The Republic of Erimir




Armand Sails to Scharweilt

The cool ocean breeze graced the old halfling's face. He'd unbuttoned his vest, the better to feel the wind and the spray of the sea. The waves arched and ebbed. If the sea was a woman, then the waves rose when she took a breath and fell when she exhaled. She was a very, very wonderful woman, Armand decided.

"It's good to on a ship again, isn't it?" came a voice from behind him. He turned and saw a familiar face: a human sailor easily his equal in age. A smile crept up the halfling's face.

"Peryn, you old rascal!" he exclaimed, walking on forward and grabbing the taller man by the arm, slapping his side warmly. "Gods, has it been this long? We only had a little silver on our heads last we sailed together; and now, you're all greys and I'm half bald."

Peryn laughed, shifting his leg. For the first time, Armand heard a distinctive, sharp 'thud', and was surprised to look down and see a peg where there had been a leg. "Well, you just lost hair on your head," bellowed the taller fellow. "I lost a leg. And haven't you lost some weight? You were round as a robin's egg last; and now you're skinny as a stick!"

"I have trouble eating these days," said the old halfling sadly. "I'm not fasting by choice, I'll have you know."

"I didn't even know halflings knew the word 'fast' existed in that sense," retorted the mustached man with a grin. "Well, it's good to see you again, Armand. I didn't realize it was you we were taking to Scharweilt."

"I didn't realize they still hired old windbags to do a sailor's work."

"Oh, shove a sock in it." The human followed his friend back to the prow of the ship, and they stared out at the island.

"Won't be long until we make port," Armand noted. "I hope they're accepting merchant vessels."

"Last I recall, Scharweilt hasn't lost its aggressive reputation. I remember at the start of the Bohaddon Empire's collapse how they would sink vessels they felt were coming too close to their territory. That's the reason for the pitch and oil, actually: if they attack us, we need to be able to fight back."

"I hope it doesn't come to that." Armand reached into his vest, making sure his trusty pistol was still there. It was. "I'd hate to die without being able to slap old Janson at least once."

"He's still alive?"

"He is."

"Well, next time you see that tubby fellow, give him a good kick for me." Peryn lifted his fake leg up. "I'm 'fraid I'll have some difficulty delivering him one myself."

* * * * *

It is nightfall as the merchant vessel approaches Scharweilt's shores. The ship flies the white flag of peace with Erimir's banner underneath. The crew is made up of mostly humans, but a single halfling, a dignitary of some sort, can be seen standing on deck. The crew is clearly anxious, though the halfling seems calm and confident.

Kingdom of Belmorn


Regent Guardian Constance IV Quells the Riots

After the Fengarde’s Elven quarter suffered severe damage from looters and rioters, the Regent Guardian has finally decided to respond. His apparent hesitation to react to the situation has been blamed for the loss of several livelihoods, sparking a mass exodus of Fengarde’s Elven population. The Fengarde militia has deployed on the streets in force to keep order, and hundreds of humans have been arrested for various crimes ranging from destruction of property to racial assault. However, there is the feeling that relations within the Human-Elven alliance have been dramatically worsened as a result of this incident. Luckily, no lives have been lost.

King Dryadson has announced his displeasure of events, and though he has avoided holding Constance IV directly responsible, he has said ‘these happenings should have been managed better’.

Hadelmere Hold is preparing a temporary refugee camp to accommodate the influx of Elves fleeing Fengarde.

The Glade Watchers are to remain in place at several key points around the city, to monitor the situation.

Queen’s Coronation Announced

King Dryadson, and Regent Guardian Constance IV, in what many see as an effort to quell the country’s internal issues, have agreed to move Alistine’s coronation to early next week. Little is known of what form the ceremony will take, but there are rumours amongst the population that the Halflingfolk to the west are bringing some of life’s finer entertainment for the occasion.

This will surely be a joyful occasion, and the joint rulers are hoping that the festive period that follows will heal some of the wounds that have been opened over the past few weeks.

The voices of the critics, however, are growing bolder. Many want answers as to why the succession process has been handled with such a delay, given that tensions in Fengarde, and Constance IV’s apparent hostility, have been allowed to blossom.

King Dryadson Sends Envoys to Elslen Over Slaving

King Dryadson has dispatched envoys to the Orcish realm of Elslen, with the intent on parlaying with the chieftains there over their slaving ways. It is known that several of Belmorn’s citizens, both Elves and Humans, have been kidnapped from the border regions over the years and forced into lives of hard labour.

Though Belmorn is a monarchy without parliament, the idea of enslavement is held in low regard within both House Ferren and House Talian (Elven royal house). This has been an issue that has been burning at the heart of Belmorn-Elslen relations for over a decade, but has seldom been pressed.

In a highly unconventional move by the Elven King, Dryadson has assembled 3,000 of his peoples into a militia. These soldiers, though lightly armoured, carry bows and spears and are well versed in the use of both. They have marched upon the borderlands in what many see as a show of strength, to put stone behind the words of his envoys.

King Dryadson himself has taken personal control of this new force, but has left his much more battle-ready and elite Glade Watchers to oversee things in Fengarde.

The Republic of Erimir Embassy Established in Hadelmere Hold

Before his departure to the border regions, King Dryadson announced with great delight the establishment of Belmorn’s first foreign embassy in over twenty years. The former Scarlet Palace, an elaborate work of reddened clay and slate, has been donated to the Republic of Erimir to be used as their embassy. The structure is to be treated as Erimir’s sovereign territory, and has been assigned an honour guard of King Dryadson’s personal soldiery for security purposes.

The Halflings of Erimir have long been considered a neutral but friendly peoples during the darker years following Bohaddon’s fall. However, such was Belmorn’s dire state in terms of border security for much of those years, relations were limited and have only now been reopened in full.

The two peoples have agreed upon the trade of lumber for cattle. It is hoped that the injection of much needed livestock will boost the population's happiness long term, as meat sales become cheaper and more varied.

Freywyn


Machinations

Toryllis stood at the top of Admeryn's fort with the whole city under his gaze. It's been almost a week since the Queen embarked on her journey to faraway lands, carrying gifts and promises of great prosperity to the unknown rulers of mysterious nations. Frankly, Toryllis wasn't even sure that their 25-year-old maps were still useful yet that didn't stop her.

«I got 'em, the warmaidens you asked for. Without a family or a House, dead or alive they matter to noone.» Viranna whispered behind him, her steps as silent as they could be as she approached him.

«Get them equipped and ready to leave by afternoon. Am certain the Vigil knows how to treat this kind of mission.»
«That we do, pup, that we do. Is that all?»
«Yes.»
«Almost forgot, consider my debt payed in full, King of Freywyn. You are the only one aware of our cell here therefore if word gets out, it's your head on the line.»

The woman left as soon as she was done speaking with little regard for an answer, leaving Toryllis stranded in his thoughts as she had much to do and an extremely tight schedule.

Ambassador Roran Hakwin

He was nervous. He didn't show it but Gods knew how difficult it was for him to accept the mission and venture into these mysterious lands of an even more mysterious race.

«Lord Oblivion and esteemed Whispers.»

The candle was burning brightly in his hands, the only thing keeping the maddening darkness of the who-knew-how-big chamber at bay. Beyond him, everything had been swallowed by the dark yet he knew that the eyes of 100 men were fixed on him.

«I am Ambassador Roran Hakwin, representative of the proud Republic of Requa. For too long have we been strangers in the same neighborhood, ignorant of each other and what good relations could offer us. And for that reason, we honored your invitation and chose to appear here today and inform you of the first deal of hopefully many to come between our nations.»

Roran was certain that he would be the man of the hour back home, surrounded by everyone of importance in order to hear his story of how he met their infamous neighbours and struck a deal which got them far more than it got Freywyn. Or at least that was what Lord Toryllis had led him to believe.

«The Republic has agreed to provide Freywyn with horses and cattle as well as advanced techniques on breeding and sustaining a viable population in exchange for gold.»

«Freywyn in turn formally agrees to these terms and also accepts the request of Requa for embassies in each nation's capital city.» a voice replied from the shadows, sealing the deal and turning a new page in their history.

Near Uaruneria

«We can't simply stay here, Milady. Who knows what kind of threats lurk in these foreign waters or what the weather will be like in a day or two!»
«We can take the risk and stay here but we cannot risk trespassing into the lands of the very rulers whose house will shelter us!» she replied angrily as they had been fighting regarding their next course of action for at least half an hour now.

Only time could tell what would happen next although she had a very bad feeling about those ships with the black sails they spotted in the horizon.

The Messages

Nation Status Card

Bahapore



Once again, the Hapore council is having an emergency meeting, with time with a number of Krakon leaders and even two human and elven representatives from the central lake region.

“As you all know, King Lorio and I have decide to hold this meeting.” Says council representative Geward as everyone in the room, numbering eighteen, turn their attention towards him.

“What’s so important that you must gather the leaders of this entire god forsaken nation?” says a young looking Horean wearing fancy clothing and what seems like ten pounds of gems on his fingers.

“As you know, the nations on the mainland are growing in power which is a threat to us and the appearances of the black ships in our northern waters is also troubling.” says Lord Geward. “Me and King Lorio have devised a plan that will solve this problem and help this nation rise above the mainland. Now will you please explain to our brothers in power King Lorio?”

