”

“What? Oh, yes go right away.” says Lord Spero. As the last messenger arrives two more arrive.

The first one says “My lord, the messenger sent to Helor has been denied access to the nation and is being sent back.”

The Council is not going to be happy to hear that. Thinks Lord Spero, “Ok, go right away to the council and report this.

The second messenger goes “My Lord, The new king of Obana is ready has received the messenger and is ready to discuss the matters.”

“What do you mean new king?” asks Lord Spero.

“Haven’t you heard my lord? The council recently announced that the Kingdom of Obana had been overthrown years ago.”

“It has?! Well doesn’t matter right now, report this to the council.”

Military

There have been reports of clashes in the southern border and central lake region.

Fires to the South

Rumours run amok throughout Orysson. They speak of the Imperial Banner, standing tall and proud in the deep south of the continent. They speak of great lawlessness and depravity of the borderlands. They tell of Goblins, and of Centaurs, forming warbands and pilaging the locales. The gateway to the Empire's southern bounds are open, but this is not a one-way route, and there are fears that the newly discovered dangers may surge northwards.

Kingdom of Torfas


The Story Behind

Maybe you will be surprised and confused at the same time, but here are the story of a kingdom that never exposed for almost 200 years
and ready to face the outer world.

When all of the wealthy nobles, influential statesmen, great warlords and religious patriarchs vied for the Imperial throne, only the northeastern province did not send a man to claim the imperial throne, no one knows why but, for the last two hundred years, only the northeastern province did not participate fully in the kingdom wars.

The northeastern province known as a mighty human empire before the bohaddon campaign, their massive infantry fall to the bohaddon, and stay with the new ruling empire. Two hundred years passed and the support from the province stopped, with a single announcement that the province is in a grieve loss due to empire campaign, the king understand and give the northeastern a privilege, that "they can help the empire if they feel can".

The northeastern governor glad to hear the king decree, and start to improve the state of the region, the governor start constructing mines in the mountains, importing orcs slaves to mine the iron and bronze from the mine. They are doing so well, the economy grow fast, the province starting to regenerate their old glory, but as the glory near, unsuspected event is nearer.

The human started to be arrogant, they slay and torture orc for unimaginable reasons, such as being too lazy, for being so clumsy, etc. This make the orcs flee from the main city and establish their own city, they call it Maradur, the city of free orcs. it is not that long until the governor make a move, they sent a small force at first, but none come back. Angry, the governor send a massive army at once, the army of the famous northeastern axeman is sent, but the fate is different, the army is back, but with scars and heavily injured. Only horror can be look in the soldier eye.

The night after the returning, captain of the axeman army is called by the governor, and asked " What is happening there?, why you, the captain of the most elite axeman, can be crushed by a fleeing worthless orc?" the captain, who is still remembered all the detail of the fight answered in a trembling voice "they are smart sir, not like the usual orc we found in the other province, they are well organized, well armored, well armed, and well trained, no, they are better than us" "how in the world it could be happen? THEY ARE JUST ORC!, they can't be that smart, you have failed me captain." "but, sir.." "GUARDS! take this worthless piece of meat to the guillotine" "sir, please don't do this, i have a son and a daughter, please sir don't do this, sir please, sir pleas..." SLASH! before he could finish his sentence, his head fell to the ground, rolling and keep rolling until it touch the governor feet, "The orc must pay the price"

So be it, another campaign started, a 5.000 army consist of 3.000 Axeman, 1.000 Archer, 900 Cavalry, and 100 Catapult is marched to besiege maradur, to end the rebellion of the orcs.

Meanwhile in Maradur, the city of free orc, one orc who is recognized as the leader of the city, shouting with a high commanding sound, he said " My People the time has come, those foolish human started to claim our freedom again, after we crushed them fifty years ago, they will come and try to claim our soul again, to make us their slaves again, but fear nothing my people, I, the third son of the first Cryoss Soulfell, will lead us to our long desired freedom once again, grab your sword, wear your armor, ride your horse, hug your son and daugters, and pray that you will see them once again, because nor I or God will ensure you to come alive after this war."

