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~Prelude~
The Start of the War

It was a cold murky evening on the coast. The forest was black and calm. Only the few cracks of twigs followed by the scattering of birds were to be heard that night. No fires roared in the village. No meals being cooked, no children being put to bed. The bleak town was as empty as the woeful forest. They all left, fled for their safety from the frenzied hordes of nomadic barbarians. The night before the storm and furies of the savage force was soon to end, but blood rage was soon to begin.
Hours away the legions of the vast northern kingdoms marched to intercept the brutal abominations. The only thing they knew of the enemy was their malevolence. The men marched, too ignorant to see the ruthless danger they where soon to faced. They marched with worry in their hearts. Fear rained down their faces. Horror shook their figure tips. Dread rattled their spears. The enemy they had to face has never been seen before and death was the only thing immanent in their minds.
As they arrived on the frost bit plain, the morning dew was just starting to melt. The men made their fires, as they traded watching posts, knowing the enemy had to be near. The silence was as eerie as the motionlessness the forest possessed. With no warning a whistle flew through the air, quickly followed by the death cry of a fallen soldier. Moments later a hail of arrows bulleted from all directions of the forest, there was no escape. The blizzard of death quickly dispatched all outer forces of the northern kingdom. Blood ran from their lifeless bodies mixing with the dew slowly draining into the soil. The remaining forces met hordes of berserking savages. Colossal men standing seven feet tall advanced on the camp with inhuman pace. They smashed skulls with their flails and perforated arteries with crudely carved daggers.
They northern forces quickly fell to the overwhelming might of the beast like force. They struggled to gather their beaten shields and swords, but it was far too late. The overwhelmingly numerous entourage had already eliminated the majority of northern forces. Men dropped as bones cracked. The blood-drenched weapons of the clearly victorious invading force annihilated all they found. Within minutes of the initial attack, northern forces where defeated and their fears of death were quickly met.
News of the slaughter and massacre of the miserably lost battle reached towns in the northern kingdom. Widows and orphans mourned alike. Generations of men were lost to an incoming force, and fear of invasion was sure to plague the town within days. There was no time for memorial ceremonies, most where leaving, heading west, to the kingdom of Dithluma.
Some remained, refusing to surrender to the seemingly unstoppable force. They looked for aid from their eastern and western allies. Man, women and able child were called to arms. Courage drove them stay, valor rained in their blood. They stayed for their love of their homeland. Their human obligation to protect that which is theirs and those that they love. The Battle of Peruthima had begun