King Lorio who had been remaining silent the whole duration of the meeting, so quiet that a few faces had a surprise look when they saw him rise out of the grand chair at the other end of the table, “Of course my kind lord,” he says in a raspy voice as he slithers his forked tongue “Our nation has been plagued by rebellions in the central lake regions and many of my men have been killed in petty battles near our southern border. We aren’t the only the only nation affected by problems. Our neighbors to the east and west have also been plagued by their own problems. Therefore I have talked already with the gnome leaders of Achnon and have created an alliance. We shall be uniting the islands of the north and their governments.” Once he was done, the room erupted into shouting and noise.

Somewhere in the room someone shouted “They can’t be trusted! They are the reason why the empire broke up!”

Lord Geward silently waited until the noise rose to a nearly unbearable level and that is when he shouted “SILENCE!!!!” This caused everyone to quiet down. Speaking in a more calm voice “We have already decided that the new government of Torfas is more trustable than the former government of Obana. The nation of Achnon and Uaruneria have also proven themselves to be trustworthy.”

“What about our dirty elves that are always raiding our ships?” yells someone from the end of the table.

“We have decided that we will contact the High Orcs of Torfas and together we will attack and make them submit.” answers Lord Geward. “Now are there any questions?” The room was silent. “Ok then, meeting dismissed.” A few minutes later, only King Lorio and Lord Geward remained in the room.

“King Lorio, I need you to organize 6,000 of your finest soldiers and ready them for battle. We will need them on our eastern border. I shall organize the ships.” King Lorio quietly and quickly got up and left. As he left, two messengers came in. Directing the first messenger, Lord Geward says “I need you to deliver a message to Uaruneria.”



After finishing the letter, he hands it to the messenger and the messenger quickly leaves, turning his attention to the second messenger. “I need you to deliver this message to the high orcs in Torfas.

Vanguar


An Orc Named Jup



Stryke's eyes kept forward as he sat upon his Warg, the beast panting despite the shade offered under the wooded glade. On either side of the general, sitting upon wargs of their own, was Haskeer and Calypso, each keeping their eyes forward in silence. Stryke looked around as mammals rooted through the leaves around them, paying little interest to the Orcs, confident of their ability to escape to the treetops should they pose a threat. This was the outskirts of the Marigold Forest, a great wood whose fingers extended just past the Vanguar border. A curious place to meet the envoy from Mordun given the proximity to Hightower, but the humans had trouble of their own, dealing with vicious quakes that have rocked the country. It was as if the gods themselves were striking out at the soft-skins.

Calypso stirred upon his warg. "My eyes are not what they used to be. Tell me... Is someone coming?"

Haskeer squinted up the straight road, where a lone figure emerged. "There is someone coming."

"Can't be him," concluded Styke, motioning to the figure in the distance. "They ride alone. Another trader, most like." He looked over his shoulder, at the thirty Orc shale warriors he brought from Bloodwroth, standing at attention on either side of the road, the banner of Vanguar driven deep into the center of the road, a bloody claw before the desert sun. Stryke himself was dressed as if for battle, wearing black plate armour and a heavy axe slung across his back. It was important to establish his dominance over this envoy right away, and what better method then a show of intimidation. "Who does Chief Harrow send again?" Asked Stryke to Calypso.

"His second son, given the name Jup."

"What kind of name is Jup?" Cackled Haskeer.

"It is said the Orcs hatch queer in Mordun," laughed Stryke.

"No doubt the Mordun say the same of the Shale, or the Wycke, for that matter," said Calypso.

Stryke sneered at the elder Orc. "Make no mistake, this Jup is our enemy until we learn more of the thoughts of Harrow. Should the Mordun prove rebels, I will have this Jup's head without a second thought. Is that clear?"

"Clear as water."

"Any word from my father?" Stryke asked. Calypso frowned and shook his head. While the humans use birds to quickly send messages across distances, Orcs have no such command over beasts, having to rely on messengers to speed words and news. "Any news from the other clans?"

"It is as I said," began Calypso. "The Band of Goi'Orka is calling for revolt, claiming you and your father are playing favourites to the Mordun. Much the same is said in Dunland."

"I dare them to rebel!" Snapped Stryke.

"Such may just come to pass," warned Calypso, "depending on the progress of your father. I fear news of a defeat will only push the clans to rebellion."

"The High Chief will not fail," said Haskeer confidently.

"Do not be so sure," Calypso countered. "During the war against the humans and the Clans, Skar had the advantage of knowing the land, down to every last rock and root. Amplesh will be a mystery to him."

"You speak blasphemy!" Haskeer sneered.

"Silence!" Stryke snapped, his eyes keen upon the figure up the road. As the lone silhouette closed the distance between them, features had become discernible.

Haskeer's jaw dropped, he slowly went for the hilt of his blade. "Is that... a human?"

Calypso laughed. "You really ought to get out of the Shale more often, Master Haskeer." It was easy to see why Haskeer would mistake the figure for a human. The Orc was slight of frame and his skin a light brown, with long dark hair flowing down upon his shoulders. "The Orcs of Mordun are not bred for strength like us, but rather for speed."

"But he rides a horse!" Haskeer pointed out.

"Indeed," chimed Stryke. "I have heard tales that the Mordun folk prefer them over wargs."

"Aye," said Calypso. "They favour the speed of the horse, over the strength and temperament of the Warg. This must be Jup."

Stryke shook his head. "Can't be. He rides alone. The son of a chief would surely bring a posse at his heels."

"Yes, that is curious," Calypso said.

After a few moments, the Mordun Orc halted his horse before them giving a slight nod to his head. "Gods give you speed and strength, General Stryke. I am Jup of the Clan Mordun, son of Harrow." Even the Orc's thin voice sounded human. Stryke's warg grew restless and salivated at the sight of the horse, but the steed seemed unafraid, and held its head up proud. The lips of Jup curled up in a smile. "Quite the welcoming party you have arranged for me, General."

Stryke immediately felt embarrassed for the empty show of strength he presented. That he would bring so many to a simple meeting while Jup brought only himself made him feel weak. "We are at war, Master Jup. We must be ready for the unexpected," he excused.

Jup's smile persisted. "You needn't fret, General. My Mordun guards the north for you."

Stryke cast a steel gaze upon the newcomer. "I do not fret, Mordun Orc!"

"Oh no?" Jup tilted his head in either curiosity or mockery. "Perhaps you should. A little fear is no shameful thing." The Orc reached into a pouch upon his belt, pulling out a scroll and handing it to Stryke. "I fear I am the bearer of bad news. Our High Chief has suffered a defeat at the hands of the Amplesh Orcs."

Stryke growled as he snatched the parchment. He unfurled the paper and scanned the runes inked upon it.

"That is indeed Skar's seal," said Calypso, looking over Stryke's shoulder.

The general passed the paper to the elder Orc, setting dark eyes upon Jup. Skar was defeated in open battle, losing near half of his forces. He now demands reinforcements from the Clans. Strykes blood boiled. His father would get no such army, what he would get is rebellion.

Echen Burns

"Slender warriors, slightly smaller than your average man, but nimble and very quick on their feet. They attacked as the sun descended, stormed right up the beaches. The Dwarven sentries fell to black-feathered arrows without being aware of their attackers' presence, and the unsuspecting docks of the city of Echen fell victim to a brutal assault. Before the garrison could react, the enemy were in the streets, slashing at any Dwarf they could get their hands on with curved blades of blue-tinted metal. Hundreds perished in the opening minutes of this massacre, and little could be done to stop it.

Prince Ryan Stoutlance, Echen's champion and heir to the throne, confronted this mysterious adversary as his peoples succumbed to flame and blade all around him. With shot and axe, he and his Battle Brothers led the counter attack but were dismayed by what they came face to face with; darkened skin, pointed ears, teeth filed to fangs and eyes of a soulless black. After a fierce melee, Prince Ryan Stoutlance, firstborn to the King of the Echen Isles, lay with broken body. His men routed or worse, the city of Echen ablaze."

The Isles of Echen are under siege by a host of unknown warriors. Fleeing merchant galleys have reported bannerless war ships of darkened wood moored off the beaches beyond Echen City. The very few survivors that claim to have come face to face with aggressors describe them as the fabled Dark Elves, a sinister race once kept at bay by the Imperial Bohaddon legions of Arion. These accounts cannot be verified however.

The black ships that have been spotted in recent weeks sailing aimlessly off the coasts of Orysson have remained passive, ignoring merchant vessels and fleeing from local naval forces. Could this be the early stages of an invasion?

Kingdom of Torfas

---

Military

---

In the late afternoon, Cryoss and his high general Grull ride toward the Gromodor fort to see what is happening, as he approach the shipyard he found that the ships are damaged, "Who is in charge of this ship!" shout the king while pointing at the damaged medium ship, "Yes my king, i'm in charge of this ship" said an old looking orc, "tell me what caused this".

After a half hour, the captain of the ship finished telling the story to the king, the king stand up and with a calm looking said "They are getting so aggressive lately, i will show what the high orc can do"

Suddenly, two guards approach the king and bow, "my king, there is a messenger from the Bahapore waiting for you," said the older guard, "bring the messenger in" said Cryoss. After that the messenger come in with a scroll in his hand, "the message from Lord Geward" as he bow and give the scroll to King Cryoss, "let me see."



"Hmm, this is a quite coincident" the king said, "Gruul, spread the message to all your man, including who was not in duty, we need to bring our best to this, tell them to gather in Gromodor this night, and tell all member of the council to be in Gromodor this night, i need them to discuss some matter." the king said as Gruul nod his head, "and for you the messenger, tell Lord Geward, we will clean the eastern island by tomorrow night and for the trade agreement i will send a letter to approve that, follow me to meeting room."

As the king leave the shipyard with the messenger, Gruul have ride his horse and go to villages to spread the word.

