It had been a war where the Elves of the North had tried to take the lands to the south, occupied by Humans, Orcs, Goblins and more Elves. The northerners had believed it to be as easy as marching south, grabbing what land they wished. But it was not that simple. The Human's metalwork, the Orc's raw strength, the cleverness of the Goblins and the magic of the Southern Elves had proven to be a rather powerful force, making the Northerners fight for every inch. Yet the Northerners seemed to have a never ending force of warriors, sending wave after wave southwards. Yet the green tide, and their Human and Elven allies mostly kept them at bay. Rogdush, one of the Orc warriors, was on his way home after another battle. He had long ago lost count both of how many he had killed, and of how many of his comrades had fallen. His axe was in his belt, and his right hand was on his left shoulder, a small trickle of blood seeping past it from a wound he had suffered in the battle. Yet it would all be worth it, as the woman he loved was waiting for him to return at their home of The Weary Wyern inn. It had been a small, yet busy inn before the war, where they made a living. Yet now, with the war raging, there seemed to be less visitors. People probably wanted to keep their head clear, just in case. The door to the inn swung open, and Rogdush stepped into the seemingly empty inn as he started to loosen his armor. "I'm home!"