And the war started, the human army is stationed in four places, the first is in the valley near Maradur where 1.000 archer planned to shot at the orc when they successfully baited to the valley, the second is 2.500 axeman who stationed in the forest near the valley to make sure there is none left after the ambush, 500 cavalry ready to ride, near Maradur act as bait to lure the force out. and the last army stay behind the mountain to siege the city when the army is out. The human think they will make it this time, they never been so wrong.

Well, the orc is more prepared than them, even the army of orc is not even half of the human army, they make the human surprised and meet their maker, the 500 cavalry ride toward Maradur, Cryoss, who lead the orc have read the movement, so he send 300 of orc soldier to stand ground near the city as 200 archer ready to fire at the cavalry. the plan goes well, the cavalry surprised and fall to 100 in a moment, they fall back to the valley and prepare for the ambush. As 200 orc cavalry try to catch them to the valley, the human ready to siege the city while thinking the army is weakened, but they are ambushed by the orc at the mountain path, large rock slide down and crush more than 80 catapults and left the other 20 literary broken,while the survived human army is ambushed by 1000 orc swordsman, and wiped in an instant, after they wipe the army, they go back to Maradur and prepare to rejoin the cavalry, while at the valley, the human make a big mistakes, the returning cavalry give the alarm too fast and making the arrow rain fall quicker and the ambush start earlier, the regrouped orc army consisting of 1000 orc swordsman, 500 orc cavalry, and 500 archer, realised the ambush and remake their plan who help them achieve their biggest dream, freedom.

After the failed human campaign, the orc start to march and ride to the human city after they slaughter all of the rest human guard and all resident, no one live is spared, even child and woman. After the siege, they claimed the city for themself, and named the city Kalaros, the city of conquered agony. And this is the reason why the northeastern province did not support the rest of the glorious day of Bohaddon Empire.

The First Contact

When the sun is barely shining, an orc in a sturdy looking black armor, approaching the throne room with a little human, compared to big, muscular orc knight, "My king, a messenger from the outer world wish to speak with you" he said with a low voice, "Let him in" the king said.

As the human entering the throne room, the human said, "Greetings the king of Obana kingdom, I am from the Bahapore, a land far west from here, my lord send me to you to inform you that our nation want to make a trade agreement with your nation."

"young human, i will spare your life because i know that you don't know that Kingdom of Obana is destroyed long time ago, tell your lord that the nation you was sent is Torfas, A kingdom of high orc." the king said in high voice, "now tell your lord if he want to make an agreement, he must give me the following goods: Ships, Lumber, and Gold, I didn't expect him to give me all of that, but my priority is that three for now, if he find that interesting, let him send you back to me again," the king continues.

"As you wish, king of Torfas, Kingdom of High Orc. i shall inform this to my lord." said the messenger as he walk out the throne room and head back to Bahapore.

Today Orc Is Tomorrow Greatest Weapon Smith

As an ordinary High orc, Pyros is adept at sword fighting and dual-wielding, but in Torfas a great weapon smith is in the same level as highest orc knight order, The White Fire, because they are the reason why the high orc can win the greatest war of their history.

So he made up his mind, he will go to the Holy Anvil, a place where the first smith of High Orc history forge the weapon of the first High King, Cryoss Soulfell I Black Axe, that still be the only weapon of the High Kings.