In the meeting room, Cryoss sat in his chair and writing the message while the messenger waiting outside.



"Young Messenger, Come in" the king shout to the Messenger, "Give this to lord Geward" as he give the messenger a scroll.

The night come and the yard in front of the fort is full of man and lit torch, "The King gather you all here to give an urgent order" after Gruul finish his sentence, Cryoss stepping up the podium and shout, "Greetings all my people, what will i say i here is not because i want war, but because i want to make you, my people to be more prosper than before, we have encountered some problem, the Elthanian Elves is shooting at our ships in the border, i will act seriously to this, we will go to war them, but i will ask you one question: will you sacrifice your soul, your life for the glory of high orcs? for the glory of Kingdom of Torfas? if yes, then give the kingdom a glorious win tomorrow." suddenly, all of present orc, with a rough amount of 5.000 high orc, shouting the spirit for war, "it is far too long from the last time i see my people like this." said the king to the general as he descend podium.

---

Diplomacy

---

It is almost late when Cryoss enter the meeting room in Gromodor, all member is here, military council, development council, economic council, and social council

"Let me hear what happen in our Kingdom this week."

The military council member stand up, "The Elthanian make us draw half of the ships from the border, we predicted that they will make their move in the following week, and also there are black ships without banner in the north sea. Our military camp is doing well, we estimated to have 1.000 freshman next week, that is all from the military."

The development council stand, "The preparation to make a new fort is in progress, we just need stone and lumber, and after that we can make a move, and we want to make a proposal to build a library, a huge one in Maradur and asking for your permission first, my king."

The Economic council member stand next, "the kingdom economy is doing good, but the ship repair cost us a lot of our kingdom wealth."

And the last to tell his report is the member of the social council, "people start to complaining about food stock, we suggest to find more livestock from the outworld."

"hmm, i see, so for the military, i have settled the matter, for the black ships issue start operating the ships we got after it come to our kingdom to patrolling near the northern sea, also for the military camp, i need you to improve our soldier capability, for the development council, i have sent our messenger to Helor for the stone importing, and for the proposal, i agree with that plan, start making the proposal. for the economic matter, i guess we can still run our kingdom with our current wealth, and for the social council food problem, i have send the other messengers to Achnon and Uaruneria for the food." the king replied.

---

The War Plan

---

After the king leave the podium for the meeting with the council, Gruul Flameroar the leader of the highest military division, the Black Knights, and also the warlord of all Torfas soldier and divisions, gather all the leader of war division for the Elthanian campaign.

"The king has ordered me to lead this campaign, so i will explain the war plan but first, i will tell you all aspect of this campaign, we have a rough amount of 5.000 soldier 4.000 Axeman and 1.000 Gunner and i will divide you to 4 division consist of 1.000 of axeman and 250 gunner, each division will embark the galleon, the objective is to take control of the eastern island by night, i estimated that we will come near their border at dawn, is that clear?"

the leaders nod,

"good now for the plan, Small ships and Medium ships will clear the path to two cities and outposts" pointing the small dots on the island coast,

"while the big ships disembark the troops to wipe the guards and then, after clearing the path, Small and Medium ships will direct the Elthanian ships to the waters between the west and the east island" pointing the sea between the islands,

"after our army capture the outpost and cities order them to prepare, when the afternoon come siege their main city from 4 directions" pointing the large circle in the middle of island, "understand?"

Gruul ask while looking at the leaders, the leaders nod.

"After we take control of their city, prepare to march to the coast in west of the main city to be transported to the western island by our waiting ships."

"Any question?" Gruul ask the leader,

"No, Sir" one leader replied.

"Good, now prepare for the leave, meeting dismissed."
---

Obsidian Waves

The sightings of horror-filled obsidian ships began no more than a myth amongst Uarunerian fisherman. These fishing vessels sailed a ways too far from their usual netting spots, hoping to increase their yields and see instant profit. Deep sea produce has been a staple source of food for the citizens of Uaruneria, but with the recent discovery of a new undersea critter - it has recently gained an unusual demand for more. None had expected that these hard-shelled sea creatures would satisfy the picky palates of Uarunerian denizens - claimed by many to have the most delicate of tastes.

However, the prevailing reports of these banner-less black ships had began to worry the authorities. One leading to another, a scouting party had been assembled to ascertain the validity of the fishermen's claims. Reports returned swiftly with a confirmed sighting of such ominous ships - seemingly to patrol the northern waters. The Phoenix; or currently known to her people as Sarantsa Uiun Odval, Matriarch of the Phoenix, reads the report with a worried expression. She pondered a little before she summoned Sealord Chuluun; high command of the Fleet of Fog.

"What do you make of these black ships, Chuluun?" A question darted towards the unwary Sealord stopping her in her tracks, who had just arrived before she could even start with the customary greeting. The Sealord pondered a little, before she continued her approached to the Matriarch and replied with a calm demeanor.

"They have been simply patrolling the far borders, away from our claims. Reports write that they are too purposeful, never straying away to their own whims."

"This makes one think they are not rabbles to be simply discarded as pirates or slavers." The Matriarch spoke in response.

"It does not pose too much of a threat for now," the Sealord paused a while, noticing the grimace of the Matriarch's face before continuing.

"Our northern sea borders had never been threatened since the founding of our nation. Their appearance does not bode well, but they have not been hostile to our people nor our claims," urged the Sealord, hoping to leave them be.

"I understand that the southern lands has been at much unrest, but we should not forget the north. Need I remind you that Ulaangom has no protection and may be subject to hostile threats if we are not careful?" The Matriarch shot back at the Sealord, who was rendered speechless for a moment.

"...Forgive me, Matriarch. Perhaps we should send some ships and fortify the northern waters?" Chuulan began to worry, for the Matriarch has been known to be overprotective of her nation when it comes to hostile situations, regardless of how trifling it may be.

"No, send the Fleet of Fog to meet with the black ships, hold a parley to determine their goals." The look on Chuulan's face nearly fell into dismay upon hearing the commands, but she held hard enough to keep up her calm demeanor before replying; "Y-yes, Matriarch."

Hails from the South
The southern sea winds blows strongly - easing the duo with the task of border patrol. What with them being able to glide without using more energy than needed for their lengthy job. One had a pair of wings with a greenish hue glistening under the sun, which obviously pointed out her uaru descent. The other one had pale brown wings, a nekhiig.

"Did you know, there's a new catch that's the talk of the town? They look different from most of the delights from the sea, oddly different in shape and color." Narant, the uaru of the border patrol duo speaks up, hoping to ease the boredom and perhaps easily pass time.

However, it is affectionately reciprocated with a silent stare from her partner, the nekhiig Bold. Stern enough to imply that she is disinterested in either the topic, or generally conversing. Regardless, her silent efforts remain futile.

"They say the flesh has a most interesting taste; and it'll taste differently depending on how it's cooked!" The gleeful face of Narant resembles a child, with drool apparently flowing out from her lips. This annoys Bold a lot, but there's only so much to be done to avoid her partner - especially when they are gliding in midair with nary a land in sight other than their patrol ship anchored in the distant. Of course, there is one way to shut Narant up, but Bold was not keen in the idea of parting with her treasured snack; dried squid.

"Then there's talk of how - mfgmghh," right before Narant could continue her sentence, Bold stuffs her entire savings of dried squid into Narant's mouth - effectively silencing her for good. What can be heard is now the delicious chewing and lip smacking from her partner. Judging from the looks of Bold's face, she begins to regret her actions. Tempted to retrieve her beloved snack from the grasps of her partner, the sighting of a sea vessel from the south stops her from doing so.

"Narant, look..." Bold points towards a singular ship, with the flag of the southern Unitary States of Freywyn flying.

"Iffn't fffat ffeyffin?" Narant tries to speak, but her mouth is still full with delight. Bold nods briskly and motions to approach the vessel.

The duo lands onto the vessel in relative peace. The ship is manned with humans - obviously larger and taller than themselves. Coupled with tales of horror depicting the cruelty of humans as told by their ancestors, this makes Narant feel even more insecure. Her chewing rhythm quicken, as she tries to swallow the tough dried treat. She decides to hold onto her strung bow, with fingers faintly touching the feathers of her arrows; tightly packed in the quiver.

Bold however is a fearless fellow. Straightening her posture and her spear while presenting her buckler with the emblem of Uaruneria etched, she spoke eloquently in the tongue of man; "These are waters claimed by Uaruneria. What business have you here?"

Avian Cousins
With the departure of the queen to the Achnon Republic, the Matriarch will be handling all affairs relating to the nation for the moment. It wasn't for long that an issue needing the attention of the queen was presented. A letter from the far eastern corner has arrived in the form of an exceptionally tall horean messenger, making every uaru or nekhiig seem as if dwarves to their stature.

She read with much pleasure to see a gesture of alliance, promising prosperity between two nations. A trade pact will be formed between them and their eastern avian neighbors.



A mark of the Matriarch was pressed onto the parchment, signifying that it was replied instead by the matriarch than the queen. With that, the parchment was entrusted to the towering horean messenger.

Vanguar




The Band

Goi'Orka raises an army in rebellion

The band chamber within the spire of Grimmhold was a small intimate chamber compared to the grand throne room. Large open windows gave a breathtaking view of the surrounding fortress and spike like rocks that seemed to stab toward the man made castle threateningly. At the center of the room was a smooth slab of stone set with baskets of meats and roots, skins of grog and pots of water. Stryke sat cross legged at the table, joined by Haskeer and Calypso. The general sneered toward the door, drumming his large fingers atop the stone slab.

