The words were apocryphal, the symbols vague and unknowing. They were ignored, they went unheeded. The dark comes and in their hungering sights lay the roots of the city of Providence. The era of stagnation is at an end, the weak will be deposed or all will perish. 

Type of War & CBs (if applicable)

Rhuination, Migration, Domination, Conquest

Attackers

Forces of of the Under-Dark.

Defenders

Oren

Wargoals:

Sating the black hunger, feeding on man flesh.

Location & Proposed Time

TBA

Contact Information

To be discussed

4th of Tobias’ Bounty, 1775

TO THE CITY OF SUTICA,

Following the legitimate Sutican government’s acceptance of our private and polite requests, Mister Corwin Alstreim has illegally sacked these justice-minded statesmen and replaced each with sycophants in an act of objective tyranny. We wish for all subjects of the Orenian Crown and residents of the City of Sutica to understand the trouble at hand, and to endeavor through dutiful action and educated discussion, reach this civil and peaceful solution.

Even given his historied efforts to topple the Holy Orenian Empire as a soldier and commander, Mister Corwin Alstreim, by Our august graciousness, was given amnesty to find peace and repentance wherever his heart would lead him. The man’s heart, however, remains fixated on the destruction of the Orenian state and the violent death of the Imperial monarch’s relations.

Not but a week after Mister Corwin Alstreim’s assumption of office in Sutica, a package arrived by post, addressed to the Lord Selm, John d’Arkent, from Mister Alstreim’s office. Contained was a collection of effigies meant to threaten violence against the Orenian people and land, demonstrating a continued commitment to his cause predicating on war against the Empire and murder of Our subjects. Mister Corwin Alstreim, once a commander of the now defunct A.I.S. coalition purposed to destroy the Holy Orenian Empire, his membership and intent revealed by Mister Alstreim’s former colleague Ri’Haskir, evidently maintains this lost cause by his words and actions.

Profoundly more troubling is the disappearance and murder of both Lady Henrietta Alstion and Master Peter Amadeus, noble relations by blood to the Imperial monarch. This woman of prestige, wife of the Count Pompourelia and mother of young Peter Amadeus, went missing in the City of Sutica a number of years ago. According to a close friend of Peter, the young man set off on a personally important quest in Sutica just prior to his identical disappearance: to find answers for his dead mother. 

Following this second vanishment, the Crown’s foreign secretary visited Sutica to receive an explanation. The captain of the guard in Sutica spoke openly of the matter pertaining to Henrietta Alstion, claiming she was “mercy-killed” by Corwin and his personal soldiers. Given that the Lady Pompourelia’s physician’s records showed her to have no notable problems, We can determine, corroborated by Mister Corwin Alstreim’s past membership and current behavior, that this was a demonstration of the A.I.S. coalition’s evil justification of murder: that those born in or faithful to Oren must be killed.

Soon after, a mentor to the disappeared Peter Amadeus ventured to Sutica to engage in her own inquiries. Happening upon Mister Corwin Alstreim in person, she was told with a laugh that the young nobleman may have died, but it did not matter to Mister Alstreim - and by the foreign secretary’s return, Mister Alstreim had admitted additionally to this murder. We can only hope that it matters to the people of the City of Sutica, however, for it is evident by his own boasting that Corwin Alstreim, with his demonstrated intent to murder and destroy Orenian people and land, is responsible for these deaths, and intends to abuse the haven of Sutica to perpetrate cold blooded violence in the future.

To prevent his further murders of Orenian subjects, most explicitly the Imperial monarch’s blood relations, and to prevent his exploitation of Sutica’s people in violence against the world, We ask for the surrender of Mister Corwin Alstreim and his personal soldiers to Imperial authorities. For the sake of Sutica and Oren both, do oblige, lest he must be taken by force.