As he approach the Holy Anvil entrance gate, he is stopped by the guards, "hold on Warrior, what is your business here?" the guard said.
"I'm here to learn how to become an axesmith, would you mind if i go in?" Pyros response.
"You can go in but in one condition, you must take an oath."
"Say it."
"Follow my words, I'm high orc who wished to learn how to shape an iron into fate"
"I'm high orc who wished to learn how to shape an iron into a fate,"
"Wished to learn how to forge bronze into destiny"
"Wished to learn how to forge bronze into destiny"
"Wished to learn how to hammer steel into faith"
"Wished to learn how to hammer steel into faith"
"And i'm accepted the faith, the fate, and the destiny that the anvil will give me"
"And i'm accepted the faith, the fate, and the destiny that the anvil will give me"
"you have taken the oath, remember one thing: if you want to fight, you must use your own forged weapon. that is the first rule in this holy place, understand?"
"Yes, i do"
"Now you may go in, if you go left, you will find the inn, you can stay there."
"Thank you sir"

As he walk in the city of Holy Anvil, the journey to become the greatest axesmith lies ahead.

Vanguar




The High Seat of Grimmhold

The large double doors to the throne room within the spire of Grimmhold stood ominous before Stryke. The doors were wrought with wood from some far away place, inlaid with beams of black iron. The runes of the old empire were scorched out of the wood, giving the appearance of scars that ran along the surface of the door. With a mighty groan from some unknown mechanism, they creaked open as he approached, Haskeer at his side.

The throne room was a magnificent sight, one that still held the awe from what he remembered when he was last here, years ago. Smooth black stone floored the great wide chamber. Pillars of ivory towered overhead to lift the arching ceiling, drawing the eye down to the far side of the room, to a high chair of wood and great ivory tusks jutting out of the chair back overhead. Nailed into the wall, overlooking the chair, was a row of human skulls, the ones that once thought themselves lords of the Orcs.

Stryke slowly walked into the chamber. Haskeer lingered by the door, struck dumb by the awesomeness of the room. Tattered blood dyed banners hung motionless in the still chamber, stitched leather maps of the world hung also, and human arms and armour, small and flimsy, a reminder of their ruined enemy. Stryke stopped just in front of the chair, placing a firm hand on the smooth wooden armrest.

The humans decreed that he who sits the Grimmhold chair, rules the land of Vanguar. A foolish notion, for it was a mere chair. It should be hacked to bits, thrown into fire and turned to ash. Stryke told his father as much. Though Skar would never admit it, he had a certain admiration for the humans, the way they fought, built and ruled. He actually believed the words they spoke, that if Skar could just maintain this seat, Vanguar would indeed remain his. Perhaps there was some truth to it, after all, he has managed to force the Clans into submission since taking the chair. One glaring truth however casts doubt on such prophetic words. A human sat here to the very end, when his father drove a cleaver through his body, splitting him in half, and the seat did nothing.

“Welcome back to Grimmhold, Bloodwroth,” said a spidery voice, tinged with malice.

Recognition came swiftly to Stryke’s ears, he growled toward the source. From a hidden alcove behind the throne came an old Orc of pale green skin, his lower tusks chipped and broken, a roughspun cloak of wool draped over his frail frame. Stryke seized the Orc rougly, pulling him mere inches from his face. “You have quite the stones to remain here, old one, knowing I was coming!”

The old Orc laughed, unfazed by the grip of Stryke. “And where would you have me go, Stryke? Follow your father to war? Bah! These old bones will not bear another war. Back to Wycke where they would have me quartered for treason? Hardly a welcome I would pursue!”

Stryke snarled. “And what do you think I will do to you, hmm? What say the whispers in your skull to that, old one?”

“Typical of you, Stryke, thinking with your fists, rather than your dim wits. How would it look to your father, should you murder the High Mouth?”

“Murder?!” Stryke scoffed, his hold on the Orc persisting. “Who said anything about murder? Perhaps I wish to cast you beneath the spire, to live out your short days in a cell.”

“I wonder how your father would take that news?”

“Father goes to war in Amplesh, too far away to help you, old one.”

“You think me fearful? You failed to carry out your threats before, Stryke. So do it, or leave me be!”

With a growl, Stryke released the Orc. “Know that you are bound to my father, should he die in the north, you will share his fate, Calypso.”