"Where the Gods is Jup?" Questioned Stryke. Haskeer shrugged and Calypso gave an empty stare. "Damn him. Let us begin. The scouts have reported back and the worst has befallen us. Wycke and Mordun are indeed in rebellion. Goi'Orka has raised their banners and mobilize an army to strike at Grimmhold. Dunland follows suit, striking an alliance with the Wycke fools. I do not know the nature of their agreement but I know their goal; taking the rule of Vanguar for their own."

"Curse the scum!" Spat Haskeer. "We must call on our own to fight these rebels."

"It will not be enough," warned Calypso. "We are gravely outnumbered." The elderly Orc looked toward the closed door. "We will need the aid of Mordun to weather this storm."

"What about the High Chief?" Questioned Haskeer. "Surely he will return with his army to bring order back to the clans."

"No," Stryke said quickly. "Keeping order is my charge, I will not sulk to my father like a hatchling fresh off the teat."

Calypso's maw quivered. "We must look to the Mordun then, it is the only way."

Stryke sighed, turning to Haskeer. "Go at once to Bloodwroth and call the banners. Assemble the Shale Ones and lead a defense against Dunland. Haskeer, do not allow the Dunland whelps to merge with the Goi'Orka. We must keep them apart as long as possible, wear them down and send them running back to their dunes. Go now." Haskeer stood up from the slab, bringing his fist hard to his chest in salute, spinning on his heels and out the door.

Calypso gave a weary look to Stryke. "I certainly hope Haskeer is up to the challenge."

"So do I, old one." Stryke stood up and started to the door. "My father has left Grimmhold vulnerable... We need allies to hold these walls." The general disappeared out the door.

* * * * *

Stryke walked out of the spire, his blood fuming at the absence of Jup, the cur from Mordun. He found the whelp in the courtyard, sitting high up in a dead oak tree, the last remnant of the garden once tended by the humans. "You think clinging to dead wood will save you, Jup!" He snarled.

Jup let his legs dangle lazily from the branch, smiling down at Stryke. "You are far too serious, General. What ever ails you?"

"Your absence at the band meeting!" Stryke barked, slamming his fists hard into the trunk of the tree, causing the whole oak to tremble.

Jup laughed heartily, unmoved by the generals aggression. "And tell me why I should attend when I already know what was said and decided? The Shale Ones must be raised, but you are bound to Grimmhold, no doubt you sent Haskeer to lead this force, but it is not enough, no? So you have come seeking the aid of Mordun." Jup pulled a pile of powder from his pouch, inhaling it with his nose in a loud snort. "Is that about right, General?"

The fact that Jup was so casual with the coming rebellion, and that he had already concluded the events of the meeting, made the generals blood boil. He gripped the trunk of the tree with his large claws, shaking the tree violently. "Damn your hide, Jup! I will tear you apart, I swear it!"

The slender Orc laughed. "You would have to catch me first, General. Are you through? I find the manner of your request for allies to be a curious one. Har!" Stryke slumped his forehead against the rough bark of the tree. "You know I envy you, General. Circumstances have thrust you into power, but alas, none such can be said for me. My father leads strongly and my brother is poised to rule after him, and I, well I have nothing."

Stryke looked up the trunk with keen eyes. "Speak plainly, cur!"

"My father will join the rebellion, you know this. Your family is weakened and all will fight for the scraps offered at your table."

"I will kill you if Harrow dares raise sword and axe against me!" Stryke seethed through a clenched maw.

Jup laughed. "Kill me? Go ahead, General, but it will not stay my father's hand. I am his second son and hold no place in the thoughts of that chief. He sent me knowing full well he sends a hostage to this court, and did not give it a second thought." Jup suddenly dropped down from the tree, standing before the general, his amber eyes set hard upon Stryke's. "Give me the blessing of Grimmhold, send me back to Mordun and I shall return to you a Chief, with an army at my back."

Stryke bulked. "You think I would give aid to your lust for power?!"

"You have little choice, Stryke. You need friends." The lips of Jup curled in a smile. "I could be a good friend to you."

Stryke's eyes narrowed, thoughts of running the cur through flashed in his mind, but hate it as he might, Jup was right. He clenched his jaw. "See Calypso for blessings and bring me a mighty army."

"I will not fail you, General."

Jup started toward the spire. Stryke called after him. "Don't you dare fuck me, Jup. Don't you dare."

The amber eyes of Jup glinted. "Why General, we just met."

Kingdom of Belmorn


All Hail, Queen Alistine III

Today, both the Elven and Human population of the Kingdom of Belmorn releases a collective sigh, for the long awaited crowning ceremony has finally taken place.

Queen Alistine III, a small and delicate figure of porcelain skin, emerald eyes and bark-coloured hair formally received her regal authorities outside the Temple of Charity in Fengarde. This has come as a surprise, as coronations have always taken place within the bounds of Hadelmere – and never without the presence of King Dryadson, who has ruled Belmorn since before the land was torn asunder.

The ceremony was an austere affair, and many feel this was the Queen’s attempt to symbolise her solidarity with the families of both races struggling with everyday existence. To underline her efforts, she donated 300 gold pieces to the poorer districts of Fengarde, with the intent of bolstering the broken finances of the peoples there. A further 200 gold pieces she handed over to the Elves who have fled the city in recent days. The Kingdom of Belmorn, though formely a well-to-do province of the Bohaddon Empire, is not a wealthy nation and this figure must surely have hit the coffers of House Ferren hard.

Nevertheless, this act of generosity has garnered her immediate support from the working classes – but some anger in the upper gentry, who will be expected to follow her lead.

After accepting the crown, and fulfilling the customary oath taking duties, she left immediately for the City Hall to reveal the first royal decrees of her reign.

Meanwhile, the entire country, more so in the Fengarde region, have broken out into festivities. Halflings from Erimir have brought their circuses and their gimmicks, and the population have been awed by this rare treat. Taverns have slashed the price of ale and wine to capitalise in this joyous occasion.

The Elves are celebrating too, but in their much more reserved way. Small tranquil meetings of fine foods and wines have overrun Hadelmere’s balconies, and the streets are merry with the murmurs, rather than cheers, of excitement.

The Halfling entertainment has been less effective on the Elves, whom look upon such things as a waste of time, but a small portion of the population have delighted feverously in the martial tournaments hosted by their Halfling visitors. Most however, are just curious about the Halflings and are keener to hear their bards sing their ballads of the days that preceded Bohaddon’s Fall.

The Half-Elf Protection and Anti-Discrimination Act, Royal Decree 391

Speaking from the steps of the rather modest thatch and plaster of Fengarde’s City Hall, Queen Alistine III announced to the gathered crowds the first decree of her reign:

“My people, my beautiful people. We have come a long way, us and the Elf-kind, who we must not forget, saved us in our greatest hour of need. I was two years of age at the time of the Empire’s undoing, and cannot recall the horror and uncertainty that ruled those days. However, I have read from many sources, and have spoken to many of those who were alive to witness, and are still alive to witness. My conclusion?

The terrible divide that has arisen in recent years to undo the works of the great King Dryadson I, and my much beloved father, King Alfran, has been allowed to grow far too wide. We have harbored thoughts of distrust against the Elves, thoughts of malice and of hatred. We see them as different, we see them as inferior – and look to Fengarde’s rapidly increasing size as proof of this. Humans are the rulers of the world. They held the High Throne of Bohaddon for four hundred years, and they conquered the known world in half that time.

But refrain from this, I implore you and I beg you, refrain from this path. We Humans are a unique race, yes, and we have had our history of achievements – absolutely, yes. But sided with this beautiful history, is a much darker streak to our character. Infighting, judgement, rashness, anger… lust. We must have the courage, to understand that we are fallible and flawed, and that if it were not for the superior compassion and wisdom of our Elven brothers and sisters, not many of us would be here today to bask in the glorious Spring sun.

I ask you then, as not just my subjects, but as people, fallible and flawed, to have the courage to look within yourselves. To search out your hateful thoughts, and to base them on reason – to base them on logic. You will find that after this exercise, very few thoughts remain with any real credit to their existence.

And so, now I come to the darkest chapter of Belmorn’s history. The Half-Elven kind. The freaks. The Monsters. The traitors’ spawn. What, I ask you, my beautiful people, dark lesson have you received to teach you this nonsense? Look at them, look at them hard. Are they not just people? Are they not the product of the greatest union the world has ever seen? To think there are those of us, of both peoples, who love each other enough to merge the blood of races, is a thought that keeps my heart beating. To think that there are those of us, who either through ignorance, malice or perhaps even boredom, descend upon these people – and their children, their innocent children – with fire and blade stops it dead.

From this day on, to this practice, and to these ways, I say no more! From this day on, any man or woman found to be carrying on this barbaric cancer that has inflicted our society, will be treated in kind. Outcast, thrown to the wind, to enjoy the cold embrace of the lands beyond our borders. They will be branded as hateful, as ignorant and as useless.

Those who forbid Half-Elves and their parents from purchasing services, or from seeking work, will be stripped of their possessions. They will be cast out, for they are not my subjects, they are not my beautiful people, and they deserve nothing from me – not even my mercy.

I here by decree, that you will all find the nearest Half-Elf, or his or her parents, and you will embrace them physically and emotionally. This madness ends, and it ends now.

No more discrimination.

No more hateful crimes against those who are different.

No more division.

Through unity we thrive, and through unity we weather the coming storms of the Orysson subcontinent.”