May God Grant You Wisdom,

Peter III, by the grace of GOD Holy Orenian Emperor, forever August, King of Renatus, Curon, Kaedrin, Salvus, and Seventis, Prince of Malinor, Grand Duke of Ves, Duke of Lorraine and Roden, Baron of Sedan, Vitzburg, and Sedai, Protector of the Heartlanders, Highlanders, and Farfolk, etcetera.

OOC:

Type of War: Liberation

Belligerents: The Holy Orenian Empire vs. Corwin Alstreim

Goal: Capture of leadership (Corwin Alstreim / LithiumSedai)

Time: Saturday, July 11th - to be discussed further.

Location: 

OLD WOUNDS REOPENED

“And the uruk carcass gathered in a wretched mound beneath the snowy precipice, no match for Igor Ireheart and the Hammer of Barradin, which quivered in his left hand.”

   The Chronicles of Igor Ireheart Volume II, Wulfgar Grandaxe circa 1642.

The drums of war sound from deep within Kal’Evraal, calling the dwed to arms once more. Utak watches atop the obsidian throne as his kinsfolk swell in the hall before him, a reunion of dwed in defence of their country. 

Feuds forgotten, a kinship reforged in common cause, the dwed once again rally to defend Urguan from the Uruk locusts. The scourge in the east is a threat that grows ever stronger; Krugmar have sanctioned attacks against dwed, and prevented any peaceful resolution to the situation from happening. 

A Dwed has turned up beardless, tortured and savaged by Krughai bandits - an act celebrated by the Krugmar Rex. This is a betrayal that must be avenged, and a grudge that must be resolved. The greenskins will be dealt with once and for all, as old foes meet again.

Utak raises his hand, quieting the room as he begins to address the audience below him.   

“I have given this moment much thought, and wondered what I might say to this congregation of my kin. I concluded that there is no wisdom that I can bestow upon this crowd, so rich with experience and knowledge, that it will not already possess. There is also no advice that can be offered by myself to a band of veterans such as this, so hardened by the trials of war, and so familiar with situations such as this.

Instead I will remind you of one thing - The axes and hammers of Urguan have grown restless, and savages threaten our kingdom and livelihood. You know what must be done to right this wrong and deal justice to those that offer us harm; bloody our weapons with our eastern enemy.

There is only one outcome that to be realised in this conflict, Dungrimm with us we shall ensure it.”

The King sits, as a raucous orchestra of roars and cries erupt around the hall. He offers a faint smile, readying himself to lead his Kingdom into war.

Type of War : Conquest

CBs : Discussed in Private.

Attackers : Urguan and Allies

Defenders : Krugmar and Allies

Wargoals : Conquest 

Location & Proposed : 

Time : TBD

Contact Information : ?????????#1445

The Ashen Crusade

”There’s something about you Sutica!”

Side A:

Ashen Crusaders & Allies

Side B:

Evil, Pagan Suticans & Allies

Proposed Time & Date

TO BE DISCUSSED IN WAR CHAT

Location:

TO BE DISCUSSED IN WAR CHAT

NATE.#4688, Aeus#9634, 

Godric standing at the gates of Rubern

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFVrOC8gOhU

We shall have Peace

    The orchestra of battle would roar about Godric as he wiped off his blood lathered boots. The cacophony of clashing blade and twanging bow filling the air, complimented by a choir of screams and snarls. Shards of shattered teeth littered the ground, as he’d watch a whimpering figure crawl away. The thing, once a man, was now wracked by a mixture of maddened laughter and sobbing. The back of its head bore the bloodied imprint of a boot heel, its mouth, shattered beyond repair. 

Godric grimaced, turning his eyes to the battle raging about him. Haense had sallied out as his men dragged the once Emperor from the cells below. The whimpering man had his teeth set against the stone stairs.There was almost a sense of poetic justice to it all, he mused to himself. To stomp the skull of a man who had threatened him with such a fate. The pathetic figure crawling away now could never rule humanity, despite its flaws, sin, pettiness, and depravity. The races of man would tear down any but the strongest. A beautiful reality that denied all pretensions to law and civilization. 

