It is april of the year 714, from the reckoning of the Norin calendar.

Sorias, a human city under the protection of the Elf-King of Norium, has undergone a bloody coup, in which the old pro-elven aristocracy was overthrown by a faction loyal to the emerging dwarven republic of Cesia. The new rulers have declared their independence from Norium, and have concluded an alliance with the Cesian Republic. Hearing of this, King Louard VII of the Norin elves had the Cesian ambassador flogged in front of his court. The Cesian Assembly, enraged, has sent out call to arms to all its allies, and likewise, Norium is mobilizing its own friends. The situation is skidding out of control, as the fragile peace is rapidly unraveling.

---

The House of the Emudrim
In the great halls of Evolonē, the king of the Emudrim sat upon his thrown. Among all the Ailboi, the Emudrim were unanimously recognized as the most powerful and influential of the four households. While the other three houses were literally independent from one another, they still look toward the Emudrim to set an example.

On this early April morn, a group of ambassadors from Norium entered into the capital of the Emudrim. Right as they entered into the city, the Norin ambassadors felt the scorching humidity of the rainforest climate that dominated the kingdoms of the Ailboi. Even more, the Norin elves were puzzled at how their kin withstood this blazing heat.

When the ambassadors entered into the throne room of king Hydrigon, they found the ruler of the Emudrim seated at his throne, with his beautiful wife seated beside him. His daughter stood behind her father. However, there was an empty seat beside Hydrigon. The ambassadors wondered to whom that seat belonged. Was it a deceased son? Or was the heir of the throne just out of the city at the moment.

The Norin ambassadors bowed to their royal kin, their eyes focused on the king once they returned to an upright position. The head ambassador stepped forward before his fellow kinsmen, clearing his throat before he announced the tragedy of Sorias, a city that had just recently rejected the alliance of the Norin elves and defected to the swarthy Dwarves of Cesia.

“Your Majesties,” the head ambassador said, still only making eye contact with the king, “We bring ill news from the Kingdom of the Norin. The city of Sorias has rejected the protection of the Galan league and now sides with the Cesians. King Louard VII requests any and all assistance to make an example of those who refuse our aid and side with the dwarves of Cesia. What do you say, king Hydrigon?”

The Emudrim king sat in silence for a few moments. Then he bent over to the Emudrim queen, exchanging words through whispers. Finally, Hydrigon turned to the Norin Ambassadors and replied to their message.

“Norin brethren, children of the north. We shall uphold the pact of the Galan League by sending a force northward. However, this shall be a small expeditionary force whose task is to evaluate the situation. Once we have more reconnaissance about the situation, we shall supply more troops. I shall send my son, Arudrion, as the commander of this force. However, you will have to wait a few days until he gets back from the jungles to the East.”

“Why is he in the woods?” One of the ambassadors asked.

“Almost a century ago, an invasive species began to migrate south from the desert land of the fallen kingdom of the Dark Elves. These creatures, which we call the Rithanemai, have been targeting individuals from our human allies who reside in these jungles. These winged monstrosities have never dared to attack any of the Ailboi, until it actually happened twenty years ago. Since then, they have become more daring with their attacks. My son, along with some of the best elves of the Emudrim, is on the hunt for these creatures. As soon as he returns, the force which I have promised shall depart.”

Ashänti, Kingdom of Tyrisine

A pale moon rose over Ashanti and its stony streets glimmered with the soft lights of the floating lanterns employed by the Elves who called it home. Out in the streets of the mountaintop city, they moved about as ghosts would with slow care and deliberation. They meandered across the cobbles, resting at fountains to read books or chatting to each other quietly as they went. Soft harp and lute music could be heard on the warm breeze that breathed its way tenderly between the large, stone hewn manses that the Ashanti Elves called home. Far below, the forest expanded endlessly in all directions, a sea of verdant green illuminated in great spots by the villages that called its leafy expanse their sky and its soft, moist floor their homestead.

The Elves of Tyrisine were well known for their guarded dispositions and the their aptitude for thinking events through with an unprecedented thoroughness. Their long lives and calm cities meant that, on occasion, government decisions could take weeks to be discussed amongst the various levels of society - the Queen, her advisers, the merchants, the priestesses, the Dukes, the petty lords... all talked at length and frequently, a Tyrisinian custom that pervaded their system of government. Discussion and debate were some of the nation's most prestigious hobbies, and everyone from the lowliest farmer to the Queen herself participated in them on some level or another almost daily.

