[b][u]Axasiri Khaganate[/u][/b]
The Grogar, for some centuries have been a lingering problem for the People of the Khaganate, suffering their raids, however, it was a manageable existence, the best of the Clans fighting off the paleskinned beasts. But their attacks have grew more fierce in recent years, and have worsened. The few Grogar Clans and Warbands persist in their campaign of terror, and march deep into the countryside, ravaging all that stood in their way, soon to incur the wrath of the Axasiri Great Clans.

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Black smoke rises high up towards the blue skies, staining the serenity of the landscape as yet another village was pillaged and razed to the ground by the marauding Warbands of Grogar, the aftermath of their carnage was a terrible sight. Charred and severed corpses of the villagers littering the ground, grogar looting the dead, even fighting over who would be able to feast upon the charred flesh, just the way they like it.

Walking down the very center of the Village, a tall imposing Highborn Grogar, a well-muscled brute of a beast, his face obscured by a piece of cloth, Morg the Ghastly as they called him. He was flanked by two unusually large dark-scaled drake hounds. 

The large gathering of Grogar warriors all turned their attention to their leader as they cheered on with unholy and beastly howls until he climbed atop a small mound of corpses. "I'd says that was a job well down, right boys?!?!?!" He screamed out gleefully in a graveling tone, quickly followed by cheers in unison. "That's what I wanna hear!" he said as jumped down. "This is it you bastards, the land is ours for the taking!" More cheers followed. "And it ain't just here! Soon they'll know Morg! They fear my name!" Morg proceeded to hop down the mound, approaching his soldiers. "Pack up! We're leaving for more spoils!"