The pitch of the battle would lull as the last of the Haense soldiers were cut down for the third time that day. It never ceased to amaze the young duke how a faction with such a numerical advantage, so much experience in war could be so inept. He shook his head as the song of steel was replaced by one of death. Men begging for mercy, screaming for their mothers with bloodied hands outstretched to the sky. then silence as the cold faced warriors would plunge home their steel. 

Godric would spit, before motioning a hand to one of his men; A young member of the Martyrs who had fought himself bloody defending his Duke. “Bring me pen and paper,” he’d say curtly as he waved the man off on the errand. 

A Missive to the Wide Realms of Man

    Where is Peace? For I cannot seem to find it? Is it hidden under the endless law tomes and decorum of the southern courts? For all my far searching it seems to elude me. Despite what the ramblings of the scholars. It is not paper that preserves the law. Nor is it ink that preserves the peace. It is men of conviction, men of action, but most of all men of strength. All the paper in the world, all the fancy words and endless codices of law are entirely useless without the weight of the sword. So when shall we have peace?

    We shall have peace when the weakness of man is purged once and for all. For peace is the privilege of the strong. For too long have our thrones been plagued by the ineptitude of weaklings. A culture of mediocrity has infested the races of man. ‘Live and let live’ they mutter, chewing upon their cud like the fattened cattle they are. ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’ they whimper, sitting idly by in the face of injustice. Where are the great heroes and villains of our race? I look upon us now and see nought but those desperately clinging to the status quo. 

There are those among you who think me a barbarian. A man driven by his passions, his whims to acts of cruelty, to acts of savagery. They call me a warmonger as I defend those who assaulted and avenge those who are murdered. I am not a kind man. I am not a charitable man. I am a harsh man. I am a just man. For these are the qualities necessary to a lord, a lord must not be ‘good’ a lord must not be ‘nice’. A lord must be a lord. He must serve his people justly in all things, and defend them from all evils. I see far too many who call themselves ‘nobility’ who conduct themselves basely. 

Men of status who let insult pass them by, as if they were meek women. The Empress herself professes her ‘distance’ from her husband. Confessing to me that she prefers the bedchambers of other men. While her husband, the ‘Emperor’ pursues an Alf witch. Where has virtue gone from humanity? Where has the strength? How can we expect greatness and heroism as it was in the days of yore if the supposed best of us conduct themselves so basely. Is the church truly so weak? Is the canonist’s belief in their own religious law truly so fragile it is batted aside without comment? 

So how shall we have peace? When the rot is burnt out branch, trunk and root from the body of humanity. When the tongue twisters, toe suckers and brigands hang from the slats of my bridge. With the events of today, I know we cannot have peace. For Peter is too weak a man to deserve it. Too weak a man to force it. Haense will burn for their crimes. Andrik can only hide behind the skirts of his woman generals for so long before I root him out from his burrow. 

To those nobles of the wide realms of man: Know that today I trod upon the head of this ‘Emperor’, now rendered to little more than a shattered beast. Thrice the forces of Haense and Crown set upon the men of the AIS. Thrice they were slaughtered like cattle. Is this the man you would follow? 

Godric,

WARCLAIM

TYPE OF WAR AND CBS

Claimant, Denouncement, Historical Grudge (two emperors, seahelm), Assault on an Ally, Murder of Citizens, Breaking Pacts (Western Alliance)

ATTACKERS

Alliance of Independent States + Allies

DEFENDERS

Haense and Allies

WARGOALS

Install Government

LOCATION AND PROPOSED TIME

TBD

CONTACT INFORMATION

Topman#6336

24th of Malins Welcome, 1735
 

The sun would rise red in the morrow, tainted by the blood of the foolish Orenians. Their blunder? Playing message boy for the feeble, impotent Mali’Aheral. What was once a flourishing relationship turned sour over far too proud races inability to live amicably, and beets. It seemed to many ‘Ame that the ‘Aheral simply wished for conflict, unwilling to live peacefully yet unable to survive themselves without using their Oren dogs as a crutch. 

