[The Chronicles of War:]
The vast armies of Mytos K'unn, marshalled by a sorceress of great power
known as Zyrashana the Witch-Queen, had been cutting a swath through the
Eastern Kingdoms since high summer the preceding year. Empowering her troops
with great sorceries, she had s een all opposition fall before the ravening
swords of her forces since the first bloody campaign; the invasion of the
ancient and noble realm of Delania. The aftermath of the final battle had seen
the systematic slaughter of the Delanian royal family, an d the torture and
execution of all those who had been loyal to their banner. During the ensuing
months, more kingdoms and satrapies toppled before the might of Zyrashana's
 [bad word] by the fearsome and unswervingly loyal battle-lord Talus
Ebonfy re, a man of sublime [bad word] whom many beleived to be possessed by a
demon-spirit from the dark realms. Emboldened by their victories and the
expansion of their queen's dark dominion, the hordes of Mytos K'unn began the
incursion into the lands of the Northern Tribes, beginning with the grim and
brooding territories south of the Snow Kingdoms... [bad word] homelands of the
warlike clans which had been recently united into a strong realm by the
powerful warrior-king Caylen-Tor, a man known to his allie s and enemies alike
as the Wolf of the North. Thinking the barbaric tribesmen little threat, the
Witch-Queen intends a largely unopposed march throught their lands to strike
at the wealthy and fertile realms beyond the Mountain Kingdoms to the west...
bu t Caylen-Tor has vowed that a searing torrent of blood and steel shall meet
all those who deign to enter [bad word] or drive their standard unbidden into
his land... As grim winter slowly yields to spring, the armies of Mytos K'unn
begin their march northwards, and news of the advance of the Witch-Queen's
forces into Blackhelm Vale, the valley known for centuries as the Gate to the
Northlands, soon reaches the highla nd stronghold of Caylen-Tor. Grimly taking
up his sword and spear and donning the woad of war, he vows that Zyrashana
shall pay in blood for every league she has dared venture in his sacred lands.
Scouts soon return with the information that the enemy is camped at the base
of the valley, preparing to march with th dawn. The court shamans forsee
rivers of blood and untold carnage, and great battlespells are woven as
Caylen-Tor leads his vastly outnumbered Northlander warriors to the misty,
moon-swathed e xpanse that is Blackhelm Vale. Legends say that the blood of
many kings has been spilled on the dark earth of the valley over the
generations, and Caylen-Tor promises to his grim gods that the earth will once
again drink deep this night. With his army si lent and brooding beneath the
moon, he knows that whatever the [bad word]  this night shall see a legend of war
written in blood and the deaths of men... a legend none shall soon forget...

[The War Testament of Caylen-Tor (On the Night of the Bloodying of Swords):]
O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night...
Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our steel with slaughter...
Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's death. [bad word]  moon-fogs, Descend to cloak our numbers, the heady scent of battle
beckons,
My ash-hafted spear feels good in my hands, girt 'round with spells (our flesh
gloriously) woad anointed,
Ravens awaiting slaughter soar high above, blood-worms bloat on red carnage,
I'll carve the moon-wheel in their flesh, as havoc churns the heather!

swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven by the
fen-witches of the great mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be our allies
as we surge into the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears for a brief moment,
and I gaze down upon the v alley to behold the army of the Witch-Queen...
great tents arrayed upon the heather, powerful steeds