The early morning before the storm was unlike any other.
The plains were hushed…no shouting, no brawling, no drunken roars. Only the low beat of drums, steady and rising, like the slow breathing of a monster before the charge. Fires flickered across the vast camp, casting long shadows over war banners and armored silhouettes.
In the center of it all stood the war pavilion, massive and dark, its canvas walls pulled tight against the wind. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension.
Khao'khen stood at the head of the war table.
Sakh'arran to his left.
Around them gathered the chieftains of every clan, the Warband Masters of the Yohan First Horde, the siege masters of the First Kani'karr Corps, the riders of the Rhakaddon Cavalry, the riders of the Warg Cavalry, some of the chieftains of the different clans, and the important figures in the Yohan Tribe. Even the goblin sappers, usually kept to the fringes, were granted a voice this night.