Today, in the Palace of the Sky at the centre of Ashänti, debate raged fiercely. It was not often that the debate was fierce in the echoing marble halls of Queen Elsannis III's primary residence, but tonight in the open topped Chamber of the Moon, while the stars bore witness, echoing shouts of passion and fury rebounded. The ambassadors from Norin had arrived early in the morning, but they had been kept waiting in the sleepy tranquility of Ashänti for a whole day, fed on the sweetwine, figs and honeyed veal that the Queen had presented them. All important business was conducted in the night's air in Tyrisine, for it was the belief of its Elves that the night aided thought and facilitated cool and calm discussion. This night, however, not even the moon's pale and disapproving face could halt the passion.

The chamber was circular in shape, its open top allowing creeping vines to travel down its marble face. A ring of stone hewn benches surrounded a central area complete with a raised marble dais that allowed a speaker to address a crowd unmolested. Echoes rang out imperiously across the chamber. In the centre, at this moment, was the ambassador from Norin, who had come representing the interests of the Galan League. The clamour in the room died down as he continued: "...my Elven brethren, it is your duty to support the League in this matter. Our request to ready your armies is not disputable. It must be war,"

The ambassador trotted sheepishly down from the dais and back towards his cohort on one of the lower levels of the bench. Opposite the entrance to the room sat Queen Elsannis herself, flanked by guards in gold gilded armour and herself clad in the imperious robes of state - red silks threaded with ermine and a great lace headdress that accompanied the vast and opulent tresses of her golden hair. She would be beautiful and pretty if she were not so imperious, so icy. Her demeanour was a calm mask that did not allow any such faction to read her expression.

Next to the dais came Marïthriel of Myrth, in his old age weighed down by the heavy and ornate runic robes of his position as First Chronicler of the Order of the Leaf. It was he who preserved the culture and traditions and histories of the Kingdom, and in times of crisis such as this the Tyrisinians always turned to their venerable and long past in order to secure faith in the course of action chosen. "My Lords and Ladies," the old man breathed at length. "War has not been seen by our people for generations. It is deliberately thus - it disturbs the calm that we call our own. We are a nation of careful cultivation of peace and prosperity, and for that we have our gracious monarchs and the ever lasting wisdom of the Council of Elders to thank,"

He paused, rubbing at the long white beard that trailed down to his middle. "However, war is not always avoidable. We made a pledge to our Elven brethren. It is imperative that we maintain this contract, this concordat, for there is nothing in this realm more important than the preservation of the Elven race. There are those out there who seek to destroy us; every man, woman and child will suffer under the reign of the Dwarves. These creatures care not for art, for the fine music that hangs like a thread on the Ashänti night's air, nor the bloodlines that have maintained our nation's prosperity for so many years. We must go to war, for we have sworn it, and if we do not, then we will only have ourselves to blame when our fine cities and our forests burn against the pale expanse of the Dwarven domain," He bowed, descending to a sea of muttering. Opposition to the war seemed to have been softened considerably by his words.

Next came Raelin Malthusîan the Green, the First Arrow of the Queen's Army and High Ranger of the Kingdom. He was much younger, no lines creasing his soft features. He wore the fine splendour of the upper echelons of the army with a winged and gold gilded helm, and an ornate, tree hewn bow at his back. A smile came easy to his lips, and as he ascended to the dais he did it with much less heaviness than the others before him. "My Lords and Ladies," he began, as was customary. "Our armies are largely defence based. I am sure that the League have taken this duly into consideration. It is true that our nearest neighbours are not what we would all call friends, and thus I would see it unwise for us to send a large force to fight an aggressive war. For we are not an aggressive peoples - and to send the bulk of our army would leave us helpless to the whims of the Dwarves and their allies. Instead, I say we act as a defensive bulwark against the advances of those who would seek to destroy our enemies to the south, and instead send a much smaller expeditionary force forward to those frontlines. Without it, we may be helpless," He bowed, a lock of his raven hair escaping his helm and brushing forward across his eyes.

