Brisk, chilling gusts buffeted Evar Varvudda, standing upon the highest floor of the great citadel for which his city was named. He stood inside an arcaded rotunda, whose pillars of carved volcanic pumice held up a Drathan horned dome chiseled out of a small volcano that had once stood here the better part of a thousand years ago. Between the columns, Evar could see everything for five leagues around: the Smoldering Range to the northwest, the frigid sea of whitecapped waves to the south, and the rolling hill country of Askan stretching in between. The land beyond Sentinel was a vast, open heath, with green undulating hills and ridges covered in dense grasses. Shadows from patches of passing clouds painted mighty swathes of the grasslands a dark green, only to be set aglow with brilliant verdance by the sun's renewed light, giving the entire landscape the impression of a bolt of green silk fluttering in the wind. Streams and brooks coursed over Askan, gurgling with cold, white water as they drained down to the River Malfyrng, flowed past Sentinel, and ultimately emptied into the sea. The gentle rolling hills were studded every now and then with small cinder volcanoes. Some were young and steep, with slopes black with fresh ash and cinders; others were ancient and degraded by erosion, leaving grassy craters filled with hotsprings or geyser ponds. Truly, the view from atop the citadel of Sentinel was a magnificent sight, and despite having access to this vantage point since he was a boy, Evar never tired of the incredible vistas it afforded.

Though Evar cherished the views from atop his great tower, the citadel of Sentinel was not built by his command nor that of any of the Varvudda Jarls. The citadel of Sentinel was commissioned centuries ago by a wizard, when Askan was colonized by the Dratha. This tower was carved from the core of a dormant cinder volcano over the course of several generations of thralls to create the cornerstone of the lost city of Zar Maliff. The wizard lord that ruled this place paid for such a grand edifice with a terrible cost in life. Even after so many centuries, fishermen plying the River Malfyrng still occasionally found in their nets the skulls and legbones of the multitudes of slaves who spent their lives carving this citadel.

The wizard who ordered Sentinel built must have meant for the rotunda to be a place for relaxing and entertaining courtiers, but Clan Varvudda found the climb up the hundreds of stairs to the top of the citadel too taxing and time consuming, and instead chose a chamber in the low levels of the citadel to be the Jarl's court. Instead, the rotunda was used mainly as a lighthouse; citadel thralls kept a bonfire up here at night to serve as a beacon to ships in the evening. There was also a pair of ballistae up here well away from the fire ring - siege engines purchased at great expense from the southern lands by Jarl Vignar a decade ago. The citadel guards never seemed to know where the bolts they fired were, and Evar doubted that anyone knew how to operate these war machines anyway. Too advanced for Broken Landers, it seemed.

Evar heard footsteps coming up the spiral staircase to the rotunda. Thinking it to be a thrall bringing up a bundle of wood for the beacon fire, the Jarl ignored them, continuing to survey the lands of Askan and the city of Sentinel below him.

"Somehow, I knew I would find you up here," said a voice Evar immediately recognized. Approaching now was Sygmar, one of Evar's eldest thanes. Sygmar was a giant of man, with a torso as wide a barrel and hands as big as bear paws. A thick curtain of a beard and mustache transitioning from black to gray draped down to his chest from beneath a blocky nose pitted with two deep scars. A large leather patch covered his right eye and much of the right half of his face, hiding some grievous battle wound from sight. Sygmar would at first appearance seem the sort of man who would possess a deep, booming voice. But when Sygmar spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft and solemn. His voice was so striking that he had come to be known as Sygmar the Silent. "Welcome home, sire."

"We spent nearly a moon in that cesspool, Sygmar," said Evar. "Blanketed almost all of that time in Kingsport's stinking fog. Subjected poor father to it, even. For what? I have nothing to show for it. I came up here for the fresh air, that this wind might blow the stench of that place off of my back."

"Kingsport is an unlovely place, to be sure. If I never see it again, it will be too soon. I had no desire to join you, because I knew nothing would come of your journey there. I wonder, sire, what were you expecting? Calling a Moot with the aim of declaring yourself Regent to the Stonefoot child? Pray tell, how did you expect a positive reaction to such a thing?"

If anyone else had spoken to the Varvudda Jarl in such a way, they could expect a horse-whipping. But Sygmar was allowed a great deal of candour with tempermental Evar. To call Sygmar an adviser to the Jarl was not accurate, for that would imply that Evar actually heeded advice. Sygmar, however, was perhaps the only one who could talk Evar out of a truly unreasonable idea.

"At the least, I expected some of the other clans to sympathize with our plight," admitted Evar. "You know damned well that the Stonecutters have bled us dry for generations. The treasure my father dutifully paid was used to muster the defenses for the Stonecutter holdings, and fortify their keeps. In return for father's dutiful support, Sentinel was abandoned; left to its own devices while the foreign host laid waste to this very city. The only reason this citadel still stands is because this citadel is carved from solid rock, and would not burn in the fires lit by the southron savages."