Calypso grunted. “I am not long for this world. Death does not scare me.”

Stryke snarled. Calypso was a Mouth, an order of Orcs that cozied up to the humans, learning their fallen tongues, how to read and write, and for hundreds of years they aided in the oppression of their brethren. It is true that some defected, promised sanctuary by Skar and given a place as advisors in Grimmhold, but that didn’t mean that Stryke had to like it, nor hesitate to imprison or kill should they look at him funny.

Calypso straightened his cloak, motion toward the throne. “Before your father left, he decreed you to be named General of Vanguar, to rule the realm in his stead, while he brings death to our enemies. That seat is yours, Stryke, until the return of your father, Gods willing.”

Stryke slumped his shoulders, looking harshly at the throne as if it wounded him. “General of Vanguar… my brother’s title.”

“Your brother is dead.”

“I know!” Stryke snapped. “Have you word from my father?”

“Last we heard, High Chief Skar was camped at Veneholm, assembling his army.”

“Veneholm? I take it the Mordun whelps bitch at his presence.”

Calypso nodded. “Indeed. They have little choice to play host, after all, should Skar fail in Amplesh, the coastal Orcs will fall on Mordun next.”

“Unless they side with Amplesh before such would befall them, and I would not put it past the Mordun swine!”

“That is a possibility,” agreed the Mouth. “In which case it will fall on us to act. Our charge is keeping the Clans united, revolt here will only weaken your father’s campaign.”

“I need to assemble a band.”

“I agree. Any thoughts on who shall sit among them?”

“Haskeer, my second, and one I trust. I will have need of his voice.”

Calypso looked doubtfully at Haskeer, who still lingered by the door. “You will need more than a mere slave-driver to advise you on matters of the clans, General.”

Stryke snarled. “Aye. I will suffer you among the band, old one, but do not dare cross me!”

“I wouldn’t dare. Who else?”

“Send word to Chief Harrow of Mordun, praise his strength and leadership, and inform him that we shall give him a seat among the band.”

Calypso eyed Stryke with keen eyes. “He will never leave Mordun to come here.”

“No he won’t, but nor will he pass up a chance to have eyes and ears in Grimmhold. He will send a son.”

“You invite a spy to this chamber?”

“I will have Mordun’s allegiance, taking no chance to have discontent at my father’s rear flank!”

Calypso nodded slowly in understanding. “You are seeking a hostage.”

“Aye! Now go, carry out my will!”

Calypso bowed and turned to leave. Stryke called out after him. “Tell me, old one, they call you Mouths because you spoke the fallen commands of the humans, speaking their words to keep us bound. Why then do you remain as Mouths, whose words do you speak now?”

The old Orc turned, smacking his lips before he spoke. “I speak the will of my High Chief, and his general, of course.” Stryke nodded, seemingly satisfied. Calypso bowed once again and left.

Kingdom of Torfas


Military

---

Somewhere near the Elthana border,
"Admiral!, report come from the outer patrolling ship, our ship is being fired with canon from the Elthanian ship, they are now sailing back to Gromodor for repair."

"Send a messenger to King Cryoss, Inform the situation here, and also tell the king that there are black ships with no banner in the north sea."

"Already sir, the messenger is already sailing with the returning ship"

"Great, now we have to wait the King decision" "this kind of action from the Elthanian may result in war."

---

Diplomacy

---

"Gruul!, come here," The King Shouted
The Knight in a sturdy black armor walk in to throne room

"Yes, my King?" he said.

"Summon the Kingdom finest messenger, i need them to go to outer world now."

With the king ordered, the knight walked out and come back with three messenger.
"Here they are, my King."

