The Shattered Mountains

{{Fiction
 * hasSetting=Larisnar
 * storyBody="Steel your hearts and ready shields! To victory, or to death!" ­ Krun

Although their ancestors may have been orcs, ogres and goblins, the terrible Nothrog are anything but primitive. Their massive armies march once more, bound together by the leadership of Nassiral Hate, the mysterious and enigmatic cleric of an unknown god. The finest tacticians and group fighters in the Accord, they have seized control of the Southern Plains and taken the city of Baraxton ­ the hub of trade and once the capital of the human civilization ­ for their own.

Krun, the Butcher
The smoke over the human city was thick and filled with soot, and darkness fell like ash across Krun's legions. Three thousand Nothrog had assembled outside the eastern wall, watching fire sear the Four Hills of Baraxton. The smoke was little more than a warning; soon, the assault would begin.

Maddawc raced through the encampment, falling to his knees before his terrible Lord. Krun did not speak, merely nodded, and Maddawc spoke. "The Humans," he gasped, breath short from running, "will not surrender the city. They mass at the eastern gates, prepared to face the flames."

Krun smiled, and his fangs flashed in the light of a winter sun. "The shamans?"

"They stand prepared, Lord Krun." Madawc pointed, and through the smoke, a thin line of white-skinned Nothrog could be seen atop one of the blazing hills, untouched by the heat of the flames. "At your command."

Krun looked once more across the burning fields, at the high walls of Baraxton. The white rooftops of the city gleamed in the sunlight, slowly darkening to a steady rain of falling ash. The gates of stone, carved with the faces of Baraxton's kings, leered strangely through the dark aura of smoke that clung to the city walls. On the highest rooftops, Krun could make out the faint forms of human archers, prone against the shielding slate of their houses. The gates began to open, and Human warriors dressed in gleaming armor began to pour through the opening. Behind them, civilians whipped their horses into a run, hoping to outrace the war and make it to the nearby mountains. The humans knew they had only one choice ­ flee, or die.

It was time. "Shall I tell the Legions to charge?" Maddawc prompted, raising his head to stare into Krun's shining red eyes.

"No, Madawc," Krun smiled, unsheathing his tremendous sword and stepping onto the battlefield outside Baraxton. "Tell them to follow." With that, Krun's battle-cry echoed from the city walls, howling through the flames like the cry of a man gone mad. It was echoed by the roar of three thousand throats ­ and soon the fields of Baraxton were filled with smoke and blood. }}