Desolation. Constant warfare throughout the Fringe had brought it about—and it was time for it to end. So thought the leaders of Oren, and so they acted. A parley was arranged for between Oren and it's elven allies, and the Dwarven Alliance.
The men of Oren filed into Vekaro, garrisoning it's gatehouse, prepared to move. Across a narrow strip of grass, the noble Elves of Tahn'Siol stood by on their walls. The importance of the event was clear: severe disciplinary measures were threatened for those who stepped out of line. Silence prevailed on the walls of the city as the delegation of Oren moved out of the city.
Marcus Constantine stood silent upon the wall beside his comrade Celcian Colin.
"Were this to come to battle... would you have my back?" whispered Colin.
"You know I shall do all I can, friend, though I fear I may not be able to protect even myself." Mark replied.
"I'll look out for you as well, then."
Something was wrong at the meeting. The voices which had a moment ago been inaudible to humans were now plain to hear. The Hochmeister had refused diplomacy. As the Hochmeister and the Marshals of Oren left the parley zone, rage filled Decurion Lowedge.
"You refuse diplomacy, eh? Now you die!"
The dwarven lord could do nothing, for his size, and lack of agility proved to be his downfall. Arthal Lowedge bested him in one on one combat.
Arrows thudded into the wooden roofs of the houses behind the walls of Vekaro. The battle had begun. Not only Oren Regulars, but also High Elves began firing at the Dwarven forces. Charging forth, the dwarven legionnaires and Teutonic knights, caught impotent in the crossfire, were met with a hail of arrows.
Try as they might, the enemy's lack of siege engines meant that no path was established for their troops to move into Oren's base. Their frustration grew until the Hochmeister, overcome with annoyance, shouted out at the Orenians, "Come out and face me, you cowards!"
The forces of Oren, already rallied at the gates of Vekaro, obliged.
And Mirtok fell.
Almost immediately the forces of the Teutons and dwarves were driven from the battlefield. They holed up in their fortress, protected by the "Great Trench of Industry."
Occupying the hill, the Orenians made several forays toward the wide-open gate, each time causing and sustaining casualties. Finally, the enemy resolved to sally forth, at least in part. Celcian Colin fell, and Mark charged forward to save his comrade. It was not to be, for Celcian was evacuated by the Monks before Mark could honor his commitment to him. The Dwarven and Teutonic forces did, however, collapse, fleeing back into their fortress.
Finally, after further standstill, the enemy sallied forth once more. This time, they were crushed.
Fleeing through their wall, the valiant Teutons tried to cover their retreat with a flanking maneuver; they were slaughtered. Small skirmishes were fought for some time afterward, however, the battle had already been won.
Carried up in the glorious rejoicing of the moment, Mark left behind the sorrow of his failed commitment to his friend, for he could hardly have helped. After all, there would be more battles yet to come in which to prove himself.
Knowing that, despite the deposition of the dwarven king for his crimes committed which started the war, the dwarves chose to persist in their unrighteous resistance against peace and the might of Oren, Marcus, for the first time, felt entirely justified for uttering this word since its use had begun. After all... what honor-less barbarians didn't deserve...
"EXTERMINATUS!"