[B] The GreyAnvil Capitol, Ashbridge.[/b] 
The sounds of hammers clashing against anvil filled the entire smithing hall, every man, and woman working dutifully. Some were gathered near the tiny aquifer that seeped from the stone wall, drinking the cold liquid that seeped through. "I hear raids have been uneventful of late. More men died than treasure or slaves plundered the fault lies with new warchief! Has has done nothing but bring the clans shame. He has yet too bring a decent bounty in." A large male spoke loudly, his chest puffed out. He spoke defiantly and boldy to impress the few females around him. While his anvil brother shook his head softly "Brother, then why not challenge him during the trials if he is so shameful?" He opens his mouth to speak but was rudely interrupted by the hall doors being thrown open. In walked a large man, he stood half head taller than the average male, he wore simple furs, though his shoulders were decorated with the paws of a wolf, and on top of his head sat a crown made of silver, bronze and gold, By other nations Standards very primitive and plain. Following him were men dressed in patch work armor, all having a head of a slayen wolf for a cowl. The mere presence of the war chief caused all work to stop and everyone immediately kneeled before him showing their submission to his will. "Stand my brothers and sisters. I am not here on ceremony, but only here to visit my kins men!" Killenger spoke with a velvety, deep voice. A confused look was exchanged before all. He began to visit with the clansmeof engaging them with casual talk, soon though Destitor arrived, his exposed flesh covered in soot. "Ah warchief, to what pleasure do I owe the visit?" He spoke nervously, his eyes darting from the workers to him. "I would like you to start to count what we have in the hoard. I want numbers, and I want to know exactly what is in there." When he spoke his eyes drilled into destitor's his voice unfriendly now and menacing. "Till we see each other again then?" He immediately changed his tune, even giving a small smile as he left.

[B]LowLanders, Mountain pass[/b]
There was a large caravan struggling up the steep trails, massive boars rigged with harnesses pulled on the wagons. With each wagon carrying hundreds of pounds of meat, and fruit. Everything was slow moving and the caravan seemed to stretch on for miles. A young man pushed on the back of his assigned wagon as it bogged down in the muddy trail. His body was covered in mud, and sweat. The animal ahead squealed with exertion. There seemed no end in sight as they made slow progress up the mountain. They had started early in the day before the sun had awoken and now the sun was preparing for sleep. But soon the trail Began to flatten out his steps became easier and the pig pulled the cart with ease again. He looked back and saw the treacherous path he had just cleared. Though there were still hundreds of wagons still making the journey the toughest part for him was over.

[B]Deep within the mines of Ashbridge. The Descended. [/b] 
The old man, sat in the equally old chair. He waited for the signal to start raising the elevator. His mind wondered to days of old, to the dark of the mines to the unending sea of ores that were extracted. He only had a general idea of what happend to the ores after they were dug up but he didn't really care all that much. But soon a heard a sharp whistle, and it was time for him to work. He stood up, giving a sharp kick to the slave by his feet. "Wake up you useless dog, hands on the winch, get yur ass moving!" He was quick and to the point. The worn out man struggled to his feet, and shuffled to the winch room. There lay two more sleeping slaves. He woke them and they slowly began to turn the winch raising from below a large deposit of ore. The bucket was heavy and old just like the machinery, it had come from the days of old or so the slaves had been told... The old man moved too the bucket as it got to the top, like usual his friend road the bucket up. They chatted briefly before he showed him the haul. They had struck a small gold vien but more importantly the vien was seated near iron. The old man chuckled and then moved to the runners room. He relayed the information and sent him on his marry way. He shuffled back to his chair where he sat with a soft plop. The winch rooms rhythmic sounds luling him to sleep.

[B]GrimWrath, Gundor[/b] 
Kerrigore stared at the massive map before him. It gave him a general idea of what the entire territory of Helcore, and some of what the north,south, and west had to offer. The recent raids on the northern Grey skins had been unsuccessful... Those damned forts held well against large parties. He carefully inspected where his units currently were. He had 2,000 men guarding the food caravan. 1,000 men patrolling all tunnels, he had a third wrath constantly scouring the edge of the forest and the thicket searching for any sort of scouts, trespassers, or military types. The next third of Wrath was up for drill, and inspection. While the final third slept and waited to relieve their current brothers from patrol. Grim was stationed every where, guarding towns, roads. Patrolling, and inspecting the state of the defences. They were in charge of the traps spread through out the forests, the trails and the tunnel entrances. He had roughly 5,000 men of Grim on standby ready to deploy. They drilled and trained day in and out waiting yo be cycled through the patrols

Kerrigore tapped his finger thoughtfully upon his chin, as he further studied the Greg skinns. He formulated an idea within his head, waiting for his warchieften to return from his rounds.