The Imperial decree arrived by horseback. The Emperor sent a man of his own blood, a man named Rexus, to command Alaric to assemble his forces and invade the West. There the kingdoms had grown wary of the Empire's exploits, and they must have know that an invasion was coming. They agreed to set aside their differences and work together. Each kingdom sent a small detachment to hold the Maw for as long as possible, for every day they held the pass was another day they could prepare defenses.

Knowing that the Maw was crucial to the war effort, Alaric hastily rode to occupy the mountain pass. The Sixth Legion rode with him, as they had many times before. The Sixth had earned a fearsome reputation in the East; it was Alaric's first command, and they had been with him through every conquest. Lucius, the official commander of the Sixth Legion, had become good friends with the young Alaric, a mentor of sorts.

Accompanying Alaric and the Sixth were Zathii auxiliaries, the very men who had rebelled against the Empire just a few years earlier. Lucius feared a mutiny, for the Zathii hated the Imperials and they proved to be disobedient, but Alaric insisted they come. They would occupy the Maw until reinforcements arrived...

---

The morning sun crept over the eastern entrance of the Maw, slowly pulling itself over the horizon. To the north a black mountain stood sentry; its steep slopes were flanked on all sides by smaller black-peaked mountains. To the south a similar image: jagged black spires protruding from the earth. Set between north and south was a flat, green valley, aptly named the Maw. As one traveled down the beaten path they would feel as if they were standing in the jaws of some gargantuan creature. The Dragonspine Mountains were as old as the world itself, forever separating the East and the West.

For centuries, perhaps millenniums, traders had peddled their goods back and forth. But there would be no traders today, no travelers of any kind. A reinforced wooden wall had been constructed, stretching across the entire eastern entrance of the Maw. It had been raised just a few days prior; great bastions were erected at regular intervals and crowned with ballista. A series of gatehouses also ran the length of the wall at various points. No Western army could assault the wall without taking significant casualties, and even then the Imperials would drive them away with ease. It was a forgone conclusion.

The Allies would arrive before noon. They would build their camps at the western edge of the Maw, opposite the Imperial wall. They were separated by several miles of open land, flanked to the north and south by the Dragonspine Mountains. Once their camps were up and their armies settled the leaders of each Western force would be called forth to attend a parley in the middle of the Maw.

Torr waited patiently on his black steed. His cold blue eyes studied the wall in the distance. He was accompanied by a blonde-headed woman, a shield-maiden from the realm of Asgeir; her name was Aesa, his second-in-command. The northerners could not bring many men to the pass, Torr only managing to round up nine 'Wolfguard': elite bodyguards from his home province of Valland. Desperate to join, Aesa swore an oath to serve Torr as the party was leaving, thus becoming his tenth Wolfguard. The two Varan became good friends during their journey south.

The middle gate soon opened and a band of riders exited. Alaric was easy to spot: a great fur cloak hung at his back, with a barbaric undertone to his Imperial apparel. He was flanked by two heavily armored men, and judging by their crests they were high-ranking officers. Behind these three a retinue of heavily-armored men followed; Torr counted fifteen total. They were Sylver Legionnaires, and not a group to be taken lightly. When rumors spread of the Sylver Empire's rise they were always spearheaded by accounts of the Legionnaires.

Eventually the group would come upon the Allies and both sides would face each other.

Alaric's long hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. His young face was only partially covered in facial hair. Dark brown eyes scanned each Western lord. The tribal aesthetics in the man's armor was evident; it was as if this Imperial general wanted to remind himself of his heritage, and wanted all to know.

It was a stark contrast to his two associates, donning steel Legionnaire armor, red crests, and crimson capes. They were clean-shaven, light-skinned, and tall. They were true Sylverans, from the Heartlands of the Empire. Some believed the first Sylverans mated with a race of she-elves, and that their descendants were half-elves. They certainly had the noble undertones of elf-kind, as well as the height and complexion. But they had the strength and desire of men.

Alaric spoke first. "So you have assembled your armies opposite my own. You intend to do battle? How many men do you have? Two-thousand? Twenty-five hundred? It's not enough. You will not win."

"No, maybe not." Torr interrupted, his graveled voice challenging Alaric's. "But we will hold you here for as long we can."

Alaric nodded his head grudgingly. "I am sure you will all fight and die bravely. But you will do so in vain. Your homelands are preparing defenses, no doubt. Preparing for the inevitable war to come. The reality is they have sent you here to die, just so they can live a few days longer."

Torr snarled his nose, "What would you have us do, boy?"

One of Alaric's lieutenants spoke for him. "He would have you lay down your arms, Northerner. Sheath your swords and return home, and await Imperial commands."

"And what would the Empire bid me do," Torr growled at him.

Alaric raised his hand to stop the lieutenant from speaking again, "that is enough Lucius," he commanded calmly. He looked at Torr and replied. "Your kings will give up their power and serve the Empire. Your people will pay taxes to the Empire. Your men will fight for the Empire. There will be no more disunity, no more conflict. We will be one and the same, brothers and sisters in arms."

Torr shook his head. "You would make us slaves to your Emperor. We will not feed the Imperial war machine and our sons will not fight in your wars." A few moments passed and Torr continued "Imperial blood does not even course through your veins, Alaric. I hear your father was a barbarian, no different from my own people. Why do you fight for these invaders?"

Alaric looked down at the earth for a few seconds before finally looking back up. "If you only knew." Sighing he finished by saying "if you do not leave this pass willingly then I will force you out. I suggest you prepare your armies, for my men march within the hour."

Alaric and his men turned and headed back to the wall, save for one man, the lieutenant who did not speak. He cast a hateful glare to the Allies. "You will all die like the dogs you are." He looked at Pizurk, the ork commander, "even the green-shits have rallied to your side. Pathetic."

"Rexus!" Lucius called for his comrade. The man named Rexus turned and galloped away, rejoining Alaric.

---

Torr waited patiently in the strategy tent, along with Aesa. The tent was large enough to accommodate the Allied leaders and whatever assistants they had with them. In the middle stood a wooden table, surrounded by wooden chairs. When everyone had assembled Torr stood up and began to speak.

"Friends... allies... former enemies. Steel yourselves, for battle is upon us. Whatever hatreds you have had in the past, forget them. They don't matter anymore. Elves... men... orks... today, we are but one race. Alaric and his Imperial lackeys prepare for battle behind their wall. We must make a stand."

"My scouts have reported that Alaric's army is not at full strength. He has brought only the Sixth Legion with him, and an attachment of auxiliary forces." Torr rubbed his beard. "No doubt reinforcements are on the way. He will not deploy his Legionnaires, not today. We match the Sixth in number and he will not throw them away needlessly, for they are his prized possession. His auxiliaries number three-thousand, and they are not of Imperial stock. I suspect he will deploy them first. They are ill-disciplined, with poor equipment. But they are also strong-willed and will put up a good fight. Expect light infantry... perhaps light cavalry."

Torr finished his speech, "Who shall devise the strategy and command our forces on this day?"

Pizurk sat atop his worg alongside the rest of the so called 'allies' that had managed to gather together in the short about of time that they had all been given to gather their forces for the defense. Beside him rode two other Uruk, both riding on their own personal worgs as the small group remained relatively silent during the process of parley between the two armies that had gathered together for battle.

Truth be told, the Uruk's had gone into the parley with no illusions about how it was going to end; They had given their oaths to hold the Maw or die trying and that was what they were going to do no matter what any of the filthy tarks had to say to each other. The fact that the eastern tarks looked like half bred Zanbaurs didn't improve their standing in the slightest, but despite everything the uruks stay quiet and let the stupid tarks prattle on pointlessly before arriving at the foregone conclusion that there was going to be a battle here today. Honor dictated that the act of parley be upheld and that assassinating an enemy leader when they have come to parley was held in a poor light... even if they were a half bred zanbaur.

