Kings of War International Campaign Day

Here is the too long postponed conclusion to the 3rd International Campaign Day! Epilogue: At the Green Lady’s call the waters of the Frozen Sea course down, covering the Ogre Lands in a cleansing wave of glacial rivers. As the wall of water advances upon the war torn city, Cathius stands at the height of the tallest tower and extends his hands outwards. On his right hand is the shining Obelisk, its now white stone pulsing with a golden light that seems to bend towards the deity’s outstretched hand, coursing through the air to touch against his palm. Cathius’s left hand is extended towards the coming flood. He closes his eyes as if lost in deep thought. Below there are the survivors of the campaign, huddled together against the coming deluge. They can hear the roaring thunder of the water as it devours the distance between them, tearing up plants, rocks and topsoil in an angry tantrum of foaming death. They sit in silence, even the babies do not wail or weep in the tense doom t

Setup for Scenario 1C: The forces under Cathius’s command have begun the final push. The Shining Lord sits clutching the shard of the Fenulian Miirror tightly to his chest, as if terrified that something would take it from him. As they approach once more the edge of the Abyss where their proud city still stands, albeit a far more decrepit in nature, Cathius dispatches his foreward scouts to secure the advance through which the forces of Good will storm in order to attain the Obelisk. Cathius struggles to not show the desperation he feels as the small advance forces ride out from the gates of the city. He struggles even more to quiet the growing whispers in his mind that call out to him of his impending doom at the hands of his twin. Across the divide and at the base of the Obelisk, Urz’Rael plots his revenge for the ignominious defeat he received from his twin on the Ardovikian plain. Taking more of the same cursed stone with which he made up his Obelisk, he begins to construct sm

Urz’Rael stares out over the bending grass as it ripples in the wind. A peaceful calm has settled across the Ardovikian Plain, especially in comparison with the rest of the world, but the Abyssal Lord knows that such is only an allusion as the smoke from several pyres breaks the horizon and soon the columns of evil warriors begin to smell the putrid sweetness of burning flesh. Piles of broken and bloodied orcs lie at the base of a massive wall that stretches as far as the eye can see in both directions, extending the height of the horizon and causing the wind to how as it blows harmlessly against the tailored stone. Urz’Rael stops his column of warriors a good distance away from the putrid funeral pyres and examines the options he sees before him. In the distance he can just make out the trail of dust being kicked up by his twin’s army coming in behind them. It won’t be long now until they arrive and the contest begins anew between these two figures of Shadow and Light. But for now,

Urz’Rael stares up at the walls of the still standing city before him. They mock him by their very existence and his fury swirls about him like red mists of shame. They had come so close! The forces of Good had been scattered before the might of his followers. They had scurried back behind the protection of their sad little walls and now both sides sat hardly any better than they had when the day had begun. The only difference being that the forces of Good had lost a significant portion of their troops in their foolhardy assault on the Obelisk and even now the blasted abomination was practically pulsating with the power drunk off the shed blood at its feet. Urz’Rael can feel the power flowing from his creation and he revels in it. It draws on the depths of the Abyss and calling out to legions of the damned far below, awakening demonic entities that have slept for eons gone by. Turning, Urz’Rael finds himself drawn to the Obelisk and it is not long before he stands beside it with his

The shuddering blasts rip through the foolish humans and their allies as the devices backfire on them in their foolhardy charge. In the ensuing mayhem the Evil warriors take advantage of the confusion to gut whatever enemy they can find. Blades flash in the smoky light of death as screams cry out and death rattles shake the nerves of all around them. Gleeful orcs, goblins, abyssals, and murderous men charge through the hazy field, slitting the throats of the fallen and shedding the blood of all those who attempt to stand in their way. Screams of the wounded and dying reach up to the heavens and are brutally silenced with the sounds of a falling hammer, or the wet gurgle of a blade parting a throat. Their prayers do them no good today. It is in this confusion that a small force of Light warriors is able to slip past the Evil battle lines and under the watchful gaze of Cathius they ride hard towards the seemingly undefended Obelisk. Cathius is no fool, he knows that the Obelisk is the g