A cold dawn shatters the stillness of night and brings with it dire and hopeless warnings. It is Friday and the beating of thousands of wyvern & dragon wings sweeps away a foul mist rising over the Dark Plains ... and the daylight brings with it ... unspeakable Terror!

Balur's retarded, half-Ogre, cousin "Carl" (rumor says he is common-law married to a Plarium programmer) leads one of more than twenty leagues who along with the wretched Ork King himself have vowed to crush our tiny league into a distant memory.

A few members, nursing hangovers (it is the weekend), rally quickly and send support troops to Defend villages, Presidios & Refugee camps already under siege from the Forces of Darkness. Archers, Dwarfs, Nomads, Golems & Griffins fight to a brutal death to defend the innocent from seemingly endless hordes of Merennons, Orcs, Ogres & Orcish Raiders! Wrath of Weor fire balls shatter defenses and Invading forces from much larger leagues force many to flee to the safety of their catacombs.

For two terrible days the battles rage back and forth with unbelievable loss of lives and resources. Castles are sieged, freed and then re-sieged. Terror flows like a bloody flood across our lands. There is no possible way for a small league like ours to win under such tremendous & treacherous odds ... but somehow we do.

When the smoke and the ashes clear what is left of the insanely low-ranked "Redneck Crazy Azzs II" ride home to stand victorious in the "Silver Tier Brawl" ... time and time again!