It was with pride and faith that the ‘Ame rode out of their gatehouse, led by Avius Csarathaire, to run the dogs sent to their doorstep away. Their blades, guided by the Father and the Mother, tore their armor asunder and rend their flesh. A feeble show of force turned into a slaughter.

Mere hours later the Orenian dogs showed back up, even outnumbering the proud Irrinite defenders. Yet they ran, tails tucked between their hind legs. The first victory of the war belonged to the ‘Ame, and more were to come.
 

WARCLAIM
 
Attackers

Forest Realm of Irrinor + Princedom of Fenn + Allies

Defenders

Silver State of Haelun’or + Allies

Wargoals:

Pillage + Instate Government

Location & Proposed Time:
TBA

JUSTICE

4th Sun’s Smile 1734

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Execution was meted out on the spot to the few Orcs that stood in front of the Orenian brigade. A wave of looting swept over the front : the men of Oren pillaged the families of the dead Orcs and stripped the prisoners naked. They took everything, from horses to wagons to the tusks of their prisoners’ snouts. The baggage trains were piled high with trophies; clothes, weapons, spare saddles, anything that had the least bit of value that could be freed from the clasps of the Orcish beasts. From the baggage trains the treasures of banditry of the Orcs flowed to Helena in a steady stream.

Pillage in war-time has always been a prime factor in fighting for Mankind, the older soldiers growing fat on the fruits of the Orcish land. Ahead in the cavalry, bridles stuffed with pillaged bounty, road the Lord Protector – his sword raised in address to the brigade of the pious children of Man.

The Officers Corps collectively divulging and conversing over preparations for the siege.

C. 1734

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

”Upon my ascension, I had proffered a promise of stability, and consequently, of peace. That was the overarching goal in mind for my would-be people: prosperous humanity that illuminated like a nitid gemstone. Yet, these savage beasts that desecrate the southern reaches of this continent have taken it upon themselves to pillage and leave their putrid mark upon the Imperial Duchy of Vintas. Despite the horrifying events of this day, I have been enlightened and taught that these nations do not fear the Empire in tandem to how they feared us during the reign of Aurelius I.

O Orcs, plagued devils and damned devil’s kith and kin, illiterate catamites to the devil himself. What the weak kind of warrior you are, that cannot slay a hedgehog with your naked arse without writing a sneaking to it first? The devil Iblees shits, and your army eats. You are creatures that have lost their own lands, roaming like plough-backed beasts of the field across the world of Man, a venereal plague with extermination being the only cure. You shall not be deemed worthy enough to herd our swine.

It is the divine mandate of man, and the manifest of it through recent precedent, to cleanse this world of the syphilitic whelps that present themselves as fledgling remnants of a once-proud race of fighting creatures. This is no more, and I am sure your forefathers will thank us in the next life for casting to the cinders their thin-blooded, **** trodden kin.

Each life of the most unpious pauper of Man is worth a thousand of your finest kin, their blood is like gold to the piss that pumps through your hearts.

You shall not, you sons of whores, make subjects of Human sons; we have no fear of your band, by land and by sea we will battle with thee – and make it known that even our children have slain a dozen of your aged warriors.

Henceforth, it shall be known that invoking the wrath of humanity shall not go unpunished; there shall be no mercy offered to any extent, any longer. Desecration shall be the mentality sought in this war.

To the Mokh-Uruk Federation, 

Your ravenous kind have insulted, mocked, and invaded the Lord Vintas and his demense. Further yet, you have attacked any Orenian that has had the misfortune to stumble into your path – surely as a result of blind courage. You have sealed your fate and shall be the first our armies march upon.