However, Pizurk's eyebrow raised as he noticed one of the tark lieutenants stayed behind his leaders pack as the parley came to an end and the rest of the tarks walked away. The tark (Rexus as he would find out soon enough) then had the balls to insult all of them to their faces, but even went so far as to single out himself and his brothers as he reveled the disgust that burned at his core before he turned his back on them to try and ride back to safety.

The keyword being try.

While the uruks had honored the terms of the rite of parley to satisfy their own personal honors in their own eyes (as well as that of their people), Rexus had made a critical error of judgement. By staying behind to insult them, Rexus had effectively revoked the protections that his leaders parley had offered him before; By all rights, he was now just another enemy combatant that had stupidly wandered onto the battlefield alone and into range before turning his back to try and flee.

Pizurk grinned wickedly as he raised his crossbow, his two bodyguards doing the same as they took aim at Rexus's back and sort to answer an age old question: What could move faster, three crossbow bolts or a horse?

Shots lined up, aimed and fired, the Uruk delegation turned their worgs and darted back towards their camp. It was time to prepare for the slaughter to come.

......................................................................

"If none of you tarks desire command, then let an uruk show you how this battle is going to be won." Pizurk answered the question that Torr had asked, throwing his name into contention for command.

Florian regarded the assembly of generals cooly, fingering the wisps of his nine-day beard. Peoples of nearly all of the Western nations (excepting the thrice-damned Ulahids, though one could scarcely count upon them for aid even in times of peace) had come in defense of the Maw. Elves...Men of all varieties...and even the green ones, the hated Uruks, all had come to the Maw to participate in this grisly masquerade, this final farcical revolt against the all-ranging might of the Empire that would surely grind the West beneath its iron heel. No matter how long they delayed Alaric, it would not be enough—the West was ill prepared to contend with the Empire. Jan-Leopold XII, King of Galatia, and Florian's own lord-father, did not even consider the Empire a veritable threat to the kingdom.

"They will be swallowed up by the steppe, and then we shall ride them down, and show them the mettle of our spears," he had said, in an almost mocking manner, when Florian had pleaded before the court to send more men to defend the pass.

You will hide in your castles. You will burn the fields and offer up the country to rapine. The people will be the toll for your folly. When all is said and done, they will find you, and tear down your walls. You will die screaming, and in your death throes you will wonder why.

On the road to the Maw, it had consumed him, the thought of death, the thought of dissolution, the thought that everything they would do here would be for naught. But Florian shook away such thoughts now. Let come what may come; he could ill afford to think beyond the moment, so long as they were here.

His eyes settled upon each leader of the assembly as Torr delivered his speech. Pizurk, the uruk with his disgustingly beady eyes, who instinctively made bile rise to his throat; Lothian, the monumental elf in his black armor; Torr, "The Wolf", his blue eyes as sharp as knives; the young king Alexander Myerscough, who he had almost instantly disliked; the imposing Bane of Riganite, as much a barbarian, in Florian's mind, as Alaric; the unfathomable Erebus Dragon-Keeper, encased in his enchanted armor; the Grand Duke of Saqquar, Gastó Canalis, in his lavish finery; and the beautiful and striking Gyrid Thometilldottir, the Goddess of the Roffellans, who the Galatians knew well. Who would lead them on the first day of their death march?

Florian glanced to his left at Ludwik-Balbo, his lord-cousin, who regarded him with a bewildering look that said, "Don't." Ludwik-Balbo was ten years his senior and looked it, too. At only thirty-three his face was drawn and wrinkled, and he was balding, with what hair remaining him being gray and as frayed like a torn carpet. He was, as were most people in Florian's estimation, a fool who could hardly see what was before his eyes. But he decided to keep his cousin's counsel, at least for now. After all, he didn't think it wise that he should lead the first battle that he had ever fought in. He was, though he would never admit it, afraid to make a novice's mistake, even if he had proven himself in an endless number of exercises and mock-battles. So he would sit out for now, and watch how the others moved, before making his own.

But when Pizurk volunteered for the command, Florian could simply not stay silent. An Orc? The leader of a Western army? An Uruk, who in ages past his people had hunted like vermin? It was madness.

"You would lead us, Orc?", he snapped, starting up from his camp chair, " And what would you have us do? Shall we throw ourselves into Alaric's troops, so that you and your fellows have more meat for the roasting? I suppose we'd make a fine repast, would we not? And when you're done, and your bellies are full, you'll run back to your caves and your hiding places, and let the rest of us perish upon the tips of the imperial lances."

Ludwik-Balbo sighed and averted his eyes.

Florian continued, looking deeply into the face of each general, "Why should we trust him, I ask you? When have the Uruks ever come to our aid, save to enrich themselves?"

Mighty War Master... We are deploying you to the Maw. With a small detachment of Battle Mages from the Coven. About 20 men, of course you are granted to bring as many Chosen as you want, but you already know the level of danger of this mission by us sending you to this battle. Pick wisely... The Counsel request you to Capture all High ranking officials of the Empire, instead of bringing them to their death.

Why does the Counsel make this bold Request? Are we not enemies to the Empire? They Dare send their Angel of Death and ask mercy of him!?

Watch your tongue War Master! There is bigger plans happening beyond your comprehension. Bigger than even mines. You have your Orders War Master. Your purpose remains unchanged, you will smite the Warriors of the Empire with complete and total prejudice. Gather the Men tonight, you will be off to the Maw in the Morning. You are Dismissed War Master...

Erebus slammed his Gauntlet to his Armor's chest piece. A sign of Respect from those of the Coven. Turning slowly walking away from his Superior. Honor comes in so many forms. Apparently in a century, I still yet to understand all of them, General.

---

Erebus arrived to the Camp later than all his Allies that would fight in this battle. His unit arrived ahead of some of the Logistical carts that were sent by the Counsel. All the Battle Mages were riding Large armor clad War Horses. Taller than any Men and more heavily armored than most men could carry. Each of them were painted Midnight black, contrasting their Rider's ceremonial Armor and Robes. They quickly began to make Preparations, while Erebus rode off with the other leaders to the Parley.

He let the Nobles speak, he didn't have any say in these Matter's and felt nothing he could say was relevant. Alaric spoke the truth, there was no winning the Battle. If their was, Erebus wouldn't have been called to participate in this battle. Everything said was expected. Of course both sides were unwavering. This battle was going to be had, regardless if one or the other wanted it to. What wasn't expected was the Green skin to attack one of the officers. While it didn't really matter to him, Erebus had his orders. If he can help it, none of the High Ranking officers were to be saved and captured. The three bolts flew across the air, suddenly snapping midair and falling into the ground before it could hit the attended target. As the Ork ran scared, Rexus's horse bucked, feeling the Magic applied behind it. Erebus turned and slowly began to trod back to his Camp. Not staying long enough to see Rexus's reaction.

At the Strategy tent, Erebus stood further back from the allied commander's table. Two of his Chosen Flanking him, their Massive Blades dug into the ground and their Palms resting at the pommel. He wasn't in the position to lead the allied forces, just his own men. A dedicated auxiliary force.

