Vargull, Alchazzar

Hearing the summons, a being appeared in Morgash's realm. It was the spirit of Vargull, the god who had once brought blade to Morgash himself, but at once it seemed it was not Vargull. His power, more than his appearance, betrayed a change. The wolf could not easily be seen, for the being appeared more like the shade of smoke and fire that had begun to waste when the divine disease struck, but his spirit belied no weakness. A crown of smoke, and burning eyes stared at the returned Sorcerer, the Claidheamh Vaolg the only seemingly solid thing about him. Behind the god was a legion of ghosts. The Horde, left to him by Halasht's passing. "You called. I have answered."

War in the North

The armies of the Black Reach, seemingly no less organized than those of the Calsanctium, began to array themselves for battle. Imperator Vuk'Garan bellowed commands, his inhuman, unnatural voice roaring across the battlefield to be heard by his many subcommanders, who did not need to strain overmuch to here him.

Arrays of spearmen and swordsmen fanned out and began to march ahead, bowmen advancing behind them with huge compound bows. Many Ember Spirits led such groups as subcommanders. The elite of the Black Reach, the Ember Corp, the Warg Cavalry, warriors armored in mockery of the Knights across great Warg warriors similarly outfitted in heavy spiked armors, and the berserker kill squads of Lycanthropes and North Men, all being organized and marched against the enemy.

The banners raised high, and the roars of the Black Reach raised even higher. A thousand hungry voices gave praise to Vargull as they called for the blood of the Calsanctium, the Imperator's voice louder than all others, while inside he laughed cruelly at the Calsanctium. He Who loved Vargull loved War, and he who loved War always won.