Good Riddance.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

ATTACKERS

The Holy Orenian Empire and Declared Allies

DEFENDERS

The Federation of Mokh-Urak and Declared Allies

WARGOALS

Revenge

Pillage

Install Government

LOCATIONS AND TIME

No modifications are to be made to the site after the posting of this thread

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Time to be discussed in war chat

icarnus#7244 / Naj#9943

THE BOOTLESS WAR

||||| Bûrzgraz - 5th of Snow’s Maiden, 1732

“TODAY!” Cried he, Targoth of Mokh-Uruk, “WE MARCH...”

...and so, without a moment further to spare, the uruks of Mokh-Uruk doffed their boots in solidarity with the Targoth and marched upon the half-built city of Vintas. Word of the Pax Orenia’s plans had drifted back to the Targoth with haste via his vast network of spies - the urchin boy told the farmer, who told the smith, who told the strumpet, who told the elf, who told the bastard, who told the goblin, who told the Wargoth who told Leydluk. It was imperative that his border was quickly secured before the war council could convene.

_____________

Attackers

The Federation of Mokh-Uruk

Defenders

The Toelickers of Vintas

Wargoals:

Flash Warclaim (Geographically nearly kissing Krugmar - No Allies)*

Pillage

Humiliation.

Location & Proposed Time

Add me on Discord to discuss this further grubgoth_wud#8956

_____________

*Charter_vintas as of Weds, 4 Sept, 19:00 BST

*Charter_orcs as of Weds, 4 Sept, 19:02 BST

Llyrian and Coalition forces freezing up right before their clash, 9^th of Grand Harvest, 1730.

It was a cold winter day upon which the forces of Llyria and their enemies would meet. The defenders waited and waited, for what seemed like forever for their enemies. They were eager, and filled with Llyrian Patriotism, ready to defend their city against the aggressing dwarves, snow and high elves. Truly, some of the best warriors of the world had assembled in valiant defense of Llyria. 

After a while of waiting, the Llyrian defenders, tired of sitting in their fortifications, the defenders charged out, as given a sign by a skygod that enraged them into a rightious fury, and made them throw themselves in the direction of their opponents. Coincidentially, the attackers had bravely charged at the same moment, perhaps driven by the same skygod sign the angry defenders had recieved...

Cassian, a young man eager to prove himself on the field of battle charged out with the defenders, into the cold. His boots sounded across the dirt, as a cold wind chilled him to the bone... "Sure is cold here." He muttered to himself, as his breath formed clouds infront of him. "Just a bit further... Enemies must be right there!" Cassian convinced himself, but as the enemy came into sight, he just couldn't continue. It was as if his joints had frozen solid, prevented him from going any further. Surely, this would be his end, as he could not put up a fight against the charging Urguanis, but... Nothing came. As he looked around, it was evident that not only himself and his allies had been unable to move due to the blistering cold, but the opposing force charging out of the tunnel also found it too cold to continue... 

With no other option, both sides slowly retreated back into their bases, to warm up, and hopefully, resume their bloody conflict when the weather was better. Sat by a Llyrian fire, Cassian wondered what had caused this icey mess, and concluded the following:
It might be the Aengul Billy Bob that prevented this struggle, with his warrules that made no sense and were ran by nobody prior to their implementation, and which weren't put to the test at all. 

(( @Telanirplz respond to my discord messages, we need to talk )) 

The dazzling banners of Aegrothond, Urguan, Haelun’or, and Fenn flurried and intermingled in the frosty, yet relatively warm, square of Tahu’Lareh. Additional envoys from Lorraine, Kaedrin, and the Hou-Zi were also present, though their role was merely as observers. Soldiers and diplomats from the respective nations spoke freely amongst each other- sharing stories and jesting in good spirit. However, the prevailing topic of the hour was the diplomatic conference that was soon to be had, one that would unite the four nations in their collective endeavour against Llyria. After several minutes of idle chatter, horns blared from the Citadel, signaling to all that the meeting was to commence. The respective entourages ventured to the conference hall within the Citadel, each taking a seat at the long table before them.