After the Comment made by the Ork and Florian Józef Czaja's remark about the Green Skins. Erebus spoke out, his voicing deep and booming. Just a extension of the Power in his veins. "What do you know of the Green Skins? They are savage, but are not unintelligent in the matter's of war. Almost a century ago they laid the Sleeping dawn in siege and killed hundreds of Battle mages. A cruel but necessary lesson for the Counsel in humility and underestimation of Enemy forces. Most of my Kin slaughtered by assuming the Orcs were little but savage beasts... I am not not here to command any of your forces, but I agree with Florian. Not because the Orc's mannerisms, but their force they bring and their style of fighting is not suited for such light auxiliary units we currently will face."

Erebus stood still like a statue. His Flaming red eyes didn't move when he spoke, as if he was addressing no one.

Canalis sat on his mane, silently observing the events unfolding in the Maw. The enemy general wants to meet the Allied forces to deter them from fighting, but both sides know that this isn't gonig to happen. Wars are won with sword and blood, not kind words and fancy parlors. The rest of the Allied generals accompanied the leading figure in this defense, a large man from the North by the name of Torr. His wold petled bodyguards and advisors stoo beside him as the he measured his wits with Alaic. Calanis wasn't a big fan of these pre-battle meetings. He always found them to be a dick measuring contests between men that only waste time.

He was at the back of the party as he arrived late to the camp, but he didn't mind the safety of multiple entourages in front of him. He observed the rest of the generals, variety of races from across the world. There were northeners like Torr, plain dwellers of the far west, mages from the secret societies, elves of the woods, and orcs from their barbaric lands. All the different cultures united under a single banner were fascinating. Calanis has only learnt about them from books before, or from the tales of the few merchants who were allowed into the Royal Palace.

No one insisted on him staying there for the whole duration of the chit-chat, and likely no one would notice if he left early. He looked at his guardians, 4 scaleguards riding 2 camels that have been lavishly decorated for this occasion, their double satchels shining with gold. He signaled them to follow, and he turned his own steed back towards the camp. Every minute wasted on this nonsense will delay the construction works by tenfold.

And he had no intention giving the enemy a breather.

---

Later at the tactical tent

Calanis sat in silence, his mind astray and dreaming about matters unrelated to the conversation hppening in the same room. He only paid the absolute minimal amount of attention to what was going on around him, and instead focusing on matters relating to state affairs and the battle to come. But he was interrupted by the outrage of Florian, the prince of the western horseman, who was blatantly insulting the orcs. Granted, Calanis himself never hard much about the orcs, as they rarely strayed down towards the south where the deserts would inevitably stop them before any conflict would ensue, however he refused to let such a demoralizing speech go by without repercussion.

He stood up from his sitting and leaned forward, loudly slamming his two hands on the table. He looked directly into the eyes of Floris who was sitting right in front of him, and gave him a furious gaze. "Yes they have. They are fiersome warriors that can easely decimate our weak foes. And the fact that you can talk shit about them right now is the sign that they decided to not let you die alone here. You may have inherited your father's descending tone Floris, but I do no not appreciate such behaviour, especially not with our allies." He nod at Pizurk, and then seated himself once again. Now that the attention was on him, he could continue without such dramatics. "We must stand strong against the menace on the other side of the Maw. We face the Empire outnumbered and ill equipped. Our morals therefore must be unwavering if we want to hold them at bay long enough so the West can defend itself." He looked around the room to let his words sink themselves into the minds of the generals. "Our alliance is held together by a thread, and it's a miracle some of us are here today. I would have never come here, had I not beg for my father's blessing on this battle. So you must also honor everyone present, or this makeshift assembly will come to an end swiftly. And if that happens, our empires will fall one-by-one, and we will only prove those smug Sylverans and their claims at bringing unity to our lands. If the orc wants to lead, then we shall listen to him, and assess the information with our minds, not our hearts." He got carried away in the heat of his speech, but he truly guarded the value of brotherhood deep in his heart. He forced a natural expression back on his face, and adjusted himself to a more comfortable position in his lavish chair. He came here beleiving that he could forge the nations together, and to create a lasting alliance with the other nations, long after the Sylver Empire occupied the maw. This was the only chance for a united defense, and he didn't have the patience to put up with the bullshit of some young prince with no real experience.

One of his lieutenants, an older scaleguard by the name of Aleriana, shifted closer to him and whispered in his ears. "Excellent speech your majesty". She has been with him since childhood, training him in close combat and archery, so naturally Canalis took her into the ranks of his own army, and relied heavely on her experience in combat. He only hoped that his wisdom was not wasted on these foolish generals, and that their dismay wouldn't bring doom upon his own troops.

Gyrid and her forces were one of the first to arrive at the western entrance of the Maw a few hours before noon. Almost immediately they set about forming their camp, pitching their tents and evening erecting a temporary and bare shrine to the Goddess Roffella in the middle of their tent village. The shrine was pathetic by Gyrids standards, with all but one of the holy books missing from the altar and only a small scattering of weapons and shields surrounding the small man sized statue of the goddess; but the Devotees are faithful, and she allowed their little construction project none the less. Eventually, Torr sounded the call for all the generals to mount up and meet the enemy in the pre-battle meeting; something Gyrid never had the luxury of having in her conquests. In the past when she rode to war, the buildup had always had a different feeling to them. By the time she had started her conquests, her name was already a well-known blight on the non-believers mind. The mention of her name would harken back stories of cities lit a fire, whole armies torn asunder, and the Followers swallowing up whole city states in one fell. She rode out with Torr and the rest of the Generals alongside her second-in-command Ardur Thanesbane. Ardur was a warrior as old as herself, who had a similar up bringing through the followers of Roffella. While he hasn't reached the rank of Priest yet, the birds have been singing him his praises for his works alongside Gyrid.

The duo rested in a wing position to the left of Torr and his guard. Gyrid listened in on the pre-battle meeting and a fury began to boil deep within her, a fiery rage that she fought hard to contain. These pigs come as invaders, demanding that they lay down their arms only to pick the swords back up only to sheath them! The audacity of forcing someone to surrender in such a manner felt like the most cruel joke to Gyrid.

"What is wrong Gyrid," Ardur whispered as he watched the brows of Gyrid pulled downward together as her eyes started out at the first legionnaire to speak.

"Besides him being a heathen?"

"Yes, besides that."

Gyrid turned her head to face Ardurs. "I don't like him," she paused, "I don't like the way he talks, I don't like the way he looks, I would probably also not like the way he fucks," she paused as she listened in to the conversation for a second, "he expects to emerge from the Maw victorious, without scars and without a fight," Gyrid paused as she turned her head back to face the man named Eastern man named Lucius, "I think I will find a way to make him remember this battle, remember all of us, and not as the first victory of a long campaign, but the beginning of the lands he will come to fear; filled to the brim with nightmarish warriors thirsty for blood, demanding their head as tribute to Roffella."

As she finished whispering, Gyrid noticed the two parties had just finished and had begun to depart the pre-battle meeting and began to make their way back towards their respective camps, when the soft twangs of crossbow strings rang out. Immediately feeling as if they had been set up, Gyrid quickly began to raise her shield up but stopped after catching glimpse of the bolts being disintegrating in the air not far from the back of one of the lieutenants.

"They have the right ideas," Gyrid said of both the Goblin creatures and the mage.



Gyrid listened as Torr began to talk about the enemy forces. When the Goblin creature offered his services as commander on the first day, Gyrid liked the idea. His actions after the pre-battle meeting lacked honor for sure, but Gyrid thought to herself is there any honor in war anyway? The act, if not intercepted by the mage, would have sent a clear and concise message to the enemy that they were about to face a new kind of threat that the east could not possibly have prepared them for. From the machines of death that the Duke brought and the magic wielding coven acting as hard hitting artillery, to the devout forces of her own army and the savage and unpredictable Southern Goblin creatures and their angry steeds.

