[h2][center]The Dwarves Arrive[/center][/h2]
[hr]
Southshore did not have long to wait. Even at that triumphant moment, a small army passed eastshore tower at a slow, inexorable pace, much like the movement of the clouds above or the currents of the sea. Grass was shodden under boots of leather and steel and small animals scattered before the wake of the force. Those civilians outside of Southshore and away from the center of the cheers could hear the low rumbling of over two thousand heavy feet. 

The guards stationed by the road stood with surprise and shock on their faces once the armored throng passed over the hill and descended upon the town. Had they charged it would have been pandemonium, but they marched in slow and ordered ranks. Steel armor glinted as axes gleamed in the sun. Helms shined to mirror polish covered grim faces and heavy hammers bobbed up and down with the motion of their stout bodies. At the rear, cloaked units of huntsmen stalked in groups of a score each, rifles resting on their shoulders and keen eyes gazing across the hills of Lordaeron. 

The advanced force of Khaz Modan had come. 

Twelve hundred dwarven warriors grumbled and muttered behind their beards, passing the message down the line that they had made their destination. Thargas was pleased at their quick pace, even considering the craggy, rough ground of the Arathi Highlands. Dwarves could not move quickly, but they were swift marchers in wartime. A dwarven column made surprising speed by the simple fact of rarely ever having to stop and rest. The lads were grumpy for it, but they did it without argument. 

Fifty dwarves armed with poleaxes rode at the head of the battalion on sturdy rams, and before them was their commander, Thargas Anvilmar. Aside him was Geradin, High Priest of the Light of Ironforge. Magni had shown great trust in the humans by providing such esteemed members of his court. Thargas only hoped the manlings deserved it. 

The brown bearded warrior dismounted his steed and let a retainer take the reins, opting to walk at the head of an honorguard as his men made camp at the edge of town, eating a well deserved lunch and setting up sentries. Twelve dwarves, along with Geradin and a fellow acolyte, followed Thargas passed the dumbfounded guards and strode boldly down the street and into the center of the town. 

Needless to say, when the doors to the War Council burst open and Thargas Anvilmar along with the High Priest strode into the chamber, it was likely far quicker than the Scarlet Crusaders had been expecting. 

"I hear ye've been expecting us," Thargas said to Ashbringer conversationally. "That's good, because my arse is sore and it's been a long walk from Khaz Modan. Firstly, I would ask that ye let me and the lads take residence in that tower o'er yonder to the east. We can set up a headquarters right quick with a few materials. If that's settled, I'm ready to discuss war if ye are." 

"The light blesses this meetin' as surely as the sun rises," Geradin said solemnly, a hand raised to the ceiling before slowly drifting down. The venerable priest cleared his throat, and the following silence was broken by. "Ye wouldn't happen to have any beer would ye?" 

"Aye, let's have some beer if ye would be so kind." Thargas agreed, standing beside a chair and crossing his arms. He had ridden to far to sit down immediately now. He would stand and speak to the seated men eye to eye.