Grand Prince Aelthos, sitting at the head of the table, initiated the talks. “So, Llyria,” he began, looking to Sohaer Dimaethor Visaj, seated just across for him. “It seems they’ve made the decision to tempt fate once again,” he continued, glancing at both Sea Prince Feanor Sylvaeri and King Utak Ireheart, both seated to the left of the Sohaer. “We all have our grievances with them, but it seems in their vainglory Llyria has brought war upon themselves. With their recent breaking of the treaty we made with them, our alliance is left with little other option than to pursue military action.” Those in attendance murmured in agreement.

“They aren’t just tempting fate- they’re tempting all of us,” snickered Crown Prince Vytrek, helping himself to a sip of the wine before him. “Poor them, I suppose. I quite liked the city until the Empyrion lost a chunk of his brain.”

“I do not know how you could bear to stand that city,” the Sohaer sneered, shaking his head in evident disagreement. “It is a place riddled with dark mages, demon-spawn, and the lesser life forms we are all obligated to rid this world of.” 

The table fell quiet, for most there were in agreement. However, the matter of how the war would be conducted still remained.

“Just charge in and DESTROY THEM!” cheered the young prince, Aldred.

“I believe naval supremacy will be paramount to winning this war. Llyria is a port city- if we cut their supplies then we ought to be able to starve them into submission,” argued the Sea Prince. To further illustrate his point, he procured a map of the Llyrian area, pointing to its harbour, then tracing a line to his own city at Aegrothond. “Look at how short of a distance that is. We would be able to effectively support a besieging army via sea without worrying about the hassle of a long voyage,” he concluded, looking to the Grand Prince for affirmation of his plan.

The Grand Prince remained quiet, studying the map intently. He rubbed his beard, before pulling a worn charcoal pencil from his pocket. Marking an ‘x’ at the tunnel leading into Llyria, Aelthos began to speak.

“I agree with the Sylvaeri’s suggestion, though I would like to take it a step further.” Aelthos pointed at his ‘x’, glancing up to King Utak. “Have your dwarves block this pass here. I want nothing in and nothing out. In the meantime, the Ivae’fenn and Sillumiran will besiege the city itself. Have we any disagreements here?”

King Utak, who had seated himself in a small basin of water in the center of the table, shook his head. “T'ere will b' teh loot, aye?” he inquired, his eyes growing wide with the thought of plunder. He then splashed some water on his face, washing out some of the grime.

Silir Uradir, Okarir’san of Haelun’or, snorted. “Sounds like a typical dwarven concern,” he chortled, furrowing his eyes at Utak’s bathing. “However, there is another matter. I revel at the opportunity to strike down the Llyrian corruptions, but what of the normal citizens there? Plenty of innocents reside in that wretched city. Would we be just to treat them the same?”

“I say we allow those who wish to leave the city pass through our siege lines. I suspect that the dark mages will wish to defend their home, for it is the only place that openly harbors them. That said, what of those that abandon their city anyway and masquerade as a normal person?” said the Sea Prince, biting his lower lip. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat upon noticing Utek’s bathing, but held his tongue regardless.

“Then we will hunt them down again and again, as is our duty,” affirmed the Haelun’orian Okarir’san, flashing Feanor a cocksure grin. “Besides, I don’t think any of us have seen them put up a half-decent fight before.”

Dimaethor Visaj laughed clearly and heartily, though more sinister undertones were evident. Then rising from his seat, the aged Sohaer addressed those at the table.

“Fortune has it that we are all on the same side this time around. We shall make quick business of this petty enemy. Now, the hour is getting late, and we all have armies to ready for war. I shall depart for today, but I will return with an army beside me- ready to join you.” With that, the Haelun’orian retinue said their goodbyes and left.

Soon after, the other envoys followed suit, each saying a few words in farewell before leaving the hall. After a few moments, only the Grand Prince and his two sons remained. Vytrek was the first to rise, walking over to the map left behind by Sea Prince Feanor. 