"You would lead us, Orc? And what would you have us do? Shall we throw ourselves into Alaric's troops, so that you and your fellows have more meat for the roasting? I suppose we'd make a fine repast, would we not? And when you're done, and your bellies are full, you'll run back to your caves and your hiding places, and let the rest of us perish upon the tips of the Imperial lances."

This took Gyrid by surprise. While the tension in the air between all these former enemies was high, there was a general understanding that this was not for the survival of one nation as a whole, but a way for the west to stand together for the first time in history as one and face the might of the east. She carefully listened to the other commanders who spoke next and was relieved when they also spoke of the unity that the west needed to show in the coming hours.

Eventually, there landed an uneasy silence after the Prince had finished his speech. Gyrid looked around the room before she too stood up to offer her voice in the discussion.

"You are all right, and you are all wrong," Gyrid started, "we all have enemies around this table but our past must be forgotten for our present engagement in the Maw to have a chance. This gives the west a possible future. I don't care if you are imperialistic scum," her eyes rested on Alexander, "unholy Goblin creature from the South," her eyes darted to Pizurk before they rested on the table beneath her. "You are all heathens to me, and in another life I would have loved nothing more than to see your heads resting on top of pikes as a warning to the rest of the world to not test the resolve of Roffella, and I'm also sure each and every one of you would have loved the chance to break the Priestess of Roffella who burned the North West in battle," she paused as she looked around the room, "That is not our fate; Roffella has decided she wants something higher from us that we can not obtain alone." She paused as her head turned towards the Duke and locked her eyes with his. "You are right, young Duke. We will not win this battle on our hearts, but you are also wrong; we will not win this war with our minds alone, but rather their hearts," pausing as she shoved her hand to the east, " and their minds must be broken in ways they could have never imagined or ever repaired again." Pausing as she moved back into her seat, Gyrid once again looked around the room.

"I offer my service as commander as well if you don’t think the Goblin of the south is fit for it but the savage nature of his army cannot be forgotten." She again paused as she let the room soak in her words. "If I were to lead the first day I would win this battle, and with some time, offer the invaders from the East a sight tomorrow that would make them regret ever venturing into the Maw."

---

"In case you receive my lifeless body, this empire is then yours general. I expect chaos to happen, but hopefully, my efforts in stalling time at Maw will not be in vain."

"But will you return, your majesty?"

"...Yes."

Those were the last words exchanged between Alexander and his most trusted friend and general, Annibas. He was pretty much the finest and all-rounded military and political leaders of all time. And more importantly, he was Alexander's childhood friend, who he had studied with in caves with his private tutor, fought against during battle simulating games, and stood side by side on one of his most extraordinary conquest he had ever had. There was no other individuals that could befit to become the next heir to the Acity Empire than him, and there were no others that Alexander trusted to leave his empire to while he was absent.

Alexander knew that this expedition might be his last, for he was forced to fight against an army that outnumbered them umpteenth times. He knew that this battle would be a big lost on his magnificent records of victories, a full stop to the seemingly unending streak of triumphs. But this battle was not intended to be won after all. Its only goal was to delay against the march of the Sylver Empire, so that the Western Maw could have enough time to prepare for total war. It was his mistake. He was too careless, too focused on conquest that he failed to realize such threats were looming over the other side of the world. And now he must be ready to face the consequences.

The tale whether did he keep his promise and return to have another conversation, or die bravely at the relentless and unmerciful mountain pass of Maw, was yet to be told.



The young king stood straight with silence and composure, along with his two generals who all volunteered to come with him, William and his daughter Arturia, as he hear the experienced-looking yet impulsive Galatian commander go all his way to loathe at the orc as the barbaric warrior offered his leadership on the first day. Alexander merely shook his head in disappointment. What does he think he is? Some holy and noble gods who judge people? What is he to compare the entire culture to a small army of only nearly five hundreds?

Alexander had much experience with this kind of fools. He met them, he argued with them, and he crushed them for their foolish thoughts and acts. And he was no stranger to him. He was Florian Józef Czaja, the second prince of Galatia, the Kingdom that he once tried to negotiate a trade agreement with but failed, because of Alexander's reputation as a conqueror of the Northern Region. Whether Florian was against the trade or not was not known, but it left a bad taste in the young king. And this little petty rant added more salt to injury

Fortunately, the other commanders were apparently more logical and had a sense of unity, although the past grudges still remained. But still, the question who would be commanding this battle was yet to be answered. And judging by the looks of it, all of them seemed to have the confidence of military leadership, yet none have that competence, nor the manner of a military commander. They all talk and talk, and yet they had not offered their strategies on the table. The battle was won on the battlefield, with well-coordinated and well-thought out strategies, not using the art of arrogance.

It was at this moment that Alexander knew he had to speak up, with a wise tone of a king, addressing the entire room as a whole.

"I don't want to hear your blank promises any longer. If anybody wants to offer leadership of this little army we assembled, then state what you have in mind. The battle is won with spears and swords, not your words."

When Pizurk had put forward his offer to take command, he had truthfully been expecting heavy resistance to the appointment from the weaker races. He was not disappointed; two of his 'peers' instantly turned him down, through at least one of them tried to come up with some silly excuse to try and hide behind. At any rate, the tark shaman's actions to protect an enemy leader from his own stupidity merely caused Pizurk to narrow his gaze at him with suspicion.

More interesting were the northern tark and the desert tark. The north tark proved that she had a fire in her that would have served her well if she had been born a Uruk and while she wasn't in favor of him due to her own desires to take a leadership position, he couldn't help feel a degree of respect for the female. The desert tark was completely surprising through, actually throwing his support behind him in order to try and foster some kind of unity among their forces. The surprise that anyone was actually willing to give him their support willingly was clear upon the Uruk commanders inhuman features, through it was short lived.

When the call came to back up their attempts to take command with action rather then just words, Pizurk nodded his head as he leaned forward, looking at the map and the markers that represented both allied and enemy troops that had been arranged for this meeting of the minds in order to show what the grand plan was going to be... at least to start with. Taking the markets that represented his own forces, as well as cherry picking units from the other commanders he started to lay his blocks out.

He arranged a line of units, with his own infantry in the center of the line. On the left flank of the line were placed the markers for the Guards of Roffela and the Twilight Knights while on the right were the Royal Knights and the Hoplites. Behind the front line were arranged various archers and crossbow units from all forces while the Darkforest Rangers, the Scaleguards and the Devotees of Rofella where kept in reserve positions to respond as the tides of battle dictated. The Acity Empire's Light Cavalry would be on the right flank while his own worg units would take the left.

Interestingly he left the combat pioneers, all the heavy cavalry and the siege/artillery units untouched and off the board. He also didn't touch the markers belonging to Asgeir or the Court of Wizards.

"The plan is simple. When the enemy assault our lines they will quickly figure out that the center is a lot less heavily armed and armored then the flanks and they will focus their efforts in trying to break through. Rather then shattering or holding the line, the center should start to pull back and draw the enemy forces in... while the units on the flanks hold their positions. The rest of the infantry will be kept in reserve in order to be free to move around and respond as required while anyone with a ranged weapon are free to fire and kill as they desire. Meanwhile the light horses and my worgs will hunt down and slay their counterparts before circling around to apply pressure on the back lines and cut off retreat and close the trap as we encircle their army and slaughter them without mercy as they are trapped in a mass of bodies."

Looking up, he had a serious look on his face as he stated "I am using my own troops as the center because I can count on them to hold their ground and fight... but if anyone feels that their troops would be better suited for the role there instead of in the reserves, speak up now."