Queen Alistine III’s speech was received with a thunderous applause. Though there are elements within Fengarde who are unlikely to give up their racist ways, they have been dealt a stinging blow, and will now be forced to operate underground rather in broad daylight.

The Half-Elven population, as beleaguered as it is, is treating the Queen’s decree with caution. Though she herself seems understanding and progressive, their treatment has taught them that some people are just beyond reason… or Royal Decrees.

Queen Alistine III Orders the Reforming of the Rangers

With much less drama, and much less words, Queen Alistine III has ordered for the reforming of the Rangers. The Rangers were an elite force of human warriors, standing even with the fabled Glade Watchers, that had long kept the border lands safe from raids during her father’s reign. They were disbanded after the last war with Jouria, in which many of them lost their lives, and the survivors failed to represent a combat effective unit.

It appears the Queen feels that alongside compassion, there must be iron also. The mustering is believed to take three weeks of rigorous training, but most recruits will already have the most desired skills of archery and fieldcraft.

So far the Queen has made no hint of joining her co-Monarch, King Dryadson I, with his endeavours on the Elslen borders.

The Sombre Tear of an Elven King

The envoys sent to Elslen to establish basic negotiations with Orc slavers over their barbaric ways have met an untimely end.
A covered basket containing four severed Elven heads were delivered to the King’s camp by Elslen slaves. It is said he shed a tear over the sight of his dismembered kinsmen, and it is apparent he blames their deaths on his actions. He has retired to his quarters, where it is rumoured he plans for war.

A Rider has left the King’s camp for the Erimir Republic, carrying a coded message only he can translate.

Parlay

A small outcrop of rock, not much bigger than a banquet table. A lone figure stands, clad in full iron plate with a slender feminine figure. Dark hair flows from underneath a great helm inscribed with tapestries of ancient battles. To its back, six mighty hulking vessels of darkened wood stand with grim silence. No crew are seen on their decks, and no commotion is heard from within their bowels. They are as if ghost ships; menacing and full of quiet yet evil intent.

Facing it, a small rowboat, containing the Uarunerian representatives. They are unarmed, but bolstered by the sight of their own ships three hundred yards behind them. If anything goes ill, the black ships would be outnumbered - even with their impressive design, Uarunerian naval might has never failed with such odds.

The lone figure does not speak, but breathes in rasps, as if the rich sea air is proving poisonous to its lungs - or perhaps it rasps in excitement of a coming battle. Carefully, it extends an iron-clad hand clenching a rolled scroll. The Uarunerians take the scroll, and open it. After some moments of reading and re-reading, the Uarunerian host clambers back into the rowboat and heads with all haste back to its anchored fleet.

The lone figure lets loose an almost childish giggle, but does not move, does not stir. It's gaze remains fixed on the Uarunerians as they reach the safety of their fleet and ascend the rigging.

Freywyn


First Contact
Not a single person on the ship moved an inch once the two bird-like creatures landed on the deck and asked with authority what was their business in those waters.

«Don't do anything rash, crewman.» Myra whispered to the young man next to her whose hands was slowly moving towards the knife in his belt. Yes, they had no idea what kind of creatures these were but she was sure that her guards would easily subdue them if such an action was deemed necessary.

«Uaruneria. Such a big and hard name to pronounce.» Scholar Vettan, a middle-aged man who had been personally picked by the Queen to accompany her and record every single thing worthy of note, mumbled as he scribbled on his leatherback notebook.

«I am Myra Falkenbrough, Queen of Freywyn, Godborn and carrier of the Oathbreaker. I travel in search of nations willing to trade and forge strong relationships with my country which has just recently started to destroy the mantle of isolationism it hid under for tens of years. I have a message for your leader, which I would be glad if you decided to deliver.» she exclaimed in a strong voice as she stepped forward, closer to these... birds.

«I also ask of you to be careful with your weapons. We will not hurt you unless our lives are threatened therefore, be calm.» said Sehraz, the leader of her guards and a man she knew her whole life as he had grown next to Toryllis hidden beneath his shadow but still a fine example of a Freywe. He could see how nervous the one holding the bow was and although he knew that his men would be upon them the very second he (or she, he couldn't tell) tried to draw an arrow, he'd prefer not to.

«Vettan, present the treaty.»
«Yes Lady, have it here, somewhere... Ah, yes. Here it is, give me a moment to complete it... How was it, Uaruneria?..»
«Enquire about the ships clad in black too, scholar.»
«As you wish.»


«It is complete, my Queen.» he said as she took it from his hands and presented it to these fascinating creatures.

All that was left now was their response and after that, home.

Allies of old.
«Your Majesty, this is Ashara Tyk, diplomat from the nations of Freywyn. She claims to have brought a message of prosperity and profit.»

«Lady Tyk, I am Balin Thorkenfin, Duke of Edaria. Tell me of your ruler, is King Turin still alive? He had been a good friend of mine before you humans decided to hide in your swamplands.»

«King Turin died three years ago, my Lord, and the throne was claimed by Lord Toryllis Brosca who seeks to replace all these years of solitude with wealth and power, together with Freywyn's old Dwarven allies. When you helped us settle in our current lands and push away the lizardmen of Hlondeth twenty-five years ago, we swore to never forget what a race of what looked like kids at the time did for us when they had no reason to. You taught us the art of manipulating the stone and building wonders that are not only sturdy but beautiful too. You showed us the beauty in the details and since then we have improved day after day, hurting the Mother in order to get precious gold and mountains worth of stone turning it into jewelry, castles and cities grand enough for the Gods themselves to dwell in. Now, we seek the rest of the world. To teach it and be taught by it. And perhaps one day, stand together, the people of the lands, united and mighty before what storms may come.»

«Your tongue is sharp and your wit rivals my greatest of negotiators. The Freywe arrived one cloudy day with hundreds, maybe thousands of ships full of malnourished children, sickly women and men who had spent days with just water. Yet, once you were met with the brutality of the lizardmen who saw you as nothing but an easy meal, your blades shined red as even those old enough to have seen the beginning of the world fought with the fury of an angry wasp and the unexpected strength of a mighty bull.

And we were awe-struck.

What could you do, given enough time to adapt and build a nation? Conquer the known world? Possibly, many of us thought of you as a threat. Yet ultimately we came, clad in our armors and bearing axes forged in fires of bloodlust, thousands of us joined the battlefield where we shed blood next to each other like brothers and made those reptiles run faster than they thought it was possible.

But you didn't stop once our win was clear.

The nations we have fought next to, before you, would stop and be merciful once they routed the enemy but you continued. Day after day, village after village and massacre after massacre, you were not still fighting but exterminating. When I asked old Turin about it, his response was clear and showed his true nature, his and every human's. He said:

''What defines us humans is the concept of vengeance, a concept many have ridiculed and considered petty and a trait of unevolved cultures. You kill someone and that someone's friends will come after you. And you die. Your friends will then hunt your killers and in turn their friends will join the fray. Can you imagine how many friends and family members each one of these people has? How much blood will be shed for an endless cycle of hatred? Now imagine that done to an entire nation. This is what is happening. For every one of ours, ten of them will fall. And once we stop, they'll forever remember, forever feel in their bones what we, a fraction of humanity can do given a good enough reason.''

And my spies have been reporting threats all around us, from black ships to centaurs and rogue warbands while Bohaddon's last few provinces still stand strong and united. I feel that every single nation wanting to survive this age will have to pick a side eventually. And we the Dwarves of Edaria, will be right next to you, equals and brothers no matter the odds.»

***

«Lord Oblivion, the Republic of Requa formally requested aid against the increasing threat of lizardmen in the south. They request stone and architects to build them walls and forts.»
«And they offer?»
«Open borders and a defense agreement.»
«Send word that we accept and inform Masters Branka and Varanis of the deal, they'll take it from there. Also, request that a unit of Black Priests be mobilized and await orders. That is all.»

Nation Status Card

Bahapore



The War on Elthana

“Krakons! Today we shall free our former lands from the hands of the elves! Today! We march on them and conquer their cities and rebuild it in our honor and glory.” Yells King Lorio, as he addresses the 6,000 fully armored Krakons in front of him. A massive cheer rises as scimitars rise into the air, gleaming in the moonlight. It was a cheer so loud that it could have been heard in Elthana. King Lorio turns around to address three Krakons dressed in shinning iron armor, engraved with pictures of battles. “Meet me in my tent, we shall be discussing the plan while our men are marching onto the ship.” says the king as he addresses the generals.

“Ah, you have arrived General Gokern, I hope your brothers in arms arrive soon too.” says King Lorio who is sitting crossed legs and stares at General Gokern as he enters.

“My king, what are your directions?” asks the general, his face barely changing.

“We shall wait for your brothers to arrive.” Says King Lorio, as that very moment, two other Krakons dressed similar to General Gokern appear from the tent flap. “Ah, General Wuen and General Opear. We were just waiting for you to arrive.”

“I’m sorry my king, we had held up addressing a few soldiers.” says the Krakon to the right, General Wuen.

“Let’s begin,” says King Lorio as he sits on the rug and lays out a map. Looking up, he says “Please sit.” Once the general are seated in a circle around the map, he begins to speak again. “Ok, I shall be dividing the forces evenly between the three of you. There are three vital forts located on the coast of the island of Thenia that we must capture in order to gain a foothold on the island.” King Lorio points to three small circles on the western coast of a island map. “General Gokern shall be leading 2,000 troops on the most important attack, on the central fort, General Wuen will lead another 2,000 at the southern fort, and General Opear shall take the remaining 2,000 and capture the northern fort.”

“Understood my king but what will we do next?” asks General Opear.