"You need not remind me, sire. Before you were born, I fought alongside the Stonefoot to put paid to that Salished foray. Your father's frustration with the Stonecutters is merited. I will say that Aigoth Stonefoot, with the help of the Stonecutter Clan, was able to successfully protect much of the Broken Lands from Salished attack. Many clans are therefore going to support the Stonecutters, and are likely perplexed by Varvudda recalcitrance."

"Harkon take the other clans," Evar growled. "I will not abide Clan Varvudda existing as a mere tributary any longer. I see no reason to continue supporting the Stonecutters and their lackeys."

"So I have heard," said Sygmar. "Word of the Moot preceded you, sire. You made the Stonecutter clan fathers very angry."

"[i]I[/i] did? What I said is nothing compared to what father did. He called the High Queen a 'Rainlander bitch'."

"Is that so?" Sygmar asked with a cocked brow.

"... in the presence of the High Queen."

Sygmar immediately let out of snort of laughter. "By the Gods, the old codger's lucky to have his head! I almost wish I joined you just to have witnessed that!"

"Suffice it to say, Jarl Erlendr of Clan Red Knot has been named the boy's regent, not I."

"A rather unusual candidate," mused Sygmar. "I can't imagine he stepped forward. Who nominated him?"

"Jarl Daigon of Clan Shattered Moon."

"[i]Daigon?[/i]" Asked an incredulous Sygmar. "The Coward was in attendance?"

"Aye, he was."

"Daigon returned to the Broken Lands? I should have been there."

"What difference does he make? I must confess, I am rather tired of the deference that is granted to a man known as the Coward.

"You don't understand, Evar," said Sygmar. "You were only a boy when the Coward was exiled from these lands. I [i]fought[/i] against him. Some twelve years ago, as a sellsword with the Felmurg reavers on the isles off the Ashlands in one of the countless wars the wizards of the south have amongst themselves. We fought for Zar Kabros, the Coward fought for Zar Mythrad. I encountered his men on the field at some hamlet in the Ashlands. Make no mistake, Evar: he might be called a Coward, but Daigon and his men are worthy opponents."

Sygmar pulled back on the collar of his tunic to reveal his left shoulder to Evar. A deep, red scar was plainly visible, missing his clavicle by about an inch.

"One of the Coward's Men did that. Tough bastard - his axe cleaved right through my pauldron. If he hadn't lost his footing, I'd be a skeleton buried in the ash somewhere." Sygmar pulled his tunic back over his shoulder before continuing. "There were many such wars and skirmishes between the various factions of the Dratha, and those who survive those battles become hard men indeed. The Coward and his men have seen dozens of them. They are seasoned warriors indeed, some of the best on either side of the the Chain of Fire. Daigon and his men are not to be trifled with."

"Nor are the Stonecutters," said Evar. "That is what concerns me. Daigon will heed Erlendr's calls for unity, but I have heard that there are some among the Stonecutters who seek to avenge my supposed insults against them. In spite of Erlendr's calls for peace, there is one among them who wishes to force my submission: Relgar the Blacktooth. Do you know of him, Sygmar?"

"I do. He is like you, Evar. Impetuous and stubborn. I fought with him against the Salished before you were born. Despite his age is a capable warrior and a compelling leader of men. But he is brash, easily taunted, and prone to careless mistakes on the field of battle. If he means to attack, he will bring many well-armed men. If Relgar does intend to to attack Sentinel - and I have believe he does - then we should look to our defenses now."

Evar continued to look out across the landscape spread out before him through the arcade. Something below caught the Jarl's attention. Just beyond the city of Sentinel, where the River Malfyrng emptied into the ocean, a vessel was listed on its side, perfectly still among the braided mouth of the river. It was a southerner ship - deeper draughted than the longboats and knarres of the Broken Lands. Rowboats from Sentinel had made their way over to the beleaguered vessel, seeming to be offloading crates and barrels from the larger ship.

"That vessel out there," Evar said, deviating wildly from the topic at hand, "It's stuck, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so, sire." Sygmar confirmed, remaining patient with the Jarl despite there being much more pressing matters to fixate upon. "There was a heavy rain two nights before, which deposited much sand and mud at the mouth of the river. These southron boats have deep draughts, and are easily beached. It seems the river channel must be dredged out again."

"No," Evar said, watching the rowboats gathering around the southron cog. "No, do no such thing."

"Excuse me, sire?"

"I want you to purchase  five - no - six longboat mast beams from the shipwright. And send for...  thirty ingots of pig iron from the smithies."

"My Jarl, what in the name of the Gods is this about?"

"Looking to our defenses... an idea has occurred to me."