Silence reigned supreme for a minute, and then the Queen rose. She did not descend down to the dais, but spoke with a clear and icy clarity that did not allow a murmur to disturb her speech. "I thank you for your counsel, my leal Lords and Ladies, and I thank the ambassadors for their patience. I will respond to this call to arms favourably, but it is the way of Tyrisine to plan defensively and carefully," She paused, icy eyes surveying the assembled crowd. "I and my councillors will begin discussions as to the semantics of this. Ambassadors, you may remain in my hospitality for as long as you so require. I do not go gladly to this war... but I do go to it," She paused, let out a small sigh, and then swept from the room with her attendants in hot pursuit.

The Republic of Eastrise

The moon shone bright on the countryside, small collections of buildings that were human towns and forests dotted the vast expanse of land below. It was a beautiful site from the Fire Palace and King Gomgurg certainly enjoyed the view. He looked at the view of the countryside than down at the city he had ruled over for many years. The view was so different yet the people that lived in the two different worlds depended on each other so much.

A horn suddenly blared as the kings enjoyed his last few moments of peace. Pressing a small button located on the side of his throne, the sounds of gears turning started and soon the throne began moving backwards. There was a small rush of air while it moved and soon it was going downhill. shortly traveling through a dark tunnel. As it arrived at its destination, there was another whirl of gears as the throne turned around and clicked into place. There were two dwarven guards dressed in golden armor and wielding large battleaxes across their chest standing to each side of him. But the key figures were standing in front of him. One of the three figures standing in front of him he knew, its was the foreign affairs minister from the council. The other two figures were were also dwarfs but their were distantly different from anyone that lived in eastrise, their skin color was slightly darker and they were also slightly taller than the average eastrise dwarf.

“Your majesty, I introduce to you the two ambassadors from the Cesia Republic. They wish to discuss some important matters with you privately.” says the minister after bowing to the king.

“Thank you, you may leave now.” says the king, he knew this was coming and he feared that the republic would be angered by his answer.

The ambassadors didn’t start with greetings, instead they skipped straight to the issue. “On behalf of the King of Cesia, we request that you provide instant military support in the war against Norium.” They didn’t blink once as they announced the request.

“I am sorry but I cannot provide any military support. My people cannot support a war right now and the area affected by the conflict does not affect us. What support we can provide is against the Pro-Norium nation of Westfall.”

The dwarfs didn’t give away any sign of anger or disappointment except for the fire flaring in their eyes. “Thank you, we will enjoy any support you can provide.” Their voices were plain and they instantly turned around and left.

Outside the Assembly, in the city of Cesia

The dusk was red as the day ended, and Speaker Tismar exited the great chamber of the Assembly exhausted. Observing the crimson glow, he wondered, as many of his forefathers did, at its cause. Some claimed that it was the soil, which reflected the red light through some unkown process. And yet others held that it was instead the shape of the mountains of the Cesian Valley, which funnel light in such a manner as it changed its color when the sun is at a sufficient angle. It didn't matter, he supposed, a simple state of being, a question for philosophers and restless nobles. They had the luxury to sit about and think about the mysteries of the world. But on Tismar's shoulders was placed the burden of maintaining the crumbling semblance of peace they had built for hundreds of years.

It had now been a week since the envoy to Norium returned, shamed. The Assembly's rage had not abated; If anything, it grew. Through subtle manipulating and backroom compromising, he was able to prevent the numerous declarations of war against the elves from being passed, but he could not continue for much longer. The common people were on the verge of rioting in protest at the perceived cravenness of the Assembly, and his fellow Councillors were not much easier to deal with. To make things more complicated, dissatisfied captains had taken it upon themselves to raid Norin merchant vessels, hiding their piracy behind patriotism. Yet they had now raided on several occasions Attolian traders, making his life that much harder. Both the Attolians and the Norins had to be assuaged. War was likely inevitable, yet he knew he had to fight against it until the last. Those crying for war were ignorant of the great plans that had been drawn up ages ago, of the pacts and alliances still in infancy, of the plots not yet brought to fruition. Already reports were returning from the ambassadors in Eastrise, speaking of their refusal to war against the elves. A war against Norium would have to come one day, but it had to be on Cesia's terms. This was all too soon, too unpredictable. A long, bloody war would only ruin Cesia.