“I was getting to that. Once general Wuem captures the southern fort, he shall set course with his remaining forces at the minor city of Southern Jorio.” King Lorio points to the lower of two circles on the middle of the island. “As he draws the attention of the local forces and the forces of Northern Jorio, General Opear will have sailed around the northern tip of the island where he will land on the coast just north of Northern Jorio. With the city abandoned and deserted of any military forces, it will be up for the grabs. Once the city is captured, General Opear will move south and trap the Elthanan forces between the two cities, crushing them. General Gokern has the most important role of the military campaign, he shall captured Singana, which is just north of the region capital. He shall captured the city and station his troops inside.The region capital which is expected to have the remaining forces will have mustered another 1,000-1,500. They will march on Singana. General Opear will remain at the Jorio cities with half of the forces. General Wuen shall take what is left over and march as quickly as possible for the city of Hora, which is expected to be left mainly defenseless. We shall crush the remaining Elthana forces of the region and by then the Torfas orcs should have taken the eastern island and we shall both march on the capital, us from the west and them from the east.” finishes King Lorio. “Now, any questions?”

“Just one, when do we start?” says General Gokern as he smiles.

---

The Seize of Fort Thana

The night was dark as the Krakons forces sailed along the open sea. The full moon was covered as the entire sky was blotted out with dark clouds, a small drizzled started, General Gorkern could barely see the fort as his ships sailed.

“Sir! Our ships are ready to dock.” yells a krakon from the crow’s nest.

“Tell them to get the ram ready! I want the gate down by the time we arrive on the battle field!” says General Gorkern.

A few moments later, as General Gorken’s ship docks, the cries of battle are heard ahead. The Elthana forces were gravely outnumbered, nearly 10-1. “Men! Let’s show these Elves whos in charge!” yells General Gorkern, turning around, he unsheathes his iron sword and charges up the up battlefield. By the time he arrived at the gate, a few krakon bodies and elven bodies and swords and bows are littered on the ground. The gate itself was smashed to the ground. Charging into the fort, he sees that many elven bodies are littered on the ground and a few krakons too. He sees what seems like 200 elves fighting desperately against 2,000 krakons. It was a wonder that they haven’t surrendered yet.

“We surrender!” shouts a voice from the dwindling group of elves.

“Men! Stop, we shall not kill surrendered men!” Yells General Gorkern. He walks up to the elves as the fighting stops. His soldiers part as he passes. “I accept your surrender, you shall order all your men to lay down their weapons. All your supplies shall be gathered and carried to our ships. Understood?” he says to a random elf, but his voice echoes so loud that it seems as if he was speaking to everyone. The elf nods and turns around to repeat the order. As he walks back again, he sees his soldiers already scrambling around, cleaning up the fort and repairing it. A messenger suddenly appears, “Sir, General Wuen and General Opear have reported success on their missions. General Opear has already set sail for Northern Jorio and General Wuen is also setting sail for Southern Jorio.”

“Good, I shall let my men rest before I set sail for Singana.”

Vanguar





Amplesh Orcs skirmish with the Vanguard

The High Chief Ensnared
In the aftermath of the defeat of Skar in what has become known as the Battle of the Blood Fork, the Vanguar High Chief has suffered a route southward near the border. Pursued by a great force of Amplesh Orcs, Skar's army has taken refuge upon a defensible hill in southern Amplesh. The coastal Orcs have surrounded the encampment of the High Chief and left him trapped, unable to resupply or retreat. Thus far a major battle has yet to take place, and only small skirmishes have been reported, with Amplesh forces testing the defences of the Vanguar Clans. With Skar surrounded and his home descending into civil war, it seems only a matter of time before the conquest of Amplesh comes to a bitter end. No doubt Skar is anxious for reinforcements from the clans, likely unaware of what has befallen his home.

The Vanguar Civil War
The Clans Wycke and Dunland have called a war to overthrow High Chief Skar and his Bloodwroth kin from rule over Vanguar. General Scythe, son of Skar, leads loyalist forces from the capital and has called all remaining warriors of the Crag to report to Grimmhold to defend the fortress against the traitorous dogs of Wycke and Dunland. Stryke has also sent Band-Master Haskeer as his emissary into the Shale, to raise an army in defence of the realm. Meanwhile, Band-Master Jup, son of Harrow, has been dispatched to Mordun in order to entreat with his father, the Chief, and raise an army to aid in the defence of Grimmhold. Time is certainly against the Skar loyalists as rebel armies have already been formed and march against the High Chief's forces.

The restlessness of the Orcs is well known throughout the land and the fact that Vanguar is descending into chaos is of little surprise to outside observers.

Kingdom of Torfas

---

Elthana Campaign

---

Right Arm Fort Siege

The plan goes pretty well, all of Elthana patrol ship is going back to the western island, the path is cleared even though it must cost some ships, the plan goes on, as predicted, the Elthanian guard is alarmed for the incoming assault, alarmed but not ready, the first to besieged is the Right and the Left arm fort, it can be seen from the approaching galleon, the elves is busy as hell, the archer is preparing on top of the fort, rallying, and preparing for the incoming High orc invasion, but it is not enough, while the ship is disembarking orcs, the ship captain shout, "Fire!" 20 cannons shooting at once, 10 cannons in each ship floor, damaging the fort gate.

"Charge! repel those filthy orc from our land, hold them in bay while waiting for the reinforcement from the west island!" the commander of the elven guard yell from top of the broken gate. "Show them what we, the orc of Torfas can do!" General Laugon Windsong, the leader of the Right arm fort raid, yell to his soldier, while pointing the broken gate swarming with charging elves with his black sword, Laugon yelled "Charge!, For The King!" his war cry make the spirit of all soldier burning, "For the King!" the soldier shout while charging to the incoming elves. The elf is basically outnumbered, but their skilled archer is doing well to repel the high orc axeman, the axeman fall, but their soldier fall quicker due to orc skilled gunner, the fight was not last an hour, the elf is surrendering themselves, their reinforcement is not coming, the orc quickly move the captured elves to the ship, "you will wait there until the war is over, our king will decide what will happen to you next." said the ship captain.

Looking at the aftermath, there is dead body everywhere, fallen axeman, gunner, archer, and soldier is just laid on the ground, sword and axe, shields, gun and bow, the battle is hard even for the outnumbering orc, General Laugon, the leader of the raid is waiting on the captured fort office, the sun is raising and the battle is over for two hours, suddenly the second in charge captain is entering the room, "General, the result of the fight" said the captain as he give a letter to Laugon, "hmm, we totally crush them, they only got 250 troops here, they lost almost all of the troops and the rest is captured, while we lost 126 axeman and 37 gunner, the elven archer is sure skilled, we shall give the fallen soldier our last honour first." the general said.

A messenger come into the office, "General Laugon, letter from General Gardakk Ironwood" as the messenger give Laugon a letter, "it looks like Gardakk won the battle, they are more luckier than us, the army there is lesser than here,"
"let us rest for now captain, scan the area, i need to know what is waiting for us," said Laugon as he read the letter.

Lightwood siege

The army is already marching straight to the collapsed city wall where the elves are ready to be crushed, Darchow Darkfang, the leader of the siege is shouting instruction carefully, "Axeman, Charge in, the gunner will aid you from behind, make wave, split to two group, one from the hole another from the gate, Gunner, split, 50 each, make ranks of 10, care for the archers at wall," Darchow command his man, while slashing incoming enemy with his black halberd.

The elves is quickly outnumbered, as soon as the army breakthrough the city wall, they surrendered, the casualties for both side is not many since the elven side surrender quickly, they are greatly outnumbered by the orc force. "capture all remaining elf, we will send them to the ship as we take across to the main east island this afternoon, we can take a rest for a moment, captain, take your man and find us some meat in the city, and secure some supply that we need and bring it to the port." said Darchow as he command his man.

The city is already empty when the force disembarking, there are only the defending troops, the word is spread quicker than he though, but the plan goes well, next phase is waiting till the afternoon and launch the attack to the city of Moonshade.

Crescent Settlement siege

Actually the siege to this area are not really hard, this area only inhabited by elves that work in the woods, but this area is the key for the Elthana bow and arrow supply, so Gruul decide that this area also need to be secured, "Kill all resistant, capture every surrendered elves, search the bow workshop, gather all information, books, parchment, letter, all kind of information about how they make their bow and arrow also how they train their archer, we need the information."

This area are also have been abandoned, it is looked from the fireplace that not extinguished, smoke from the fire pit, some unfinished bow and arrow, lit smelter, it's look like they leave in a hurry, "as soon as the ship arrived, we shall cross the sea, next to Moonshade plain, after that prepare to make siege tower and ram, we will need it, to conquer moonshade this night." said Gruul to his man who still searching the entire settlement.

Kingdom of Belmorn


The Host of Dryadson Marches West

The Elven King, Marhorn Dryadson I, has departed from the Belmorn-Elslen borders with his 3,000 militia. They march along seldom-walked foot paths, hidden deep in the vegetation of Erendale Forest with waggons of freshly fletched arrows and virgin longbows. They head West, towards Erimir. This is odd behaviour, not common to King Dryadson’s foreign policy. Lengthy diplomacies and half-hearted peace settlements are his usual tools in dealing with Elslen – if he goes to war, then this will be the first offensive campaign he has waged in the history of his century-old reign.

Whether or not the Slave Masters of Elslen are aware of his movements however, is yet to be seen.

