The doombull Stomrugah has bellowed his horrid war cry and the herd assembles in the forests of Arden in the north of Bretonnia.
Roaming one night from his lair Stomrugah happened upon a caravan of dwarf traders. Enraged by their intrusion the doombull slaughtered the dwarfs and laid waste to their camp. The wagons were sacked and much of the ale drank. The drunken beastman took the wagon train’s mules and ponies back to his lair as consorts and future meals and slept for days satisfied with the carnage.
Fond memories of the taste of beer and dwarf flesh haunt Stomrugah. The dwarfs rarely venture north east of the Athel Loren and have so far avoided direct clashes with the knights of Bretonnia. This has made the want of ale grow in the doombull stomach and he again thirsts for the blood of Karak Norn.
Horrible noises have been heard in the Bretonnian villages at night. A long foreboding call. Not wolf howl nor ram bleet nor bear growl but something more guttural, more beastly, and most assuredly more lethal. For several nights the call is in the wind. A sour stink filled wind. As summer draws to a close the men of Bretonnia fear this harvest season will be fraught with peril and fear to tend their fields without the protection of their lords knights. The foul wind rustles the leaves of Athel Loren and gives the elves an unsettled feeling and dis quiets the forest animals. Word of the attack as made its way back to Karak Norn and he book of grudges contains the name of Stomrugah. The doombull’s growing army will be met with axe and cannon. The only thing unknown is when the battle will take place…
