In the grand war chamber of the Edorian province of Niara, General Vaskur stood tall and poised, his gaze sweeping over maps and scrolls strewn across the vast table. The room buzzed with the low murmur of advisors and lieutenants, each contributing to the cacophony of war planning. The air was thick with anticipation and the heavy burden of expectation. Before them lay a strategy bold enough to alter the course of history: a campaign to breach the heart of Agorra through all three valleys, exploiting the brief window when spring thawed the snow-clogged mountain passes.

General Vaskur, a seasoned strategist known for his ruthlessness on the battlefield, outlined his plan to amass an army of eighty thousand soldiers, bolstered by a formidable contingent of five thousand elites—a force unparalleled in its might and determination, on this side of the continent, at least. His voice, laced with confidence, echoed off the stone walls, detailing troop movements, supply lines, and the anticipated points of resistance.

However, the gravity of the moment was shattered by a voice dripping with scorn. Crown Prince Yul'Niara, draped in opulence that did little to mask his contempt, interjected with a sneer that cut through the room like a blade. "No general who has tasted defeat at the hands of Agorrans will keep their head," he declared, his gaze fixed on Vaskur with undisguised disdain.

The remark hung in the air, a grim reminder of the stakes at play. It was a thinly veiled threat, borne of a history of failures and frustrations that plagued Edorian attempts to conquer Agorra. The Crown Prince's words were a pointed barb aimed at not just Vaskur but all who dared to dream of victory where so many had found ruin.

General Vaskur, undaunted by the challenge, met the prince's gaze squarely. His response was measured, betraying none of the pressure that weighed on his shoulders. "My prince, the valleys of Agorra will fall," he vowed, "not by the arrogance of past campaigns, but through the strength of our resolve and the sharpness of our blades. This time, Agorra will not withstand the storm we bring."

The chamber fell silent, the tension palpable as those gathered absorbed the gravity of Vaskur's words. Plans were set into motion, orders dispatched with the urgency of a looming storm. Outside, the first signs of spring breathed life into the land, unaware of the bloodshed it would soon witness.

As the generals and advisors dispersed, the echoes of their plotting lingered in the war chamber. General Vaskur remained a moment longer, his eyes tracing the topography of Agorra laid out before him. He understood the enormity of the task ahead, the lives that would be spent in pursuit of conquest. Yet, the determination that set his jaw and the fire that burned in his eyes spoke of a man ready to etch his name into legend, or to be consumed by the attempt.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

And so, the stage was set for a conflict that would ravage the land and test the mettle of all who called Agorra home.

—

Within the sturdy, time-worn walls of Fort Kitsu, General Corbin hunched over a sprawling map of Agorra, his office lit by the flickering light of oil lamps. The map, marked with the topography of the three valleys, was dotted with figures and notations indicating troop positions, potential choke points, and areas of vulnerability. Around him, the room was cluttered with the tools of war—reports from scouts, missives from allies, and historical tomes on Agorran defenses.

General Corbin, a man seasoned by countless battles and a lifetime of service to Agorra, bore the weight of his responsibility like a mantle. With thirty thousand troops under his command and fewer than a thousand elites at his disposal, the disparity between his forces and the looming Edorian threat filled him with a deep sense of foreboding.

The general's fingers traced the paths leading into the valleys, each route a potential artery for Edorian forces to pour through. His brow furrowed as he contemplated the daunting task ahead. The valleys of Agorra, with their rugged terrain and narrow passes, had long been the nation's natural bulwark against invaders. Yet, against the might of an eighty-thousand-strong Edorian army, bolstered by thousands of their most fearsome elites, Corbin knew the upcoming conflict would test the very limits of Agorran resilience.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, the maps and plans momentarily forgotten. His thoughts turned to Alton, known throughout Agorra as the Wolf, and his daring mission beyond the battlefield. Corbin's reliance on Alton's success was not merely strategic; it was a beacon of hope in a sea of uncertainty.

Closing his weary eyes, General Corbin clasped his hands together and whispered a fervent prayer to the Mad God, the deity revered and feared in equal measure across Agorra. "Oh Mad God, whose fury scoured the earth and reshaped the fate of our land," he began, his voice a murmur in the quiet of his office, "grant Alton the strength to unite the tribes and vanquish the darkness that lurks beneath our mountains. Let his victories be our salvation, and guide our forces in the battles to come."

The prayer was a plea for divine intervention, a request for the Mad God's favor in a time of dire need. Corbin understood the power of faith, how belief in the Mad God had sustained the people of Agorra through their darkest hours. It was a reminder of the indomitable spirit of his nation, a spirit that he hoped would carry them through the impending conflict.

Opening his eyes, General Corbin turned his gaze once more to the map, the flickering lamp light casting long shadows across the valleys and ridges. His determination renewed, he set about refining his strategies, marshaling his limited resources with the cunning and ingenuity that had defined Agorran defense for generations.

The dawn of battle was upon them, and in the heart of Agorra, the resolve of its people would be tested as never before. Yet, in the whispered prayers of its leaders and the steel in the eyes of its defenders, lay the unyielding promise of resistance, the vow to protect their homeland against all odds.