Time was on their side. Norium was crumbling, slowly yet surely, under the weight of its own decadence. The monarchy was constantly under threat from the noble factions, seeking to assert their own autonomy. And peripheral cities were slipping out of its influence ever more rapidly. Yet for all that, it was still strong, and held many allies. War had to be avoided. It had to. Descending the stairs leading to the streets of Cesia, he motioned for his guards to follow him. They forced their way through the bustling streets. Though there were four of them shielding him, he might as well have been walking without guards, as the crowd simply swallowed them up. It wasn't long before a mangy commoner, with the look of a beggar and a wild stare, shoved into Tismar, bringing the old dwarf to his knees. "How dare you-" the speaker began as he got back up, outraged, reaching at his hurt stomarch...

..and feeling the handle of a knife, lodged withing his ribs. Blood pooled out of him, onto the street, and he fell back down. The beggar dragged him back up and, pulling out the dagger, stabbed Speaker Tismar once more, in the neck. One of his guards struck down the assassin. But by this time, the crowd had realized what had happened and who the noble was, the hated coward of the Assembly, and they jumped on the guards. Though the soldiers slew a few, they were beaten to death by the crazed mob, who raised up the beggar's corpse, hailing him as a martyr, and dragged the defunct Speaker's body to the market. His lifeless corpse was left on a stake there for days before any had the courage to take it down.

The Federation of Attolia

Lothar sat in his office situated in the city hall/manor of Attolia. Unlike the rooms of many leaders, there wasn't much furnishings. Rather, everything was clean, organized, and served a practical purpose. There was no royal portrait, or anything extravagant. In fact, it looked more like the office of a fairly well off merchant with its leather bound chairs, and oak desk rather than the room of a nation's leader. Still, this was the way that Lothar liked it. It was a simple, cozy room that had a great view of the city and the harbor. In fact, whenever he took breaks, Lothar would simply just look outside and watch his people live their lives. It was tangible evidence that his work was actually getting something done. Usually at this time, Lothar would be enjoying his morning tea as he looked outside through the windows. However, today was not a normal day.

Before Lothar, sat Mr. Peterson, the owner of a respectable Attolian shipping company. Mr. Peterson said "Mayor, something must be done! 5 of my ships have been attacked by privateers from Cesia in the last 2 weeks. If I suffer from another tragedy, then my company will be in dire straits. In fact, I'll be lucky to recuperate from these losses in 3 years!" Lothar nodded and said "Mr. Peterson, I am aware of what has happened, and I assure you that justice will see the light of day. Now, if you will excuse you, I will meet with the Council to see how we will make sure that the situation is dealt with." Mr. Peterson slightly frowned as he looked unsatisfied with the situation, but he nodded and respectfully let the office. Lothar sighed. The tides of war seemed to be slowly approaching. It was ultimately Lothar's duty to see that his people are not swept up by the waves, but that would be difficult. A malaise was permeating through the air, and infecting everyone throughout the world. This malaise effects those that it has infected by making its victim thirst. Not for water, but for blood. And like all illnesses, there is no way to cure it, and the only thing that one could do is wait it out. That was what Lothar wanted to do: to wait out the current conflicts spreading, and simply remain isolated from the war that appeared to be brewing. However, the world had a cruel tendency to foil even the perfect plans. Thus, he had to address this issue with the Cesians.

---

The meeting with the council was heated. Some argued that we should ignore the piracy and not drag the nation into conflict while others argued that piracy should never be tolerated because it threatens the lives of every citizen in the federation. At a certain point, Lothar simply stood up from his chair that stood at the head of the long, rectangular meeting table. When that happened, a silence fell upon the Council. Lothar took this opportunity to speak what he believed what the right choice. "Council members, it has long been an Attolian tradition to live peacefully among our beaches and plains. This tradition is what has led to our prosperity ever since our fathers arrived on this island. However, I also believe that we cannot move an inch from our firm resolution to fight piracy for the ocean is too precious for us to lose. You all know the numbers. Without the sea and the food that we obtain from its bounty, the population of the Federation will shrink a quarter within a year due to starvation. Even with a quarter of the population gone, food will be stretched thin as strict rationing will have to occur. How can anyone call such an existence, life? Therefore, I believe that we must at the very least speak with the Cesians. Although I personally find their...discrimination to be distasteful, the dwarves of Cesia are rational. Hence, I request that Council Member Bolin set out to Cesia with a small envoy."

Council Member Bolin was an interesting figure in the council. He was one of the more purebred dwarves in the Council, and thus retained the physique of a dwarf. However, his small quantity of elf blood made him quite a charismatic figure and his human blood apparently granted him a natural knack in talking. It was obvious that he would serve as the best diplomat to meet the Cesians due to his physical appearance and natural ability.

