Storm clouds gather over the distant North West.A once impregnable Citadel, it’s foundations crimson red with the blood of past glories. Seven winters strong has seen a Teutonic master strategist rally his Spartans against the hordes that wash in the Arabic Black Gold.
An army the like never seen before, built on herbal remedies and white witches are now immune to magical potions.
Ancient scribes foretell the return of a prodigal son to once more bring glory upon this forsaken land. For The time of the Teuton is short.A penniless and proud folk will rise once more.