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The Najaran forces marched towards the mighty fortress of Syluk but stopped in the foothills. No mortal man ordered the halt. Only one whisper from Navillus and the army stopped. He would deal with Syluk himself. With no unifying purpose, the armies dispersed. A few Najaran commanders demanded obedience, but a higher power controlled affairs in the Upper Maw.

Morale sank in occupied Syluk. News of the retaking of the twin cities of Alixria and Alrdia had reached the Dwarven commanders from their post in the mountains and with the fall of Cynelle and the Elves on the coast they were surrounded. They were safe at least, they told themselves. No foe could storm the mountain under the fire of Dwarven siege machines and the old city was rich and well supplied for a siege. They had the military might to keep the native population under control and while sabotage continued, it was petty in its nature. And then, soon after the other cities fell, the nights began to grow longer. Restlessness settled in amongst the Dwarves as incessant nightmares plagued their sleep. Animals were born hideously deformed. Crops seemed to whither and turn to ash. And the Najaran sabotage grew at supernatural speeds.

They were Dwarves of hard metal but as nights grew longer and the pressure grew… they began to break. Madness, paranoia, and strange illnesses plagued the Syluki Dwarves. New military tribunals were formed with harsher punishments. Loyal Dwarf soldiers began to be executed by their own officers for trifling offenses. Suspicions ran rampant. To those in charge it seemed that all of their men were traitors. The few remaining pure souls wept for the fate of Syluk, the city of terror…