Lothar continued to speak "There are a few requests that we will make of the Cesians. One is to punish the Captains who have taken part in the banditry. Two is to pay reparations to the owner of the ships and the family of the men who were killed in the raids. If those two requests are met, then all will be forgiven. However, in the event that the requests are met. Then we must take more drastic measures." The Council was obviously disturbed by Lothar's last sentence as some members moved uncomfortably in their chairs. Lothar then said "In the mean time, we can not ignore the events that are happening around the world. In preparation, I will issue an executive order. The first part of the order is to cut iron exports by a half. Iron is only a minor export for us, so our economy won't be hit too badly. But in the event of a future war, we must have the resources to arm ourselves. In addition, we will expand our import of wood. I want trade envoys to be sent to the nations of Jonhfeir and Ailbanor. Their jungles are bountiful and thus their timber exports are plentiful. Our navy can be maintained and expanded if needed if we have the timber available. In addition, I desire to have a diplomatic envoy sent to Maj'Dwaremburg in order to create an agreement. I want to create a unified effort against pirates. In effect, this agreement is meant to have both nations patrol and protect each other ships from pirates. Thus, if an Attolian trading ship is being attacked by pirates and the Mardithian Navy, then they are obliged to aid the trading ship, and the opposite will of course be promised as well in this agreement. If a Mardithian ship is being attacked by pirates, then the Attolian Navy will come to its aid if it is able."

The Council then burst into whispers as the Council expressed its hopes and doubts about forging such relationships rather than remaining completely isolated and detached from the world. Lothar said "That is all. This Council is now adjourned." and then promptly took his leave from the Council room.

The Senate, Maj'Dwaremburg, Central Libor, Mardithia


Senator Manius Gratius was not best pleased. Standing as he was, with all eyes on him, he allowed the deathly silence to pervade the air and thicken the tension. His eyes roamed all over the great chamber, making eye contact with every face he came across, and he paused for an extra few seconds when he found himself staring into the cold eyes of the High Thian himself.

The High Thian did not make it his business to come into the Senate much, but on this occasion he had chosen to do so, and Senator Manius could see why. The crisis in question was the worst ever faced by Mardithia, and the High Thian could not be expected to make a decision alone. The old Senator’s eyes eventually settled on the little dwarf standing proudly in the centre of the chamber. For his small stature, he was quite an impressive sight. It was clear that he understood Maridthian respect for fine clothes and status, for he had come dressed in the finest regalia.

“I do believe…” Manius slowly began, his voice echoing in the silence of the great chamber, “that what our dwarven allies call us to…” his eyes bored into the standing dwarf, “is suicide and the destruction of Mardithia and all civilisation and sovereignty in these lands for many, many centuries to come!” there was a roar of agreement from Manius’ side, equalled in vigour by those disagreeing who sat opposite him.

“’tis true! ‘tis true!”

“Yeah yeah!”

“Ridiculous!” another shout sounded.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!”

“Coward!”

“What our dwarven allies call us to...” his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of noise which rattled the chamber, until the High Thian raised a hand and silence reigned once more.

“What our dwarven allies call us to is in no way wise or timely. We are not capable, in our current form, to take on the elves and all their allies. We are as certain to be destroyed as a ship in the midst of a storm surrounded by pirates. We must bide our time and strike once ready, and ready we are not!” Manius took a seat as the shouts of agreement and disagreement rose once more. They were quickly silenced, however, when the High Thian stood.

Magnus ‘the Old Wolf’ Feuertarga glared at all those seated within the great senate chamber. The pillars of marble, carved and decorated by the very best, seemed to shrivel under his gaze, and the very mosaic floor upon which the dwarven ambassador stood, with all the colours and displays of Mardithian splendour, appeared to tremble ever so slightly, as if to escape the chilling gaze of the lord of Mardithia.

“We have argued long, and the debate is endless.” He said simply, his voice calm and cold, “the time has come to vote, to decide whether we shall by our ally stand, or if we shall keep our peace and hope that our enemies will keep their peace.” He waved his hand, signalling for the senators to disperse, there was to be no more debating on the matter. Those who left through the right exit were voting in favour of going to war, and those who left through the door on the left voted against it. It was not clear from watching what the outcome would be, they would have to wait for the count and the speaker to announce.

