Edward Snow grins as he overlooks the carnage, and wipes his blade clean. Over his shoulder is a bag laden with bloodied dwarven steel, to be melted down for scrap. It had been his first true battle, and it had been a good one. The banner-men of House Winter had held their own, taking 3 dwarven heads for every man they lost. It had been a quick battle, but as he looked at the distant walls of the dwarven keep far in the distance, he knew that the war was not over. The Battle for Cloudwater Bridge had been a decisive victory, a fight on open, contested soil, where Oren held a 3:1 numerical advantage, and superior organization, but now the fights would be taken to the dwarven keeps. Humanity would be challenged by those imposing walls, the rain of arrows and stone and ground-rending blasts from atop those same walls. The dwarves have never in recorded history lost a defensive battle, and it'll be up to the forces of Oren to change that. His grin resolved itself stoic, and he turned, bag of loot on his back, sword now sheathed, and made his way back to Abresi where the bannermen were gathered, and to bring the news of the victory to his Lord and father.
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Aeto Tsojenn arrived back at the Dreadfort, filled with pride. The Blackmont forces had crushed the Dwarves from the side, held the bridge farther into the Cloudlands, and routed the Kharajyr who had allied with the Dwarves. It was a massacre, and he was happy.