Lothian was not among the generals as they met, instead watching from afar back at the camp, this was partly because he found his presence among them pointless and partly because he didn't have a mount with him, his mount was precious to him so he opted to leave it behind. Despite his distance he was able to the precedings but not hear them, including the attempted assassination and it's arcane thwarting.

In the strategy tent Lothian was mostly silent in his observation of this first gathering. He was trying to gauge the quality of this coalition and his initial impression was rather poor. The orc's bid for command was met with such a mixed reaction that he shook his head at the thought that this group can't even be united in hatred. Lothian himself saw no issue with the orc leading the first day, despite not being the best at offensive strategy what orcs did have the intelligence for it did often have a head for defense as he would know better than most others here. Their banter continued for another short moment before Alexander called for someone to simply take action, which this Pizurk was quick to respond to.

Lothian couldn't help but agree with the orcs strategy: a defensive line and archers to met their infantry, knights on the flanks to ward off their cavalry, and their own cavalry to close a trap on enemy forces. All-in-all seemed a decent strategy, especially with some reserves to handle anything unexpected. He nodded "I can agree with this plan, my men will be ready" and before anyone else could mention the unused markers "I believe it's wise not to throw everything into every skirmish. This is a battle for survival, not for victory, and we can afford unnecessary losses" He caste a short glance toward Gyrid under his helmet, he was speaking to everyone but he felt it was her that needed reminding the most "we should deploy enough to ensure we win the day, too much more and we risk exhausting what little we have"

After Florian had taken his seat, Ludwik-Balbo regarded him sharply.

"And why," Balbo whispered hotly in his ear, "Did you do that?"

"We'll quarrel later, coz," Florian replied, looking off towards the ceiling of the tent.

Then, the other commanders had spoken, with particular vitriol being vomited from the mouth of the Grand Duke Canalis.

His people have had the luxury of never having had to deal with the Orcs, Florian thought, fuming in his chair. He took particular umbrage at the up-jumped Grand Duke's choice of words...his condescension...his jab about his inexperience.

I shall have words with him, before this all is over. And they shan't be minced.

Then...the zealot queen had spoken. Her beauty was unwieldy; although her face was heavily scarred, and although she was undoubtedly fierce...unwomanly, even, it went undiminished. The Roffellans were barbarous, and, until the treaty was struck some thirty years ago, Galatia's most hated foe, who had committed unknowable atrocities in the name of their obscure goddess, or so it was said. Even still, he found himself admiring her, though with no small amount of shame. A word—Eugenia—flashed briefly, and uncomfortably, through his mind, but he was quick to snap to his senses.

Gyrid's argument was sound, though Florian did not entirely regret his words. It was his understanding, and that of all his people, that orcs were animals, vermin, savages, cannibals, monsters. They were, to put it simply, sub-human; they did not merit the luxury of living. The thought of having one of them lead a Western army was beyond an outrage, beyond thinking. He would rather submit himself to slavery than to serve the ends of an orc. But the barbarian queen was right; if they were to make any show of force here, they had to be united. Alaric, being who he was, would seize upon any thread of weakness, any chink in their armor, and exploit it to the fullest extent; and what, barring hunger, was a greater weakness to an army besides dissension in the ranks? The gravity of his statement was finally settling upon him...what it indicated to the other commanders...what it indicated about himself. Perhaps what the Saqquar had said was not entirely incorrect...though he would not retract his words, nor his hatred towards the green ones.

Barbarian or no, ancient foe or no, Gyrid at least was no Orc; for pity's sake, at least the Roffellans did not make supper of the fallen. He was too young to have witnessed the war with the Roffellans, and he was beginning to think that, if her words were true, their barbarity could be of some use to them.

But it seemed that none of the other commanders were of the same opinion. The tide had turned against him, and it appeared as if the orc would truly lead them on the first day. Mercifully, however, Pizurk's strategy did not involve any of their Galatian Riders; his lord-cousin's crossbowmen, however, would be deployed. On the one hand, he felt a pang of anger that he would be denied the glory of the field on the first day; on the other, he was forced, albeit begrudgingly, to recognize the soundness of the orc's plan. In any case, he knew that his Riders would not fight for an orc.

"This plan is adequate. The crossbowmen will be at their appointed places," Florian said dismissively, with a wave of his hand and an obvious hint of disgust. Then, he stood to leave. "My Riders have not yet found a place in the camp to pitch their tents. I'll go see to them."

Without another word, he parted the canvas flaps of the entrance and went out into the bedlam of the camp.

Bane is normally a man of few words, that is demonstrated fully when the generals meet. He is silent his eyes burrowing into each of the men opposite him with intensity that could near melt stone looking for the slightest hint of weakness. He finds it in their hatred, their foolish hearts swayed by such petty things on the eve of battle.

He remains silent as the bolts are launched and is silent still when they are stilled his eyes showing the barest flicker of surprise as the bolts disintegrate in midair. On the ride back to camp he is clearly deep in thought, his eyes locked ahead of himself clearly gazing into the abyss.

His men are quickly setup in camp, their tents neat and orderly. The men quickly performing maintenance on their kit as well as digging latrines and erecting a field hospital as well as a mess hall and separate cooking area. With the speed it was constructed it is clear the Legion of the Damned are used to living on the path to a battleground.

The meeting of the Roundtable

Bane is silent for the first round of bickering, his eyes dart around the room from face to face and betray nothing of his feelings as each of the generals speak. He waits patiently until they have all had their turn to speak before he offers his council, best let them exhaust themselves fighting with each other and save his words for when they matter most.

"I did not think that of all of us hear so far it would be the Greenskin that would speak the clearest and keeps his eyes most firmly on the goal. Nor did I think that he would have sound understanding of defensive strategy.

He pauses for a moment and scans the room almost waiting to be interrupted before continuing to speak.

"Many of you speak well, some of you make decent points. But what matters most here is results. So rather than bicker and argue about who has the best strategy or the biggest cock let us look at the plan and see how best we can use it. Or if you feel so strongly, present your own plan if it is so drastically different and let it stand on it's own merits."

He takes another breath as he looks over the strategy put forward again, his practiced eyes looking over it for any potential weakness or faults.

"The plan is solid, if a little underdeveloped. In concept it will work. He offers a nod of his head towards Alexander, Lothian and Pizurk. "My legion is well versed in battles of attrition and if the enemy auxiliary is as undisciplined as they at first appear, even if guided at first by Alaric's tactical mind they will undoubtedly, if unconsciously go with the path of least resistance. This being the center of our forces and the lighter armoured warriors located there.

He scratches at his neatly groomed facial hair before continuing with his speech his voice deep and unwavering. "There are weaknesses however. My own men fight with utter devotion and skill at arms. However our formation is inflexible, while that is what makes us effective it may cause a problem. If they enemy pout up stiffer resistance than expected my men may be slowed in their wheel about and may not be able to apply pressure to the center if we are still locked down. There is also the issue of the same problem with the light cavalry. What if you are met with equal or greater force, and therefore unable to sweep around and aid the center? We are few here, and every men slain on the first day is one that cannot hold the next. No plan survives first contact, but that is why we need contingencies."

"I would suggest having the heavy cavalry mobilize and be ready to sally forth if the light cavalry become entangled. This still allows them a days rest if all goes well but allows us more tactical flexibility. If the light cavalry become involved in a pitched battle with their counterparts the heavy cavalry can flank around and collapse on the center with the weight of a hammer on an anvil. I would also suggest overnight the construction of large portable shields for our archers to minimize casualties sustained from their own missile units. Every archer saved here is one more arrow thrown against the legion when they come for us in full."

