[i]The Imperial decree arrived by horseback.  The Emperor sent a man of his own blood, a man named Rexus, to command Alaric to assemble his forces and invade the West.  There the kingdoms had grown wary of the Empire's exploits, and they must have know that an invasion was coming.  They agreed to set aside their differences and work together.  Each kingdom sent a small detachment to hold the Maw for as long as possible, for every day they held the pass was another day they could prepare defenses.

Knowing that the Maw was crucial to the war effort, Alaric hastily rode to occupy the mountain pass.  The Sixth Legion rode with him, as they had many times before.  The Sixth had earned a fearsome reputation in the East; it was Alaric's first command, and they had been with him through every conquest.  Lucius, the official commander of the Sixth Legion, had become good friends with the young Alaric, a mentor of sorts.

Accompanying Alaric and the Sixth were Zathii auxiliaries, the very men who had rebelled against the Empire just a few years earlier.  Lucius feared a mutiny, for the Zathii hated the Imperials and they proved to be disobedient, but Alaric insisted they come.  They would occupy the Maw until reinforcements arrived...[/i]

[hr]

The morning sun crept over the eastern entrance of the Maw, slowly pulling itself over the horizon.  To the north a black mountain stood sentry; its steep slopes were flanked on all sides by smaller black-peaked mountains.  To the south a similar image: jagged black spires protruding from the earth.  Set between north and south was a flat, green valley, aptly named the Maw.  As one traveled down the beaten path they would feel as if they were standing in the jaws of some gargantuan creature.  The Dragonspine Mountains were as old as the world itself, forever separating the East and the West.

For centuries, perhaps millenniums, traders had peddled their goods back and forth.  But there would be no traders today, no travelers of any kind.  A reinforced wooden wall had been constructed, stretching across the entire eastern entrance of the Maw.  It had been raised just a few days prior; great bastions were erected at regular intervals and crowned with ballista.  A series of gatehouses also ran the length of the wall at various points.  No Western army could assault the wall without taking significant casualties, and even then the Imperials would drive them away with ease.  It was a forgone conclusion.

The Allies would arrive before noon.  They would build their camps at the western edge of the Maw, opposite the Imperial wall.  They were separated by several miles of open land, flanked to the north and south by the Dragonspine Mountains.  Once their camps were up and their armies settled the leaders of each Western force would be called forth to attend a parley in the middle of the Maw.

Torr waited patiently on his black steed.  His cold blue eyes studied the wall in the distance.  He was accompanied by a blonde-headed woman, a shield-maiden from the realm of Asgeir; her name was Aesa, his second-in-command.  The northerners could not bring many men to the pass, Torr only managing to round up nine 'Wolfguard': elite bodyguards from his home province of Valland.  Desperate to join, Aesa swore an oath to serve Torr as the party was leaving, thus becoming his tenth Wolfguard.  The two Varan became good friends during their journey south.

The middle gate soon opened and a band of riders exited.  Alaric was easy to spot: a great fur cloak hung at his back, with a barbaric undertone to his Imperial apparel.  He was flanked by two heavily armored men, and judging by their crests they were high-ranking officers.  Behind these three a retinue of heavily-armored men followed; Torr counted fifteen total.  They were Sylver Legionnaires, and not a group to be taken lightly.  When rumors spread of the Sylver Empire's rise they were always spearheaded by accounts of the Legionnaires.

Eventually the group would come upon the Allies and both sides would face each other.

Alaric's long hair had been pulled back in a ponytail.  His young face was only partially covered in facial hair.  Dark brown eyes scanned each Western lord.  The tribal aesthetics in the man's armor was evident; it was as if this Imperial general wanted to remind himself of his heritage, and wanted all to know.

It was a stark contrast to his two associates, donning steel Legionnaire armor, red crests, and crimson capes.  They were clean-shaven, light-skinned, and tall.  They were true Sylverans, from the Heartlands of the Empire.  Some believed the first Sylverans mated with a race of she-elves, and that their descendants were half-elves.  They certainly had the noble undertones of elf-kind, as well as the height and complexion.  But they had the strength and desire of men.

Alaric spoke first.  "So you have assembled your armies opposite my own.  You intend to do battle?  How many men do you have?  Two-thousand?  Twenty-five hundred?  It's not enough.  You will not win."

"No, maybe not." Torr interrupted, his graveled voice challenging Alaric's.  "But we will hold you here for as long we can."

Alaric nodded his head grudgingly.  "I am sure you will all fight and die bravely.  But you will do so in vain.  Your homelands are preparing defenses, no doubt.  Preparing for the inevitable war to come.  The reality is they have sent you here to die, just so they can live a few days longer."

Torr snarled his nose, "What would you have us do, [i]boy[/i]?"

One of Alaric's lieutenants spoke for him.  "He would have you lay down your arms, Northerner.  Sheath your swords and return home, and await Imperial commands."

"And what would the Empire bid me do," Torr growled at him.

Alaric raised his hand to stop the lieutenant from speaking again, "that is enough Lucius," he commanded calmly.  He looked at Torr and replied.  "Your kings will give up their power and serve the Empire.  Your people will pay taxes to the Empire.  Your men will fight for the Empire.  There will be no more disunity, no more conflict.  We will be one and the same, brothers and sisters in arms."

Torr shook his head.  "You would make us slaves to your Emperor.  We will not feed the Imperial war machine and our sons will not fight in your wars."  A few moments passed and Torr continued "Imperial blood does not even course through your veins, Alaric.  I hear your father was a barbarian, no different from my own people.  Why do you fight for these invaders?"

Alaric looked down at the earth for a few seconds before finally looking back up.  "If you only knew."  Sighing he finished by saying "if you do not leave this pass willingly then I will force you out.  I suggest you prepare your armies, for my men march within the hour."

Alaric and his men turned and headed back to the wall, save for one man, the lieutenant who did not speak.  He cast a hateful glare to the Allies.  "You will all die like the dogs you are."  He looked at Pizurk, the ork commander, "even the green-shits have rallied to your side.  Pathetic."

"Rexus!"  Lucius called for his comrade.  The man named Rexus turned and galloped away, rejoining Alaric.

[hr]

Torr waited patiently in the strategy tent, along with Aesa.  The tent was large enough to accommodate the Allied leaders and whatever assistants they had with them.  In the middle stood a wooden table, surrounded by wooden chairs.  When everyone had assembled Torr stood up and began to speak.

"Friends... allies... former enemies.  Steel yourselves, for battle is upon us.  Whatever hatreds you have had in the past, forget them.  They don't matter anymore.  Elves... men... orks... today, we are but one race.  Alaric and his Imperial lackeys prepare for battle behind their wall.  We [i]must [/i]make a stand."

"My scouts have reported that Alaric's army is not at full strength.  He has brought only the Sixth Legion with him, and an attachment of auxiliary forces."  Torr rubbed his beard.  "No doubt reinforcements are on the way.  He will not deploy his Legionnaires, not today.  We match the Sixth in number and he will not throw them away needlessly, for they are his prized possession.  His auxiliaries number three-thousand, and they are not of Imperial stock.  I suspect he will deploy them first.  They are ill-disciplined, with poor equipment.  But they are also strong-willed and will put up a good fight.  Expect light infantry... perhaps light cavalry."

Torr finished his speech, "Who shall devise the strategy and command our forces on this day?"