"I order you to go to Uaruneria, The kingdom of Avians, to Achnon, The republic of Gnomes and to Helor, The Ratman Empire, I have your ship ready tomorrow morning, The Voyage to the Avian kingdom is estimated a full week, you and the messenger to the gnomes is in the same route, and for the Ratman messenger should take 3 or 4 days, depart when the sun is almost set, you three will be accompanied with a light ship as a vanguard."

"Yes my King, we will carry our nation name and bring glory to our kingdom" the three answer together and so they leave the throne room.

After he give order to the messenger, Cryoss stand and walk to the throne room window,
"is that the ships from the border partol?, hmm, this is looking strange, i should go to the fort."
---

Scharweilt

---

Island Search Report

---

King Laurence was sitting on his throne when one of his knights reported to him.

"Your Majesty" the knight greeted the King and vowed

"What is it?" The King asked

"It's about searching the whole island for food sir and we found some fruits and some chicken but we didn't killed the chickens because we thought that we maybe take care of this chicken so we can have more food" The Knight reported

"That's a good idea if you really want to take care of the chickens then do as you wish" The King replied

"Thank you your majesty" the knight thanked him then left

---

50 Year Old Wine

---

King Laurence was taking a stroll around his castle when he noticed a door.It was strange because he doesn't know there was a door there.So he opened the door to discover that there is a stair leading down.He took a step in the stair and it goes until he reached the bottom.He discovered a very old basement and it is not just an ordinary basement.The basement was full of Scharweilten Wine that might have been stored here 50 years when his grandpa was still ruling the kingdom.Now, he got something to trade with the kingdoms that will give them food because of the Famine.

---

Famine Gone?

---

It seems that some people in Scharweilt is not hungry and the king's temporary solution worked.The fruits and vegetable they planted in the orchards sprouted.many fishes are swimming again in the coasts of Scharweilt but the Famine is not gone yet because some families are still getting food from the castle and due to the new law some people cannot fish until the next 2 months.The people of Scharweilt are all hoping that the Famine is gone.

The Republic of Erimir




The Delegate Returns

It was a rainy day, though a pleasant sort of rain, precisely the sort of weather Beryl enjoyed. The caress of raindrops on her tired feet went well with the scent of the lilacs. She was sitting outside on porch before her home, a humble burrow with an expansive flower garden, reading to her daughter about the legendary halfling minstrel-hero Tapper Underfoot.

"Now, Tapper was very frightened," continued Beryl, tugging her daughter a little closer, "but he wasn't about to give up hope. He stopped to think about what difficulties he was facing. He was alone in the dark, and his sling was missing. Water dripped from the ceiling of the cave. Bats shrieked. There were gnolls somewhere, and they were very hungry gnolls at that."

"I hate gnolls," muttered Beowyn. She had a lisp which she didn't seem to be growing out of, making the 's' sound more like a 'th.'

"Oh, they're not ALL bad," said Beryl, looking upward. "But when they're angry or hungry, they're just mean, and that's if they're nice."

"Were these gnolls mean?"

"Very," agreed Beryl. "But my mood would be a touch fearsome, too, if I missed dinner, breakfast and brunch. But let's go back to the story, shall we?" Beryl reached over and turned the page. "After having counted his troubles, Tapper then counted his blessings: his sword, his health, and his good ears. Bravely, he delved back into the dark--"

"How could he be brave if he was so scared?" asked Beowyn curiously.

"That's simple. You can't be brave without being afraid, first. Being brave is feeling fear and fighting on despite it."

Miss Moss was about to continue when she noticed a figure running through the rain toward her house. Instinct commanded her, and she snatched for the sword she had laying against the bench. Her hand quickly relaxed when she saw it was simply one of the provincial messengers.

"Word from Belmorn, High Sheriff!" panted the man breathlessly. "The delegate returns! He's struck up a trade agreement and - the rest is for your ears only."

"Very well. Who sent you, and where is the delegate now?"

"In Fort Andal, on the other side of town."

"I know where the fort is," Beryl said with amusement. She stood up, resting a hand on Beowyn's shoulder. "Little lamb, I need you to go on in now. Let old Miss Fenfoot know where I'm off to, alright?"