It was not more than ten minutes before the chamber was once again packed with senators, and the wait for the count began. All was silent as the speaker, Flavius Antonius, stood.

“While the count for that vote goes ahead, it would appear that another ambassador, this one from Attolia, has arrived not more than an hour past the clock. He awaits your lordship’s permission for an audience.” The speaker looked towards the High Thian who signalled for him to allow the ambassador into the room. The dwarf had been escorted away to make himself comfortable until the decision of the Senate was announced, and thus the Senate waited for the new arrival.

The Attolian ambassador was escorted into the chamber by two scribes, a scroll in his hands. He stopped in the middle of the chamber and turned until he was facing the High Thian and the speaker.

“Speak, Attolian, what brings you to Mardithia?” Flavius demanded, his voice as thunder and eyes glinting like steel.

Johnfeir

The Crafters council all sat in the capital building, located in Feir City. The building, a mix of different materials that would make anyone who did not know the history of the country, was a small affair. Even so, it didn't need to be that large to seem immense to small little gnomes. On the outside, a spectator could see that the building was a large square, with no windows on any side. At the base, coming three feet off the ground, was stone. The middle of the building, going upward, was plated with a gleaming white metal. Finnally the roof was made using the local tree population. The door was an ornate spear-head shape with intricate designs carved in its wood. All in all, the building stood ten feet tall. Inside, was a hall leading straight to the audience room with the council seating in a slightly elevated area in the front. Also, upon entrance, there were two simple doors to the side, inside were two waiting rooms. The building wasn't as a grand affair as other capitals or palaces of other nations, but the gnomes preferred functionality over, well, large buildings.

The Council was were all sitting in their spots, each one sitting on a comfortable chair mainly fashioned from the exports of their native district, the only exception being The Prime Crafter. As leader, he sat on a very comfortable, custom made "throne", made from all three of the countries major products. The ten gnomes were all conversing with each other, pipes hanging from their mouths and an occasional burst of nasally laughter as someone popped a funny joke. It was a wonder that the nation of Johnfeir ever made it into the Galan League, not at all elegant like the elven founders. Most were quite the opposite, loud, rambunctious, and always needing to do something with their hands. If they hadn't been so keen to sniff out a dollar and began to be a major trade partner with the Kingdom of Norium and Ailbanor, they could have very well joined the League of Ingria. Though, fortunately, the government had landed their small nations a spot with the strongest group in the world.

Sometime late in the day, the Council's secretary entered the doors of the audience room and announced that a messenger from Norium had come to give the Council a message. The men quickly composed themselves and told the secretary to allow the elf in. The tall creature had to bend down a little to get through the door, but was able to stand once he had entered completely. "I have traveled from the distance Kingdom of Norium to give you a most urgent message. The sorrowful Republic of Cesia has declared war on our mighty nation. The king himself has called all of his allies to join in the war effort to make an example of those riotous dwarfs," with that, the tall, sweaty elf, bowed and backed out of the room, staying in the bowing position until he was all of the way out of the room.

As soon as the doors of the audience hall had shut, every single member of the council burst into laughter. "He was dieing in those hot robes!" one of them called out as everyone nodded in agreement and continued their laughter, each one of their pointed hats that marked them as rulers bobbing up and down. Another stood up and over exaggeratedly said, "I am from Norium, where it is a whole darn lot cooler than this blasted country. Us high class elves can't stand the heat in the robes we absolutely have to wear!" This prompted another fit of laughter from each of the gnomes. Once the all of the snickers died down, the Prime Crafter, BamGardo Bywater, stood and announced, "Well, we are now presented with a decision, war or peace?".

A large gnome, who's mining business was located in Iron City, immediately stood up and shouted, "To War! Lets send every gnome and barker we've got to those bloody dwarfs and make them pay!". This extracted many critical looks from his peers and he quickly sat down and slumped into his chair.

"Well," began a gnome from who owned a weapons factory based in between Midville and Portston, "I say we send the elves weapons, its too early to send soldiers. Weapons are always need."

"Well, that may be fine for you," another one began, "but with the dwarfs pirating going on, a ship won't make near Norium without being sacked. I've already lost two of my trade ships to them!"

Before any of them could respond, the secretary knocked on the door and entered, " I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is a messenger from Emudrim here. He wishes to speak with you.".

"Let him in," Bywater replied.

