A chilling night 'round the fires, this one. Birds long gone south to warmer, more hospitable lands than this bloody North. Wind rattling the trees, and he'd be damned if he didn't vision ghosts of men long gone back to the mud in the omnious shadows of the flickering flames. By the dead, he was going mental. Stories of old rising from th'graves, or shadows of your old self comin' to haunt ya', gave this man the shivers. No questions asked. How could he not, he who speaks with spirits when they care t'answer his calls? He who'd seen devil bloods wander freely? Who'd seen men get eaten by other men? He who'd fought countless flatheads just t'keep his home safe, with poor results? He'd seen the world for what it truly was, the Great Leveller's little playground. A playground were men like King Scale ruled th'North, where men like Black Dow tyrannized it before him, where men like th'fucking Bloody-Nine himself terrorized any in his path, friend or foe. A playground which rewards th'killers and throw those not into the mud.

"How I long for the old days, when I stood side by side with Rudd Threetrees himself. When you did the right thing matter how hard it was. When there was no king o' the bloody North. Simpler days. Politics were solved in the circle by proud Named Men, offering their lives t'save thousands. Aye, it wasn't always perfect, what with the constant fights. The struggle for survival. And was no such thing as good roads. True enough. But you did the right thing. Chose your path and bloody did it. No skulking about in no house o' too much rock for one man t'call home with foes he call friends. Shame I played a part in making it so." The old man told the children around him. The villagers close by said he once was a Named Man hisself, he was. Said he'd fought in every single war the North been part of the last thirty years. Said him being the last real straight edge on the fields o' battle. No more, now a retired man. Just an elder telling tales to young ones while tending the fields of crops instead.

Tales of the sieges of Uffrith came every now and then, every time with new aggressrs and defenders. Who held the city now, few knew. He was sure not even King Scale hisself knew, and he sure as hell was certain the King o' the Union didn't know Uffrith was theirs at some point at all. Atleast from what Hardbread told him. Apparently Scale had gotten himself into some alliance with those black skins from far South. No idea how that happened, but he guessed that brother o' his, Black Calder, had a part in it. Good with a tongue he was. That, the old man knew better'n most. He practically raised him, after all. Mayhaps that woman with th'bandages he remembered Black Dow befriended, if one could call it that, had it arranged. That witch, she was. One thing he knew though, after that alliance was forged, more and more news of constant battles over Uffrith arrived.

Ah, how he longed to go back to the mud himself. Too old for it all.

A new war between the Union and the North has broken out. Lasting for years on end, it has proven to be mightily different from the previous few thanks to King Scale of the North's great love for war and his brother Black Calder's clever mind. The city of Uffrith has been in constant siege from either side lasting almost a decade, and it has helped little that Gurkhal has moved to support the North. The Union armies are basically camped close by the city, with almost hundred thousand troops at the ready. Scale's army is mighty smaller, but mighty more homgrown and uses the territory to hinder any movements from the massive host. And as always, this is a puppet war schemed by the Magi. At first, the final battle for Uffrith takes place, and depending on which side the players choose as well as the victors, the following routes will be North.. or South.