"Yes, momma," answered her daughter quietly, looking up at Beryl with regret. "Do you HAVE to go right now?"

"It's my job," answered Beryl. "And remember to practice your letters before you go to bed. I'll see you tonight, dearest."

* * * * *

"...and that's when he smiled and said we had an agreement," finished the ambassador, folding his arms over his chest with a triumphant look on his face. The warm, crackling fire seemed to cast that expression in bronze.

"Splendid news all around, then!" proclaimed Jan cheerfully, dabbing his handkerchief against his puffy face to remove the wet bits of citrus on his chin. He has a very healthy hunger, Beryl thought. "Successful negotiations with such a capable bunch of warriors is an excellent development."

"That is excellent news," mused Sheriff Moss "That was quick thinking on your part, Ambassador Tallfellow. So, we have an accord of sorts with Belmorn, though their Queen may yet have a differing opinion on us, and trade has been established... And we have a festival to prepare."

"Yes, High Sheriff; for the human queen's coronation."

I wonder what sort of ruler this new queen will be, Beryl wondered at her mention. So little has been said about her, and she could turn out to be a wonderful, amiable neighbor... I hope...

"We should be able to prepare a festival with no difficulty," declared Jan with a flourish of his hands. "Ale! Beef! Imported foodstuffs, if we're lucky! We can host a circus, perform daring feats with bulls in the a ring, and perhaps allow the children to pet such animals for the first time."

"And the dance," said Beryl with a grin, standing from her seat by the fireplace. "And the contests of poetry and limericks and stone-throwing and fireworks... It might even be a good time to remind the world the world that halflings can use swords, too. The competitors from Sweetwater's last Contest of Duelists would love a chance to meet some non-halfling opponents again, I think."

"And you as well, I'm sure." Jan wiped his sweaty cheeks before dropping a grape into his mouth.

"Without a doubt!" My friends know me too well. "It's a rare opportunity to excuse myself from paperwork under the guise of 'State Affairs,' and to do so by practicing my swordsmanship no less!" The both of them laughed, and after a moment the ambassador joined in.

"You know, Mister Tallfellow, you're allowed to speak as well," noted Jan casually. "It's rather strange to have you standing there without a word to be said. Besides, you're an educated and apparently very talented man; your opinion could be useful."

"Oh. Thank you," the ambassador said, reaching for the grapes. "May I?"

"You need to ask?" said Jan with a cheerful squint. He and the ambassador both took a handful of the violet fruit.

"Festivals aren't free," noted the ambassador, seating himself in one of the chairs. "And this is one meant to be worthy of a Queen's coronation. How will we handle the costs?"

"Well, the festival will earn SOME money," began Jan. "Most of the events will be paid for by whoever wishes to own a booth, and they'll be there to make a profit. Of course, we'll pay for some events, and we'll need to have some free food at this fair. Nothing puts a smile on a child's face like a warm belly, hm?"

"Of course," Beryl agreed with a nod. "Some will come to sell their own meals, but we can offer warm loaves of buttered bread and some tall kegs of harvest ale for free. And I'll be sure someone comes and sells some of our famous jerky."

"So, this all will cost the state some of its wealth," noted Jan, "but that will just keep us from expanding the economy for a while. It won't hurt us, my boy, don't you worry."

"And the only news from the north has been good news," added the High Sheriff, toying with her sword's scabbard. "Hopefully it continues to go well." She paused, frowning. "But I believe there's something you both should see." She stepped over to the round table in the center of the stone room and set her hand on the map. The others stood up from their seats to approach.

"Southern Orysson is consumed by civil war, as you both must have heard. Matters have not smoothed over so quickly there as they have here; many nations are still in a state of strife. We're likely to see a few orcish raids from Dara at this time. Hopefully, the state of Dara will stabilize soon, but..."