“It’s a viable plan,” the Crown Prince noted, studying the battle plans that had been marked down.

“That it is. No doubt the Llyrian state will crumble at our might, but how many losses will we suffer? Hundreds?” Aelthos responded, joining his son in examining the plans.

Vytrek took a longing glance outside of the window behind him, looking to the training Ivae’fenn below him. Recruits sparred, officers shouted orders, and standard-bearers stood stalwartly with the colors of Fenn in-hand. War was soon to come to all of them once again.

“I don’t know. Maybe ten?”

WARCLAIM

Attackers

Princedom of Fenn & Allies

Defenders

Llyria & Allies

Wargoals:

The Llyrian city pillaged.

Location & Proposed Time

Add me on Discord to discuss this further Ioannis#9788

The windswept halls of the Citadel rang silent as the convocation of the Fennic Grand Council sat, awaiting the arrival of the Grand Prince. Snow flurried outside in a great torrent, one that made the warmth of the hall all the more welcoming to the Grand Councillors. They had been called in the middle of the night by their Prince for reasons they knew not, though the inviting, hospitable atmosphere inside of the Citadel soon turned the tired quietness into a lively chatter. A few good minutes later and the heavy footsteps of the Grand Prince could be heard just outside the door. With a heavy groan, the door guarding the hall from the blizzard outside opened to reveal His Majesty- Aelthos Tundrak III. Adorned in the finest of plate, with a thick yet soft woolen cloak to defend him from the frost, the imposing Tundrak entered the hall, a look of pure fury upon his features. 

The Grand Prince’s chilling gaze turned the veins of the Mali’fenn in the room to ice, a freeze far harsher than even the blizzard. As he sauntered to the edge of the table at the center of the room he stood before his councillors, clearing his throat as he prepared to speak.

“They’ve tested my patience for the last time,” the Grand Prince began, his clear, peremptory voice rising above the raging storm outside. “ These ‘spider cultists’ are malformations- deserving of naught but the death we are to bring to them. It is a mercy, all things considered, as such creatures do not deserve a quick demise” he spat, his gauntleted hands gripping the edge of the table.

The councillors said not a word, opting to simply nod in agreement. It was evident to them all that to test the Tundrak’s patience would be a folly. His temper was a beast to be feared more than any wyvern, twice so when the lives of his subjects were on the line.

“I will admit that it was my fault in not dealing with this scourge earlier. My inaction has led to the kidnapping and killing of my people. However, this ends now. These vermin will be exterminated by the hand of the Ivae’fenn, their blood will fill the vile pits which they call home.”

He then paused, biting the interior of his cheek as he studied the faces of each and every one of his councillors. Was he looking for weakness? Resolve? Hesitation? Whatever it may have been, he found it, for the Grand Prince smiled for the first time that night. However, his grin was not one of joy or warmth, rather it was of a cocksure determination. The vigor and boldness of youth had not yet left Aelthos, for within his heart was the passion, the desire to eradicate these foul murderers- to free his people from their worries when traveling about Arcas. 

“I inherited the most disciplined, experienced army in all of elvendom. It would be a shame if I were to die before utilizing their prowess at least once,” the youthful monarch mused, shooting a look to one his councillors, Aesilnoth Annungilben. “Grand Marshal, see to it that the Ivae’fenn is ready within the fortnite. These cultists may be diabolical, but I have full faith that they will break easily under our might.”

“It will be done,” the aged marshal responded, rising from his seat. “Am I get to it straight away, Your Majesty?”

“Indeed. I give you leave to begin preparations. I’ll not have a single soldier with a want for proper gear.”

As Grand Marshal Aesilnoth strode out of the Citadel, the Grand Prince turned to face his remaining councillors. His countenance, now graced by a grin of satisfaction, eased the tension of the others. His Majesty, though prone to outbursts, was by no means difficult to be around. Procuring a wine flask from his cloak, the Grand Prince took a hearty swig whilst looking to the windows that revealed the world outside- which was now far calmer than it had been before.