His intentions are not known to the rest of Belmorn, but Queen Alistine III has formally ruled out human military support, saying:

‘King Dryadson I is as wise as he is compassionate; my role model, in many ways. If he marches to war, then he does so with rightful intent. Reluctantly, due to my ill-informed understandings of his actions, I will not commit the lives of my peoples to his cause. No messenger has been sent to me to brief me on his actions, and therefore I give him my love but withhold the Fengarde militia.

Perhaps if things were more pleasant with our neighbour, the Lizardfolk of Jouria, I would have at once dispatched my beloved cousin, Constance, to make all haste to bolster King Dryadson’s force. However, with my trust falling short in our newly established non-aggression pact with Jouria, and the presence of King Dryadson’s Glade Watchers around the outskirts of Fengarde, I do not see the urgency and nor do I understand it. How then, could I ask for my people to potentially spill their blood? When so much is at stake, and so little is known?’

Erimir Visit Planned

Queen Alistine III has formally requested access to the Republic of Erimir for a two-week visit, via the Halfling’s newly established embassy in Hadelmere. She has expressed great interest in the ideas of popular representation, and of the way governance is distributed there, and wishes to learn all she can from the Halfling peoples of their various state bodies.

This announcement has outraged the landed gentry, who fear the Queen is listing towards massive social and constitutional reform within Belmorn’s human camp. The masses however, who suffer from wide-spread illiteracy and half of whom have only received basic education, are unchanged by this affair due to a general lack of understanding of the subject matter.

Elthana Offers Conditional Surrender

Attacked on two fronts, the Elven army of Elthana crumbles steadily in the face of overwhelming numbers. From the East, the High Orcs have driven the 6th Army into the sea, with few survivors able to make their way to safety on the mainland. From the West, the Krakons have stormed Fort Thana and obliterated the 2nd Army in the ensuing battle. The mainland is left with few professional warriors, and though all Elves by the general nature of their long lives are versed in the arts of war, the availability of heavy armor and refined weaponry is scarce.

Nevertheless, the peoples of this nation have rallied against the raging tide of their attackers. Thousands, male and female, are gathering at the nearest barracks to take whatever weapons and armor are available. Ditches are being dug at key points on the road to the Elthenian capital, and Elven Rangers are sabotaging bridges and roadways in an attempt to slow the invasion.

However, the Elthanian High Command know the war is lost. They have not the military or economic strength to withstand an extended conflict, and have dispatched riders to both sides with the following terms:

The islands of Elthana will be surrendered wholly to the nations of Bahapore and Torfas without further need for further fighting, on the following conditions:

- The Elthanian people are given four weeks to bury their dead, treat their wounded and prepare for a mass exodus.

- They are provided with safe passage through Bahapore, so that they may make their way to Bohaddon.

- The prisoners taken by the invaders are released and returned to their families.

Failure to agree will result in a fanatical last stand, where the Elthenian peoples are prepared to fight to the death for their homes, families and livelihoods - or so say the Elven messengers.

Echen Goes Dark

It has been a week since the last badly damaged merchant vessel reached the safety of a harbor, having escaped the slaughter at Echen City. No-one from the mainland has yet approached the islands, and they have been given a wide birth by passing ships. The fate of the Dwarves are unknown, but the worst is presumed.

The Eagle of the South?

Word has traveled north that a newly reformed Bohaddon Empire has established a firm power base in the deep south of the Orysson continent. They say that entire legions, composed of thousands of soldiers, are amassing on the borders of this resurgent power in readiness to strike at an unsuspecting world. If this is true, and the legions in South Orysson are of the same composition and quality of those who fought in the field twenty years ago, then the North has much to fear. However, as always, rumours are rumours, speculation is speculation.

Scharweilt

---

Valentine the Knight

---

The king and his family is having a nice meal when one of his knights interrupted the meal.

"I'm sorry your majesty but there is a ship coming!" the knight said in a worried voice

"What! are they pirates!?" the king asked

"no sir.... I think they are halflings" the knight answered

"Well I will join the force in case they do something crazy" the king said

"No sir... it's too dangerous if they DID attack" the knight disagress

"No need I will join the force" an unfamiliar voice joins the conversation

"It is I Valentine the Knight" Valentine introduced himself

the king looked at him foot to head.Valentine is like 6 foot tall,muscular,and fully protected armor.Also he owns a shield with an unknown emblem which might be his family's and a very long sword.The king thought that he might trustworthy.

"Ok you will join the coast guard but attack in case they did something crazy" the king said to Valentine

"Thank you,your majesty" Valentine thanked him and bowed

"Welcome to the coast guard now let's go" the knight welcomed Valentine and invited him to go then Valentine follows

---

Incoming Ship

---

Valentine arrived in the port and the ship is still going to the island and it seems the knights are going to fire the cannon to the ship

"Ok! hold your fire! but prepare your weapons just in case they attacked us" Valentine commands

"Yes sir!" the knights replied slowly unsheathing their swords and stopped halfway

then they waited but they are still alerted and focused

The Republic of Erimir




The Letter

It was another idyllic morning outside the burrow. Beryl was showing her five year old daughter the basics of stone throwing at a pond near their home. The air was crisp, the sun was high, and the wind just busy enough to cool the sweat on the pair's faces.

"The trick is in the wrist," Beryl explained to Beowyn, pulling her arm back. "Watch what I do with mine." The mother took a deep breath, focused... and when she threw the stone, it bounced no less than nine times across the water before hitting the surface with a 'plop!' and sinking below. It was not Beryl's best throw, but it was still a good one.

Beowyn was simply mystified. Rather than simply gape, though, Beryl's daughter immediately tried to imitate her. "I'll do it better," she said matter-of-factly, becoming very competitive very quickly.

That's my girl, thought Beryl to herself, grinning as she looked on. You take after your mum, you do.

Beowyn tossed the stone at the pond, and... it sank. The little girl frowned, picked up another stone, and tossed this as well, more carefully... and it also just sank. Frustrated, she picked up a third stone, and this time simply hurled it down at the water angrily.

"Whoa, whoa!" Beryl cried, coming on forward to rest a hand on Beow's shoulder. "Careful, little bird. You'll make the pond flood if you keep throwing the stones like that. You've got a strong arm, you know."

Beowyn harrumphed.

"Really," said Beryl, "you do. You're a strong little girl, and in a couple years I can start showing you how to use a sword. But," she said in a warning tone, "you need to show me first that you can direct your anger properly. If you can't throw stones without being angry, you can't swing a sword without hurting yourself."

"Ma!" whined her child. "I can't do it! I can't throw rocks! They don't bounce!"

"They'll bounce if you keep practicing," answered Beryl, reaching down to pick up a stone for her. "Here. Let me help you with your arms. Remember, you should stand like this..."

An hour later, Beryl's hard work with her child bore some fruition. She was able to reliably bounce the stone across the water once, and even made it bounce twice a couple times. They were having a break over a picnic when they heard hooves clopping against the cobblestone road. When Beryl turned, she saw a most interesting sight: an elvish rider coming as quickly as he could to the house, looking as if he'd been riding all day without rest. He carried a small satchel with him.

"Who's that, ma?" asked Beowyn, staring at the elf. "He's pretty."

Beryl snorted at that. "That would be an elf, little dove," Beryl said, reaching down and lightly grabbing her daughter's hand. "And yes, he's pretty. At least he has pretty hair, for sure. Come, let's go see what he wants." Together, the halfling and her daughter walked up the hillside to the front of the burrow, where the elven rider stopped and dismounted in all haste.

"An urgent letter from His Majesty, King Dryadson," the elf said, removing a letter from the satchel. "He said your eyes and yours alone were meant to read this. Use the code."

The code? That brought a look of worry to Beryl's face. The letter was encoded, then. In the heydays of the Bohaddon Empire, different codes were used by government officials to mask their messages and their names. This particular code was used by several western provinces in the Empire's heartland, including Belmorn and Erimir. Only a select few knew the code, and Beryl Moss, as High Sheriff of Erimir, was one of them.

"Thank you," she said, starting toward her door. "And please, come in. Make yourself at home. You look tired, and don't try to convince me that you're not. Beowyn, why don't you show him around the house and ask Miss Fenfoot to cook something for our guest."

"Yes, mama." Beowyn started on in, casting a glance back at the elf and motioning him in before he could argue. Beryl smiled and followed them in, taking a right upon entry and following the curving hall to her study.

Beryl's study was a rather plain place save for pictures of her daughter, her sister, and her dead husband. She had her books, several maps, a few documents concerning old Erimir law and so forth... Right now, though, all that mattered was the slip of paper hidden underneath the base of a drawer in her desk, which she removed and set on the table before her. Setting her reading lenses on her nose, she then took a small knife from her pocket and carefully broke the green wax seal on the letter. She carefully removed the letter from its package, then began to read, translating as she went:



A lump formed in Beryl's throat. She paled. You poor king... Gods, your poor kingdom... She continued reading.



"Ma?" came Beowyn's voice. "Miss Fenfoot wants to know if you'd like some ham. She's serving it with taters."

Beryl did not speak. She only grabbed her daughter and held her close, resting her head against the top of Beowyn's.

"Mama? Are you alright?" There was real concern in her daughter's voice.

"Yes, dear. I just want you to know that I love you very much." Beryl cleared her throat, then pulled away. "Now, tell Miss Fenfoot that... That, yes, that would be great. Thank you, dove."

When little Beow was gone, Beryl took a sheet of parchment and wrote her own letter to King Dryadson. At first, she tried writing formally, as she knew she should... But she was writing to a man who had just lost his son. He deserved a little honesty, damn it. She wrote from her heart.



