Bronislav sat at the head of the table, in the place of honor. He sliced off another piece of the bloody meat, thrust it into his mouth, and followed it with a hearty swig of cool brown ale. All about him men laughed and shouted and slapped each other on the back.

Vladimir sat at his right hand. The High Priest was quiet and reserved. He looked about himself with disdain while sipping his goblet of wine. At his left sat Grigor, whom they called the Manslayer. Although a mere two years older than Bronislav himself, the man had seen enough combat for ten men and was an able leader as well. It was rumored that he had fought as far south as Marienburg and brought back many treasures from the wetlands. He had arrived only yesterday, seeking more glories and fortune in this untamed land.

The feast itself was to welcome Grigor, as well as to honor their new alliance with the tribe of Ogres who called themselves the Bone Burners. Their chieftain and two of his guards sat at the foot of the table on hastily prepared benches, wolfing down the meat and ale just as fast as the women could bring it.

In addition they were celebrating their success in this strange new land. They had met little real resistance to their advances, and their holdings were expanding steadily. Just this morning a Magma Guard Patrol had come across some of the Elves of Ulthuan and slaughtered them, without taking a single casualty.

Bronislav put his tankard to his lips for another swallow of ale and found it to be empty. He thrust the vessel out to his side, where Evika stood ready to refill it. Varna sat at his feet, sipping on a cup of wine. With his ale replenished Bronislav stood, although a bit uncertainly.

"Grigor, Vladimir, honored brothers," he shouted, raising his tankard to his guests and lastly to the Ogres. "In the name of Aq'Chamoneth, I wish us strength, honor, and glorious victory!"

The room erupted into cheers and shouts, men pounding the tables and quaffing their ale. After a good-sized swig himself, Bronislav continued.

"Our success here is assured. Aq'Chamoneth the mighty has ordained it! Who can stand against us? Who can withstand the fury of the Fire Lord? No one, I say!"

The men pounded on the tables and chanted his name Aq'Kharneth! Aq'Kharneth! Aq'Kharneth! Aq'Kharneth!

Bronislav sat again, basking in the adulation of his men. Many of them were standing now, singing an old warrior's song in his honor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a messenger enter the hall and wend his way to the first table. He knelt at Bronislav's feet and saluted.

Bronislav returned the salute and leaned close to hear the report.

"Hail Aq'Kharneth. Our outpost at Ghurlethek has sighted a force of the feral Elves moving westward. They mean to attack, my lord."

Bronislav grinned. His reports told him that the wild elves did not command much presence in the region. They must be either very desperate or quite mad to attack him so.

"What are their numbers?"

"It is difficult to count. They fade in and out of the trees like the wind. No more than three score I warrant."

"And when will they arrive?"

"Early tomorrow afternoon at best my lord."

"Excellent, then we will not need to cut short our feast. You are welcome to join the festivities."

"M-my Lord? Shouldn't we gather the Vor'Ir?"

"Plenty of time for that tomorrow, man. Now enjoy yourself…that's an order."

On to the battle

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