Battle for Hoare's Pass

Upon the slopes of the Grey Mountains, Treelord Thulan sent the baying gors flying, slowly thinning their numbers with each swing of his ancient limbs. The desperate battle to gain control of the pass had come to a standstill, the strength of the warriors all but spent by the fierce fighting throughout the day. It was scant consolation that the Beastman advance had been temporarily stalled when darkness began to fall. The price had been high. His personal attendant, Branchwraith Bodysnatcher lay broken and torn upon the rocks, her body mangled beyond recognition by the garrulous Centigors. The wild young elven noble Gaylord Farquar had no less than 7 arrows in his back, his now sightless eyes staring into pale death. Of the bristling force he had brought to bear, less than half now would see the joy of the next Summer Solstice.

The Ancient's heart had grieved over many centuries of loss from the time when the world was young. Today, the sight of so many lying dead upon the blood-soaked ground of Loren stoked his old, slow anger. The spirits of the Forest called to him, mourning, crying vengeance. Thulan yearned for the Old Days, when the world was theirs and there had been peace and rest. But he knew he could not rest until they were rid of the threat to the Forest. The Curse of Cyanthir was upon them and the Seer Queen Ariel had prophesied their Doom if the Tainted Ones were not destroyed. There could be no rest until the Wound of Chaos in the far north was healed and the world made whole again...