A Bargain Struck

The ship was able to dock without incident, thank the Gods. Armand had been worried he would have to fight the islanders, but that did not come to pass. As it was, he found himself feeling a fair dose of pity.

The shore had been an interesting sight if only for the docks of cement and stone and the large gate that led into the kingdom, but the Scharweilt forest, while beautiful and filled with chirping birds, made him feel a pang of guilt. Wild grapes grew in the woods, though Armand was told there were little this year, and that famine was the norm. He could see orchards lining either side of the road, grand in size and scale, but they were faring poorly this season. There were ponds scattered throughout the isle, and it would have been idyllic if not for the lean, hungry humans Armand kept seeing. They were not on the verge of death, but compared to the hale and hearty people of Erimir...

There wasn't much talk on the way to the castle. Armand was walking with an escort of Scharweiltien guards and a state official. The official would explain some bit of history, and Armand would show some casual interest, but they mostly walked in silence. Armand suspected the Scharweiltiens felt a trade deal with Erimir was important. Halfling produce was famous throughout the realms. Chances were they'd be more interested in that than in the halflings' gunpowder given the famine.

Eventually, they came to the castle, a respectable place to be sure. Armand was led inside with his papers. He'd made sure to button his vest before making landfall, the better to be presentable. As far as he knew, he was to meet with King Laurence himself.

So it was. Armand stood in the middle of a great hall. Seated on the throne before him was a regally dressed man, King Laurence no doubt, flanked by knights clad in the finest armor. Their presence made the ruler seem all the more stately. No matter, thought Armand. I have parlayed with dukes before. What is a king but a duke that now rules himself?

"Behold His Majesty King Laurence," bellowed a proud man in a fetching blue cap, "ruler of the Island of Scharweilt."

The old halfling bowed (but did not kneel) to the king respectfully, folding one arm behind his back and the other before his stomach. "I thank you for granting me this audience, gracious king. May you have a long life filled with good cheer."

"Mmm." King Laurence rose to his feet, gesturing at the halfling. "And I pray your people live well, little one. Tell me, how fares the Republic these days?"

"We live, though we do not thrive; but the days are long and the nights are short, so there is much to be thankful for." The silver-haired halfling stood upright as well, opening the scroll he held. It was time to get to the point. "Your Majesty, the people of Erimir are eager to secure good relations with our neighbors, your kingdom among them. We hope we may secure a trade deal between our two nations. Your fish would be particularly--"

"I cannot trade our fish away," the king interrupted with a sigh. "My people are hungry yet, halfling. Surely you saw that on your way to the castle."

"So I did," admitted Armand, tucking the scroll back into his vest and folding his wrinkled fingers together. "I was hoping I was wrong."

"You were not. For now, I would rather maintain a supply of fish for our food stores than trade it away. But..." King Laurence paused, motioning to one of his guards. "Bring the good halfling a goblet of the aged wine." The man bowed his head and obliged his king quickly.

"You have something else to trade, Your Majesty?"

"Wine," the king answered plainly. "Scharweiltein wine is without a doubt the finest you will have, and I believe you will agree that it is worth trading for." At that point, the man returned with a goblet on a platter, offering it to old Armand. "Drink, my friend."

Armand did as he was bid, more because it would be insulting not to than for any desire to have wine. To his surprise, the wine did taste wonderful and was fairly spiced, and it had a... what was the word Jan used? It possessed a "fine bouquet." Namely, the spices and the grapes used in the wine's production mixed to make a pleasant scent.

Armand, of course, remained neutral. As any good bargainer, he knew better than to show anything more than casual interest. "Mmm. For what price would you offer this wine to us for?"

"My people could make good use of your famous livestock," answered the king. "We would be willing to trade our wine for cattle, and we are willing to start such a trade as soon as you can get a ship to us with the livestock necessary."

The halfling furrowed his brow. "We will need to discuss the exact amount to trade," he begins, "but that could be arranged. You have no interest in our supply of gunpowder, then?"

"Feeding my people comes first," King Laurence stated sharply. "Once they are fed, we can discuss the possibility of trading for Erimir gunpowder, but that time is not now. We will trade wine for your cattle, and if you agree, we will discuss the particulars of this arrangement in private."

The King leaned forward in his throne. "Is that a deal, halfling?"

Armand felt a little cheated - he was neither getting what he wanted nor selling what he did not need - but acquiesced. "It's a deal."

Plows into Swords

The Republic of Erimir has drummed up new recruits for its army to prepare for the coming war with Elslen. The Musketeers have been doubled to a size of 500, and 1,000 new recruits have been gathered to fight in the Erimir militia. It seems as if Erimir was preparing for a war for some time, given how quickly they gathered these new recruits, and the halfling army is now gathered a Shireguard, at the border of Elslen, Erimir, and Belmorn. They are led by the High Sheriff herself. The new militia is poorly equipped, as halfling armies usually are: pitchforks, short swords, clubs and slings make up most of their weapons. A few have lumberjacks' axes.

A token force of 500 militiamen has been left to defend the city of Erimir and its outlying shires.

Joint-Kingdom of Belmorn


Elven Greetings

The march had been tough, even by the standard of Belmornian Elves, who are renowned for their love of long trails. The sun was shining, and the bridleways had thankfully remained dry and hard beneath their sandaled feet. Provisions existed in the form of passing trees and undergrowth bearing fruit; much needed arrow reserves were gathered in similar fashion.

Three thousand. Three thousand Elves of Dryadson; a force not seen beyond the bounds of the great King’s realm for many years. Their leaf-green cloaks swamped their thin bodies, but none showed signs of submitting to the heat of the sun. Golden hair flowed wistfully from heavy hoods of bracken, and delicate fingers toiled playfully with spearhead and grindstone.

Many of these Elves had not been this far from Hadelmere in over two hundred years, when they were mere Elflings, and when the world seemed so much brighter and full of promise. Now they were marching to war, neglecting the soft songs of Elven maidens in the beautiful and quiet gardens of their home for the horror of a blood-soaked battlefield. Many had killed before, for five-hundred years was a long life for any mortal, and the Belmorian Elves lived it to fulfilment. In the service of the Emperor, they had been some of his finest skirmishers. The lack of Elven iron covering their fragile bodies, and the crudeness of their longbows and spears spoke volumes when compared to the gear they carried as soldiers of the Empire.

As they neared the edge of Hadelmere Forest, some miles from the last barely-beaten track, they entered the realm of their newly established friends; the Republic of Erimir was a lush land. Less forested, and not quite as green as Belmorn, but full of natural life nonetheless. The landscape unmapped itself before them, and leading down from the dense tree line was a grassy slope that spun its way towards a lonely fortification.

Shireguard was small, even by Elven standards, but it was strong. Fine stonework and wooden palisades made it quite the feat of Halfling military engineering, or so it seemed, but it was far from a formidable fortress. Still, it would serve for a fitting muster point.

King Dryadson rode no horse, for they were unreliable when trekking cross-country. Instead, he marched at the head of his men in a cloak of dark grey that was trimmed with silver. He was tall for an Elf, nearing six-foot, and broad at the shoulders – another unusual feature of an otherwise delicate race. Silver hair flowed from his elaborately embroidered scarlet hood, in sharp contrast to the ever-present golden colours of his kinsmen. His features were chiselled, giving him a somewhat handsome statuesque appearance, and his eyes were icy blue but with an odd accompaniment of warming charm behind them. His skin, though dirtied from the journey, seemed to almost glisten with perfection.

Halfling horns sounded as Dryadson approached Shireguard. He stopped just out of what he presumed to be short bow and sling range, in case the Halflings inside had yet to be informed of his arrival. Behind him, his host stood to rigid attention in two perfect squares. Bows unstrung and spears lowered. Militia may have been the wrong word to describe a hastily militarised Elf.

“I am Marhorn Dryadson, son of Melia, King of Belmorn,” he called. His voice, though soft, glided magnificently across the gap between himself and Shireguard’s parapets. “Myself and my kinsmen come in peace, and we await the arrival of your kin.”

1000+ Exiled For Race Crime

It has barely been two weeks since the Queen’s coronation, and the announcement of her first Royal Decree, and yet over 1000 humans living within Fengarde have been found guilty of race related crime. From harassing Half-Elves, to murdering an Elven shopkeeper, such crimes have been punished universally with permanent exile from Belmorn under pain of death.

Some people, especially the bereaved of dead victims, have found this justice far too soft. Crowds are gathering in the streets, demanding the death penalty where reasonable, rather than a uniform treatment of exile.

Marched to the Surgo border by the newly formed Rangers, these criminals were forced over the border into the war-ridden failed state. They will likely not return, having fallen victims to the terrible violence there.

It is an odd justice, but the Queen seems reluctant to punish anyone with the death penalty. Furthermore, she seems even more reluctant to rely on courts to decide judgement. Instead the town watch are given on-the-spot discretion, which some believe is a dangerously delicate system vulnerable to corruption. This is an odd policy indeed, and it has not been wasted on the moods of both the people and the gentry, who regard it with bemusement.

For the time being however, the situation within the city is stable, and despite a few crowds gathering outside of official buildings to demand ‘penalties that fit the crime’, law and order remain.

Fengarde Elves Start to Return

Thanks to Queen Alistine III’s compensation upon her coronation, and her obvious no-nonsense attitude when it comes to dealing with racial-unrest, the Elves who fled Fengarde barely three weeks ago have started to return to the city to reclaim their properties.

The Fengarde militia has been deployed to oversee this process, as some officials fear the Elven community may become the target of violence as they attempt to re-enter human society. It is a small step on the road to national reconciliation, but it is at least in the right direction.