---

The Duke seatde himself comfortably, as he listened to the orc explain his plans. Albeit simple, they were good plans nevertheless. A cheap trick you can pull once against a weak oppononent, which the enemy appeared to be. He was more suprised about the fact that these beings could think further than "smash headz". Maybe the records of them were intentionally trying to ruin their image, or their leader was one particularly gifted orc.

But at the mention of the Scaleguards his whole body and mind recoiled from the idea. The scaleguards were elite units meant for Royal protection and not as combat units. Sure, they could do jsut as fine as the rest of them, but their equipment lacked shields, and they were better at small skirmishes rather than large battles like this. However he remained silent, and hoped that the sisters would not have to engage in close combat in the first day.

The other surprise was the lack of planning for the artillery units, which not only sounded stupid, but he honesty thought was a waste of equipment. The plan was not in favor of the Saqquar's strenght, with his offensive units staying in the back, and his defensive units having to participate in combat. He glanced at Aleriana who seemed to insantly understand his thoughts, and simply nod to agree with the Duke's hesitation about agreeing with the plan.

After the orc spoke, three other raised their voice, thought only one of them gave usable information. The first was Lothian, the commander of the elf forces. He was quick to agree with the plan, which seemed surprising the skirmishes between his race and the orcs. Calanis could only guess that everyone seated here had mutual interests, and decided to part with their grudges. Except one man, the same man who raised his voice against the orcs beforehand: Florian. The insolent bastard has been silently giving him furious glances, likely offended by hiw previous statement about him. But the Duke honestly didn't care about the young man, and he will never care for the mental well.being of someone who tries to ruin a community effort. The words of the prince were dismissive and filled with disgust, and he quickly left the tent for some makeshift reason. Calanis noted that he would need to find the man after the meeting and have a little "chat" about manners.

The third man who spoke up was one who sat in relative silence ever since the meeting began, but unleashed a detailed monolouge about his thoughts on the plan. And he had to give it to this Bane guy: he knew his soldiers well. After all, if you know your men and you know your enemy, you cannot lose a battle, and he admired the commander for that. As his speech came to an end, Calanis couldn't stand waiting to discuss the issue of artillery any longer and spoke up before anyone else could.

"Excuse me Pizurk, but I have noticed that you haven't planned for the artillery pieces that I have brought with myself. Surely you must not think that they are unnecessary, and I would argue against not using them." He quickly leant over the table, and moved all the artillery pieces into a formation behind the allied troops. His hands moved with skill, and the groups of artilelry he set up were fire bases tested by time in his mock matches against his father. "Your plan is one that has won many battles in history, but I think you fail to see the chance we have right now. We are sure that our enemy won't deploy the 6th Legion because they want to keep their best troops for the last, so instead they send in their undergeared and unloyal auxilaries. Maybe after this battle, they will bring in their better troops, but this time our enemy expects a plan similar to yours. I say we do not hesitate to muster the biggest force we can, and route the auxilaries. If we don't, they will come back at a later date, but if we can score a decisive victory today that breaks their morale, they might even rebel or defect. They won't expect us using all of our resources, and artillery is something I doubt they would thoroughly account for in their plans. Our losses may be a few percent higher if we wish to crush them, but their losses will skyrocket if our mindset is more agressive against a weaker foe like them."

He took a deep breath before continuing, watching the facial expressions of the other commanders. "I suggest we stick to the plan, but try to use our artillery pieces on the enemy." He glanced towards Alexander, the person who has brought perhaps the most terrifyin arsenal with him in the form of armored war elephants. "And I suggest we keep Alexander's heavy cavalry in reserve. If the enemy isn't wavered in morale by the time we close the trap on them, the elephants can make a short work of the enemy troops and their command structure stuck in a narrow tunnel. These auxilaries have never seen beasts like these before, but who knows if the Legionaries have devised a way of dealing with them. Let's grab this chance offered to us, and absolutely crush the first wave of enemies." He stopped to think about his next sentence, but nothing else came to his mind. The plan was simple, and his addition to it was nothing more than insurance, there was nothing complicated to understand here. So instead of saying anything else, he bowed and sat back down in his seat, his eyes glued to Pizurk.

Erebus continued to remain silent for the Planning. Still standing as a statue with his two chosen. While they made no moves and spoke no words, their presence could hardly be ignored. Not only by their Magical aura that snuffs all Mortals unfamiliar with the Ancient arts, but also by their figure so different from the other men in the room. Erebus didn't know if the others even knew what forces he had been deployed with or the grand feat that can only be described as miracles that they could accomplish. Erebus made sure to enlighten them. Completely coming out of no where, the stationary Iron clad Giant spoke up again. Continuing the Duke's mention of siege units. Again his voice boomed like thunder inside the tent. The dust around him jumped and danced as if to appease the War Master.

"The troops I bring with me can be assigned to any unit that seems fit for their use. My Chosen that you see before you can be sent to assist the Front line with myself, aiding any Heavy Infantry. Such as the Hoplites and the Famed ScaleGuard. My Holy Knights can also be situated behind those lines to provide aid in the arts of Restoration Magic. While my War Mages..."

Erebus's eyes, the fire that only showed through his Helmet, finally moved to look at the Duke. "My War mages can offer long range artillery to the enemy. We will see how well those Auxiliaries fight after witnessing their strongest blades melt down to a liquid pool of metal and their flesh fall off their bones, leaving nothing but a small pile of Ash to continue their so honored legacy..."

The War Master's tone turned from serious to excited quite fast. He caught himself and settled down, remaining silent with his eyes now trained at the Orc leader.

---

As Pizurk stepped up to explain his plan, Alexander again remained silent, his index and thumb placed on his chin, his mind hyperfocusing on analysing. His plan sounded...very typical. Most of the infantry in the center, cavalry on two flanks and the archers at the back. He had encountered such strategies pretty commonly in his conquest. Its greatest weakness is that the outcome of the battle is heavily relied on discipline, morale and skills of both sides. If the enemy is superior to his own, then it's over. But here it had higher chances of working because the enemy is the least experienced among Alaric's troops. Also, Alexander liked the sound of keeping the heavy cavalry out, although he would prefer if he placed a group of heavy horses into the line, for breaking and routing purposes. So if it's for the first day, it's fine, but if for later days, Alexander didn't know if he could continue to approve it.

The other commanders seemed to share his own viewpoint. He patiently waited for the rest to finish before speaking up

"It is a sound plan, although I find it a bit reliant on our own individual's skills and leadership in battle. Its casualty rate also depended on that. But since who we are facing is their auxillary troops, so it is viable. But I would prefer to use small heavy cavalry forces for any distress on the battlefield."

While it might have been more natural for a Uruk to be on the offensive, Pizurk understood well enough that if one intended to keep whatever you took in the first place you were going to have to defend it from someone sooner or later. However, he wasn't a fool in believing that his plan was ironclad or perfect; Seeing the wisdom of the move, he grabbed the marker that represented the Acity Empire's heavy cavalry and placed it on the battlefield... through further back to represent its status as more of a reserve force then anything else.

The Galatian marker would be left off the board through; If he couldn't trust their leader to shut the hell up and follow his orders, then he wasn't trusting them on the field of battle. He also made a show of removing the markers for the siege weapons and the offensive mages... through he left the markers representing the healers. "Our enemy is watching, no doubt trying to figure out what we'll do and what tricks we have. The more we use things like magic or the big stuff, the more opportunity those attacking us will wise up and try and figure out ways to counter them. However, I don't see any harm in having the healers be a bit more active..."