“The end of this blizzard has shown us a fine night indeed. I shall allow you to enjoy it in your homes and with your families. I will not bother you all with the details of this operation for now- just know that it will demand all of our efforts,” he concluded, giving a nod of goodbye as he turned to depart. As he reached the gates, the Grand Prince paused, allowing himself a final look back to his council. A towering Elf, shrouded in a blanket of shadows stood among the Mali’fenn councillors. The unknown Elf lifted his chin, to which a gem upon his crown winked in the light of a distant torch.

“The Princedom of Fenn is at war once again.”

When Wyrvun stirs, the little spiders will be trampled beneath his taloned feet.

WARCLAIM

Type of War & CBs (if applicable)

Multiplue Attack on Leadership, kidnapping and openly attacks against the Princedom of Fenn

Conquest War Goal

Attackers

Princedom of Fenn & Allies

Defenders

Spider Elves & Allies

Wargoals:

The destruction of the Spider Elf Stronghold

Location & Proposed Time

Add me on Discord to discuss this further Ioannis#9788

The mountain of the dwarves rumbled beneath the cloudless night skies of Arcas. The sound of drums echoed through the halls as the dwedmar filtered into the square in between row upon row of armored legionnaires. On the great dais before them, Under-King Atandt Irongrinder stood with arms raised, shouting.

“My honorable kin!

As many of you already know, a delegation was sent this past stone day to the nation that now proclaims itself as the Holy Orenian Empire. Accompanied by several Rikkins and the Grand Marshal, our Lord Chancellor met with those who represented the Crown to address the issue of the sacrilege of our sacred ruins by their vassals and the construction of fortifications in our mountains, violating our long held treaty with them.

Do you know what they said?!

NO!

They would not answer to the dwarves nor would they honor our treaties of old!!

We remained neutral in their civil war and honored every mark of our treaty and in one fell swoop they tore it all down!”

He cries as he swings a hand through the air in mimic of swinging an axe. He pauses as cries of uproar and anger fill the hall from citizen and legionnaire alike. He raises his hands once more to quiet the crowd before again beginning to speak…

“What message shall we send at this grievous insult? Should we draw back and allow them this one slight only for them to take a mile out of the inch we give them?”

Cries of dissent and “No!” ripple through the crowd in response.

“Should we allow them to walk all over us and the honor with which we held our agreements with them?!”

Further cries drift through the crowd, this time louder and more angry.

“No!!

So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Why should we follow a treaty they claim no longer exists? Why should we lay low while their people dig up the tombs of our ancestors and build over the skeletons of our forefathers’ homes??”

Echoes of “Kavir!” and “War!” rip through the crowd as the congregation matches the anger of the officials before them and above all else their Under-King.

“No more I say!

From this moment forth these mountains are ours once again! Let our legion mobilize! Let the forts of old be dusted off and rebuilt anew!

Let the mountains be filled with mighty fortresses both belowground AND above!

Let the old order of the dwedmar’s complacency and willingness to be turned aside be brought down and from its ashes we shall rise anew! Mighty as our forebears! Steadfast as stone! Powerful and righteous in our quest as Yemekar has so charged us!

Re-militarize the Ruhnland!”

In his right hand he grips an intricately carved blade which he thrusts into the air, runes along its length flashing brightly. In his left he grips a Belka rune, his voice projecting out across the masses as they scream and shout warcries in assent.

“Go forth Sons of Urguan! Take back our lands! Remove the invaders!

Narvak oz Urguan

Kavir oz da Onor’umri!”

At the end of his speech the cries of officers call out over the din of screaming citizens, calling commands to the lines of legionnaires. All at once the pounding of swords and axes against shields begin to match then drown out the cries of the citizens as the halls begin to fill with “ARU ARU ARU!”.

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