"Good evening, my gnomish brothers. My king has tasked me to inform you that has planned to send a force to assist our Norin allies, albeit that we must wait for the prince Arudrion to return from hunting the dreaded Rithanemai," the messenger said as he gave his message quickly.

"Thank you, sir," Bywater began, "you may leave to the waiting rooms." The elf bowed and then left the room. " Well, this may change our course of action. Does anyone have any ideas for our course of action?"

A younger gnome from the framing district stood and addressed the rest of the Council, "I say we still send the weapons to Norium. We could enlist the elves from Emudrim to protect our shipment from the dwarven pirates. In turn, we could send men to help eradicate the Rithanemai." The evil, bird-like creatures used to be a menace to the gnomes before Johnfeir was born, always attacking the farms and destroying crops, but things have since changed. As Johnfeir began to develop the gnomes had began to produce harpoonish weapons that could easily take down the monsters. In addition, the gnomes also found out that their barkers were one of the creatures natural predators. Soon, the gnomes easily pushed the Rithanemai out of their country, and accidentally into Ailbanor.

"I like that idea," Bywater replied, "All in favor say 'Ay' all against say 'Nu'." Soon the audience room was filled wit Ay's and Nu's. Finally, they sorted out that seven agreed and three disagreed. The plan would go forward. Bywater spoke into a tube standing next to his throne, his message was reach the secretary who had a similar tube in his office. Soon the two elven messengers entered the room. "Our decision on the war concerns both of your kingdoms, so we shall give it to both of you. We have decided that we shall not send any soldiers to fight the dwarfs, but we shall send weapons to help arm your warriors," The Prime Crafter replied to the visitors, "This is were you come in, my Emudrimian friend. If your nations send forces to protect these shipments, we will take care of your problem with the Rithanemai for you. You may both leave, I expect that our decision will reach your rulers." With that, the two elves were gone, and the Council relaxed and began to converse again.

The House of the Emudrim
The Attolian ambassadors sailed up the main river, which the Ailboi called the Amanduin, that stretched cross the realm of Ailbanor. The Attolians onboard marveled at the mystery and beauty of the wooded areas that crowned both sides of the Amanduin. They even saw a forest elephant breaking through the clearing while it was on its way to get a drink from the river. Everything looked so different in this land, when compared to the Attolians’ own infertile realm (or it looked like that when compared to Ailbanor).

After the Attolians had traveled some distance by boat down the Amanduin, they finally caught sight of the Elven city of Evolonē, the home of the Emudrim. Prior to that moment, the Attolians had first visited the city of Aëtoubar, the forested capital of the Thōrrim, the Emudrim’s westerly neighbors. King Orvidil, the ruler of the Thōrrim, advised the Attolians to visit the Emudrim first. If Hydrigon would agree to it, so would the king of the Thōrrim.

However, Orvidil warned the Attolians that the Ailboi do not harvest the trees in their forest realm in a mass scale. They would first have to search the forest in order to find the trees that already ready to pass into a new life. The Ailboi had a unique connection with all life, fauna and flora, in their realm. They could not carelessly cut down their forests without proper due diligence.

Once the Attolians disembarked from their ships into the Emudrim city of Evolonē, a sudden storm rolled over the forested Elven realm, drenching the land with torrents of rain. As the ambassadors made their way to the royal palace of the elf-king, they noticed that the atmosphere seemed different from what they have heard was the accustomed sounds of the Ailboi realm. They heard somber melodies fill the air, a sorrowful elegy. The ambassadors wondered of whom the Ailboi sung.

Before the gate of the elf-king stood an elf wearing elegant clothing, signaling that he was one of the Ailboi elf-kings. However, this elf was not Hydrigon nor Orvidil. His name was Ruinvagor and he was the elf-king of the Amulugrim, who were the greatest craftsmen of the Ailboi. His red hair was like a glorious flame, even shining in the otherwise bleak atmosphere.

“Greetings, elf-king. We have dealings with the ruler of the house of the Emudrim. We wish to have discuss matters with Hydrigon.”

The red-haired elf-king turned to the ambassadors, a frown forming on his face. “I am sorry to be the bearer of ill-news, but king Hydrigon is not seeing anyone at this moment. He and his family are in great mourning because his son has gone missing. While the hunting party had returned late last night, the heir of the king never passed the threshold of his paternal kingdom. You may remain in his realm until he is ready to see you.”