Thinking for a moment, he picked up the marker for the nine or so tark 'Chosen' and placed it on top of his own infantry in the center. "Don't really know where else to put 'em where they could be of some use." Shaking his head a little, he turned to the tark 'siege expert' with a look in his eyes. "I want you to take anyone not fighting to help your troops dig in. Defenses, traps, what have you. Just give us something solid we can fall back to and hold."

"Two-thousand Zathii light infantry in the center, flanked on both sides by five-hundred horsemen. Place them under the command of the Elder Chiefs." Alaric's plan was quick, simple, and to-the-point. It garnered worried looks from around the tent. Nevertheless, the young commander eased back into his chair and simply looked at his officers.

It was no surprise that Rexus spoke up first. He opened his dialogue by slamming his fist onto the table. "The Allies will crush the Zathii. By sending them into battle you guarantee the Allies an early victory... you'll inspire them, make them fight all the harder." Rexus leaned further onto the table, knocking over some of the strategy markers in the process. His recklessness here on this mock table only foreshadowed his reckless command on the field. "Give me control of the Sixth, Alaric. I can crush the Allies in one swift battle, and we can be done with this endeavor."

Rexus' input garnered a host of nods from the other officers, who sought a quick end to the campaign. Even Lucius, Alaric's closest friend and most trusted adviser, seemed to agree.

Alaric stood back up and began speaking, moving to replace the markers that Rexus had knocked over. His movements were very precise and calculated. "We would certainly crush the Allies if we deployed the Sixth. But it would be hard-fought and we would lose many men. I cannot risk sending the Empire's best troops into battle."

Lucius inquired next, "then why not deploy the Sixth with the support of the Zathii?"

Alaric acknowledged the sound strategy, but protested. "We all understand the risk of mutiny. The Zathii are here against their will and tensions are rising. We cannot afford a rebellion, not here."

Alaric was not finished speaking, but Lucius finished for him. "So you would thin their ranks by sending their light infantry into battle... those are their youngest men. And you would eradicate their traditions by having their Elder Chieftains slain in battle." Lucius disagreed with the strategy, crossing his arms and frowning.

Alaric could feel guilt coursing through him, but quickly looked away. He regained his stoic composure after a few moments and finally said "it has to be done. Rexus, prepare the auxiliaries."

---

War horns blasted across the Maw. The sun had barely passed its zenith, slowly beginning its western descent. The gates of Alaric's wall swung ajar as hordes of men and horses poured out. They had no discipline, no order, and no composure. It was all a hobbled mess of men and women, though the northern and southern portions of their army were mounted.

The oldest soldier in this force, aside from the Elder Chieftains, had seen thirty-three winters. He had a young wife, two sons, and one daughter. How he wished to be back home, cuddled up close to his wife in the early morning frost. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the playful voices of his two young sons, and that unique laugh that his daughter had. But it was useless; war horns, drums, and angry shouting ruled his mind this day.

No time for love, Lentos, he thought to himself, there's no love in war. He raised his shield and hammered his sword's pommel on it.

The Zathii light infantry advanced ever onward, not yet in range of the Allied missile units. They wielded iron swords, spears, axes, maces, and chipped wooden shields. They were equipped in very little to no armor, composed of cloth and leather. Only the Elder Chiefs wore mail armor. The cavalry were quick, not hindered by armor, and their riders wore little to no armor, armed with javelins and short swords. They were a fair-skinned, long-haired people, and they were far away from home.

The Allies opposed them on the western stretch of the Maw. There, Pizurk's uruk foot soldiers held the center, while they were flanked by the Roffelans, Twilight Knights, Royal Knights, and Hoplites. Behind them were archers and crossbowmen. Light horsemen and Pizurk's own worg riders protected the flanks of the infantry.

The stage was set and the battle was ready to begin.

---

The Duke stood on top of the Dragonspine tower, observing the battlefield through his spyglasses. The enemy forces began marching towards their positions a few minutes ago, and he didn't want to miss a single detail about the adversaries. Light infantry supported by light cavalry on both sides, they would be easely crushed by the forces stationed against them. The only question was: how easely? He folded the spyglass into a tiny tube and put it away into a small leather puch on his side. From the same pouch the Duke pulled out a small crystal contraption wrapped in cloth by a small golden chain attached to the material. He removed the protective cloth, and held the mechanism in between himself and the sun. After a brief moment of nothing, a faint shadow of two numbers started to appear. Inside the glass the number 12 appeared, the later number slightly fainter than the other. Thought the sky was clear the sun can be a deceivig thing to trust in, so appropriate mechanisms helped to accurately measure time. Thanks to this "Vigilia Speculo" the Duke noted that it was just past noon, and then pocketed the contraption.

From behind him his main architect cleared his throat, obviously trying to garner attention. Canalis turned around towards the man, and looked at him questioningly. He expected the man several minutes ago, but looking at the state of the base camp he couldn't really blame the man. The Grand Architect by the name of Alen Genthi was a middle aged man with a small stature but big confidence. On his head, he wore a device that seemed to enlarge his eyes, but Canalis guessed that the man used it for the magnification of blueprints.

"Ah, greetings Alen. I trust you are ready with the report about the Pioneers." He was halfway between a good friend and a though boss, and he tried to put on a serious face despite his mood. Alen nod and cleared his throat before speaking up. "The 300 Combat Pioneers are at your service sir. We have all made space for our tents at the very back of the camp, making sure that we had enough place to build a makeshift workshop and storage area for the less weather friendly materials. During your time at the tent, we unpacked most of the ballistas, but we'll need more time to finish assembling the mangonels." He stopped awkwardly, and seemingly tried to form the next sentence without success. Canalis spotted signs of guilt and anxiety on his face. "Sir, I am afraid we are not operating at 100% effiency. Last night the men had a drink to mourn the luxurues of the barracks, and about two dozen of them have a serious hungover. We have another two dozen that aren't especially hungover, but I wouldn't let them anywhere near our ballistas for their own sake. We are reduced by roughly 50 men that I advise we pull out for today." He scratched his bald head, unsure what to say next.

"Don't worry about it Alen, the rest of the men are plenty enough. I cannot blame the soldiers for getting drunk before a large battle like this and I would have done the same in their place. All men handle the chance of death differently, and it seems like our men like to get drunk. We can spare fifty men for today, but make sure they don't drink excessviely again while we are here in the Maw." The Grand Architect sighed in relief and his whole body pose shifted into a more comfortable one. "I was hoping you would understand Duke. I have made sure that the rest of the men are assigned to our machines, but we still have 130 Pioneers who are only third wheels in combat. I was hoping that you'd have an assignement for them."

Canalis scratched his chin before answering to Alen. "As a matter of fact, I do. There are many things that need to be done here around the camp, but the most glaring issue here is the lack of defense. As we are not expecting a defeat today, I would like to prolong the chance of one, and have a hundred men work on stockades until sundown. Something with more dirt than wood in perfect, just make sure we leave a big enough entrance for the troops to get in. Make it around 2 meters tall wherever you can and dig a ditch in front of it that can break a horse's leg. Just make sure to leave an etrance big enough for an elephant to fit in. I can trust you to draft up a sturdy wooden gate we can easely defend, and perhaps leave behind as a blockade if we need to retreat." The Grand Architect followed every detail by writing them down on a small piece of tanned leather, and started to draft up plans for the gate as soon as the Duke finished his sentence. However he looked up at Canalis with confusion in his eyes. "And what about the other 30 men?"

