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 seen 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, and 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 Ebonfyre, 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 allies and enemies alike as the Wolf of the North. Thinking the barbaric tribesmen little threat, the Witch-Queen intends a largely unopposed march through their lands to strike at the wealthy and fertile realms beyond the Mountain Kingdoms to the west... but 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 highland 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 into 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 battle-spells are woven as Caylen-Tor leads his vastly outnumbered Northlander warriors to the misty, moon-swathed expanse 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 silent 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 valley to behold the army of the Witch-Queen... great tents arrayed upon the heather, powerful steeds tethered, the light from countless burning brands illumining the night, many warriors standing, weapons in hand... aye, all s