The ambassadors accepted the Amulugrim king’s story and retired to the quarters provided by the Emudrim to foreign emissaries.

---

The Night Before
The Emudrim hunting party sneaked across the forest floor of the jungle that was located east of the Emdurim heartland. When the Rithanemai first entered into the realms of Ailbanor, the Ailboi were not concerned when they saw that the inherent unnaturalness of these animals prevented them from living for long spans of time. Even with infrequent raids, the short lifespans of these winged horrors would control the Rithanemai population by itself. Once the Rithanemai started to target the Ailboi and add elven blood into their spawn, the Ailboi’s attitude toward these bird-women turned more serious, as with elven blood, the Rithanemai could potentially live just as long as the elves of Ailbanor.

As Arudrion headed the band of elves, he heard a song that invoked intense emotions upon the elven prince. However, unlike most Rithanemē snaring songs, this ballad only affected the son of Hydrigon, although the other elves could still hear the song. In addition to this, the Ailboi could distinguish actual words within the song, while most Rithanemē songs lacked any intelligible language.

The hunting party heard an abbreviated narrative of the daughter of Ruinvagor, the gem of the Amulugrim. She had been engaged with Arudrion himself. Not only were they a perfect match for a royal pair, but they were “soulmates”. However, Arudrion’s fiancée was stolen from him twenty years ago when, while she was taking a stroll through the woods surrounding Drakost, she was snatched up and killed by a Rithanemē. The king’s daughter was the first elven victim of the Rithanemai, but she was not the last.

“Lord Arudrion, what are you doing?” one of the elves asked the prince as he approached the source of the ballad. Once Arudrion had placed some space between himself and the rest of the hunters, a Rithanemē descended from the canopy and snatched the Emudrim prince into its claws. Immediately after this, a second Rithanemē appeared and fought the first winged fiend for the elf prince. Once the second Rithanemē ripped Arudrion from the first’s claw, she beat her strong wings in retreat, jabbing her talons at the winged monster that had first attacked the Emudrim prince.

One of the elves felled the first Rithanemē from the sky; however, the second turned her path into the denser foliage in order to protect herself from any elven missile. As the first winged assailant became earthbound, it let out a screech, alerting any Rithanemē in the area of the danger created by the elven presence. The forest canopy vibrated as dozens of local Rithanemai darted toward the Ailboi hunting party.

The soft tinkle of water from great, soaring fountains accompanied the harmonious trilling of songbirds in the vast gardens of the Palace of the Sun in the city of Ashänti, and yet not all was well in the hallowed halls of the Tyrisinians. In a gilded seat, a table of hot steaming herb tea on a table beside her, contemplated Queen Elsannis III. She was dressed in a long, twisting garment sewn with living flowers that breathed in the sun as if she wore the very vestments of the world itself.

It all felt like a sham. The very foundations of this carefully planned and cultivated city and its surrounding forest were threatened by the very real possibility of war. Across from her, her mother the Queen-Dowager Alēthiana of Nara-Thitinia sipped delicately at her tea. She was venerable in age, her hair now turned white as snow and her robes embellished with the jet jewellery of the widow, but the incoming events seemed to concern her little. "The Dwarves stir up trouble very often, my dear Elsannis. They are a riotous lot, but they will calm themselves," Elsannis heard her mother say, nibbling at a sugared fig. "Their time spent underground stirs up tempestuous emotions. Your father dealt with it many a time,"

Elsannis bit at the inside of the her mouth. "He did, mother, but never in such numbers. We cannot work our way out of this through diplomacy, as we have before - this is not a call to arms from me. It comes from our alliances," Through the natural din of birds, bees, rabbits and the small noble children of the court playing in the endless fountains and parks of the gardens, Elsannis could almost feel the palatable discontent. "The people have heard of the indignities committed against the Elves and their sympathisers by the Dwarves and they have begun to see it as an affront to our noble bloodline and lineage. Frankly, I agree,"

Alēthiana paused, eyeing her daughter severely. "This kingdom will not burn while there is blood yet in my veins. Consider your decision Elsannis, it is not just your pride at stake. Do you think we have cultivated this splendid wealth and glory by attacking every diminutive cave dweller who insulted us?" The Dowager swept to her feet, shook her head, then turned and walked away. In the heat of the moment Queen Elsannis III forgot the rudeness of her mother's turning her back on the reigning Queen.