The duke smiled and replied with a small grin on his face. "Gather 30 of our strongest man, those that grew up as farmboys or miners. Make them useful during the day by sorting out the materials we brought for other siege equipment, but let them rest. I will need them during the night and I can't risk them being exhausted. I also want the 50 hungover Pioneers to rest and get ready for the night, because this is how they can redeem themselves for not knowing their limits. That is all." Alen nodded, and hastly left the top floor of the tower, climbing down the ladder like a furious lizard. The duke smirked at the speed of the old man, and the turned his attention towards the battlefield. He was lucky to stay back at camp during battles like these, but his expertise was better suited for these jobs. He waved for a the 10 Scaleguards that stood next to him on the top floor, and they readied their bows and loaded them with a large arrow. "Fire well ahead of our lines, I don't want friendly casualties." Then the Duke gave the firing order, and 10 arrows quickly left the bows of the Scaleguards. They soar through the air, shrieking in an ungodly pitch that instilled fear in the simple minded. Their purpose was to warn the friendly forces of the enemy, and to try and scare the charging horses of the enemy. After all, the Saqquar never shied away from psychological warfare during their long and bloody history of bloodshed.

Organizing units on the field of battle was somewhat more difficult then putting markers on a board, but with some degree of satisfaction Pizurk found most of the commanders present at least willing to do what they were told.

He had planted himself among his infantry in the middle of the line, since his plan hinged on them pulling back slowly without breaking and running away. Somewhere in the mess of Uruks were the so called 'Chosen' tarks, few in number but if they were going to be of any use then it was going to be were the push was going to be the hardest.

To the left of the center were organized the Guards of Roffela and the Twilight Knights, while to the right were placed the Royal Knights and the Hoplites, all of them free to organize themselves in whatever manner they saw fit. Behind the front line was the second line, the various archers and crossbow wielding units that almost all forces had brought with them to a degree, as well as those magic users who had a talent more suited to healing then anything else. On the right flank of the formation, the Acity Light Cavalry had been mustered while on the left he could spy his own worg riders ready and waiting to tear into horse and tark meat.

Further back, the Darkforest Rangers, the Scaleguards, the Devotees of Rofella and the Acity Heavy Cavalry were kept in reserve, ready and waiting to be called in as required of the tides of battle.

Staring out at the army of eastern tarks that had been sent forth, Pizurk couldn't help but sneer in their general direction. "You know lads, I wasn't expecting much from these eastern gits... and I still find myself disappointed! If these fools had any brains at all, they would have begged to join our army and given themselves a chance to survive! Dumbass eastern tarks clearly can't even think for themselves without someone telling 'em what to do!" A dark, sinister chuckle escaped the Uruk leader as he glanced around at his lads, deciding to end his motivation speech on a high note. "Still, what they lack in brains they make up for in free meat and leather! Fight hard boys and don't die, we're eating a large victory feast tonight and I want as little Uruk meat as possible on the menu!"

The roar that went up from the Uruks in the center of the formation was filled with a mixture of a demented glee at the slaughter that was about to take place and a dark fury that blood wasn't already being spilled yet.

---

"Your highness, the enemy has finished forming their battle line. They are ready for combat."

"Hmm. Good work"

The young king, Alexander, dismissed the soldier as he watched the soldiers of the Allied Army getting into formation from the back of his black war elephant, Senshan. As he had expected, the two opposing forces used very similar strategy, dating centuries before and was still very popular today: infantry in the center and cavalry on the two flanks. It was not altogether bad for the first day, but it certainly would not for later. Its nature was its heavy reliance on discipline and skills of the soldiers in combat. But thankfully, the auxiliaries were said not to be very disciplined. If it was true, then his Royal Knights under Arturia would be able to break their charges or rout them easily. His elephants and heavy cavalry could also do the tricks, but here, he only deployed the cavalries. If the enemy got wind of the fact that he brought in elephants into the Maw, they would try to counter them. It was his trump card, so he should not reveal it anytime soon.

From the looks of it, the Allied center appeared to be built very solidly with well-trained and battle-hardened infantries, especially his Royal Knight, but the flanks, the light cavalries led by William, wasn't. Some of whom weren't even Acity's soldiers. They were mercenaries, and usually they fought more for profit than for the country. Still, he should not discern all of them as disloyal and incompetent, but their discipline might wane in the heat of battle. This, Alexander decided to attempt and negate that, by presenting right there with them. As a king.

The king soon dismounted from his elephant, mounted a black horse and immediately dashed for William's position. He knew that this would be dangerous, considering that he did request not to wear protective head gear. But if fear was lingering within his army, he would have to shape it, mold it into courage, by showing none.

"Do you mind if I partake in this battle, Lord William?"

He needn't really ask him, since he was a king. And in Acity, a king nearly had the ultimate power to decide things around. But for a king to receive the respect of his people, he should not act like one.

"Your highness?! What are you doing here?! It's not safe!" William replied as soon as he saw his king riding around without any sort of protection.

"I know. But I can't stand sitting around watching you all fight. It's our battle as well."

Just as he finished that, the deafening roars of the Uruks in the center and the arrows coming from the direction of the siege tower marked the beginning of the battle. Knowing that he did not have times for a full motivational speech, Alexander decided to be brief yet powerful.

"Soldiers! Be unbent in the face of the enemy. Follow your king. Conquer your fears, and I promise you will conquer death!"

As the battle Plans finished, Erebus left the Tent with his two Chosen. Disappearing as if they were never there to begin with. The War Master sent off his Chosen to rest before the coming battle. Most weren't going to join this one, but he wanted them ready if they were needed. Erebus went to his men that had just finished their living preparations for the Maw.

The Holy Knights, the most inexperienced of the Battle Mages were already gathered in formation. Side to side with the War Mages. Many of them were worried and were quite open with their opinion of their battle. Only being stopped by their Lieutenant.

Why are we even here? I thought we were to join the Empire?
You're here to die, Pup. Hope you have nothing left on your bucket list!
Aye, it is true. How many come back when led by the War Master?
Don't you dare speak ill of the War Master! Let see you lead the battle.
I think I can fall on my sword by myself easy enough...

"Hold to!" The Lieutenant scolded as their War Master entered the Scene. The formation slammed their gauntlets to their Chest Piece, saluting their Officer. The Holy Knight's Lieutenant, Actavian was the first to drop it as Erebus offered the gesture back. Actavian stood at a attention Waiting to hear their Orders. After several long seconds of silence, Erebus talked softly to the Lieutenant. Just loud enough for only their ears. "Lieutenant Actavian, ready your Knights for War. You will be the only ones accompanying me to the first Battle. You're Objective is to Heal our comrades and provide support, but you are not to engage the Enemy. Two Chosen and myself will accompany you and provide security for your Knights. By all means we are few in numbers, our biggest priority is keeping our men alive and then the allies. Heavy Infantry will take precedence, all others will be secondary. You are Dismissed..."

"Your deed will be done War Master." Actavian replied as he saluted Erebus, before turning around and taking his men with him. Leaving only the Formation of War Mages. Their Lieutenant, Rolex stood patiently awaiting orders. He had received them through his mind. The instructions were simple enough. They were to remain at camp unless absolutely needed. Only and if only the War Master called for them. With both of the Groups assigned orders, Erebus left to prepare for the Battle to come.

---

On the Battlefield the Knights were aligned and spaced out behind the main force. Erebus standing firm between the first and second line. The Coven stayed stoic, a quiet force surrounded by all the screams and cries of War. Completely ignoring their surroundings and focusing on their battle plans and their first targets for their Magical Abilities. The War Master standing like a Holy Statue looking down on their disciples before they meet their death.