"You want orcs to form a nation?" asked Tallfellow, puzzled. Jan seemed surprised as well.

"I would rather be able to negotiate with them than not," she explained plainly. "Besides, not all the orcs of Dara are slavers, unlike those of Elslen and distant Vanguar. It is entirely possible we may be able to find a friend among one of the clans... or an ally. With word of centaurs, pirates, raiders, and a new Empire rising in the south, we may need such a friend."

"Will they take kindly to our plans for Elslen? They are kin, you know." Jan furrowed his brow.

"I doubt they'll take it kindly or unkindly," chimed Tallfellow. "Humans, orcs, elves... They have never needed to depend so much on each other as we halflings have. They fight each other as often as they fight people of other races. We may have to carefully watch who rises to power in the Dara region, however."

"Should we intervene?" wonders Jan. "I mean, not now; we're not ready to fight two battles yet; one is quite enough for me. But perhaps we should be ready to help someone out there if we have such vested interest, hm?"

"We can't know that without knowing what powers are fighting there," Beryl mused, tucking her scabbard back into place on her belt. "We'll need to send some of our best scouts to give the region a look-see, scouts who won't be captured by bandits or slavers. It's still a dangerous mission, so we'll have to make certain we only send volunteers..."

"I'll go," Tallfellow said. "And though he may be a bit on the shaky side, I'd like to see if my bodyguard to Belmorn, Kipp, is willing to go. He has good instincts, and he noticed the elves before they came for us."

"That is a very surprising suggestion, sir," Beryl said, raising her eyebrows at Tallfellow. "You've only just gotten home from your mission to Belmorn and you're already ready for another? Don't you have a family to go home to?"

"I never married, Sheriff," he answered, glancing away momentarily. "And I enjoy the open road anyway."

"You must have faerie blood in you," chuckled Jan, "or maybe elf blood. Well, if your guardsman agrees, that makes two of you. You'll want a company of six or so for the environment you'll be heading into..."

"I know a few stalwart souls that would be willing, I think," Beryl said. "One of them is a close friend of mine, actually; one of the duelists I mentioned. She's quite the daredevil, and I think she'd enjoy the possibility of outsmarting orcish bandits. Besides, she's just as likely to run off and do that by herself already."

"I'll be ready to leave as soon as tomorrow morning," Tallfellow said.

"Give it a week. Rest up first. It'll give us time to find the best halflings for the job."

"As you wish," he murmured in answer.

The Orc War


The Armies of High Chief Skar Bloodwroth invade Amplesh

Word has spread from eastern Orysson of war in the Orc lands. In an attempt to thwart Skar Bloodwroth's ambitions of conquering all of Orc-kind, the Chiefs of Amplesh have killed the eldest son of the Vanguar High Chief. Seeking vengeance for his son and pursuing his of goal uniting all of Orcdom under a single banner, Skar marched a force of 4000 Orcs into Amplesh in order to crush the coastal clans, and force their submission.

Meanwhile, south in Grimmhold, the capital of Vanguar, General Stryke has assembled a band to assist him in administration of the realm. Jup, son of Chief Harrow of Mordun, arrived at the ancient man-made fortress and took up his seat among the band. The move has fostered ill content among the clans of Wyke and Dunland, who feel slighted at not having part in affairs of the realm. Rumours abound of the more radical elements within these clans calling for rebellion. High Chief Skar, having taken nearly all able bodied warriors to fight in the north, has left it a challenge to defend the fortress should rebellion break out.

As the season wanes, it becomes known of a great battle across the border in Amplesh, where the coastal clans have used Skar's anger against him, luring the High Chief into a trap. Blinded by rage, Skar sprung the trap and suffered a defeat at the hands of the Amplesh Orcs, decimating the Grimmhold levy. Though most of the Vanguard, the standing army of Vanguar and personal guard of the High Chief, survived, Skar's condition is unclear.

Vanguar