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Not Current 1782 Fluff.

Fidwog has long been a bulwark of the First Families and many Royalist clans, in every sense of the word. From the physical barriers imposed by the highest peaks of Y Bren Cyf and the Great Galt, to the passionate support of the common quar and the gentry, each in their own way defines the very essence of the Fidwogger and the struggle endured, their loyalties secured since time immemorial.
For the past 11 years the Croesgadwr Fyrch has been vehemently knocking on Fidwog’s door, all to no avail. Within the last few years the fronts of By-Setin and Aggor have stabilized with little in the way of solid gains for the Crusade. This is not in any way to be perceived as peaceable, as the Aggor front is a ‘fernol hunle’, a hellish nightmare. Further north, small patrols of Alykinder’s quar search for entry into the heart of Fidwog through the Great Galt. Most are never heard from again, as the vast morass of mile upon mile of jutting karst mazes – and the quar lurking within – consumes anything that enters.
Artillery rains upon the open front of Aggor, where hundreds of trenches are reworked and rebuilt daily by the endless replacements from both sides. A trench gained one day is almost inevitably lost the next, usually with appalling loss of life. The stitched and pockmarked countryside is eerily calm at times, a natural low-lying fog across the great moor that the battles are fought over; at other times it is chaotic with the acrid smoke of unceasing warfare.
Then there is the By-Setin Front. Here the strong du-Gwybaer clan holds their ground, giving not an inch as tractor battles rage day and night, attempting to wrest their way up the slopes of Y Bren Cyf. The wreckage strewn across the north-western countryside of Fidwog is constantly being reclaimed by Alwyd, as her flora takes hold of the rusting beasts and fauna make homes beneath and between them, oblivious to the war raging on around them.
All is not so bleak on the southeastern Achonian Front. The Fallacious Front, as it is sometimes sardonically called, is a few trench lines dedicated solely to monitoring the enemy. Achonian Crusaders, it seems, have little interest in warring with their former trading partners, and even less interest in spilling their blood for Alykinder. This has been a thorn in the Chancellor’s side, as the Achonian troops refuse to fight on any other front, and the foreign officer cadres imported to lead them have been unable to achieve satisfactory results. So they sit watching and listening to each other, occasionally rousing their sports teams out of the trenches and into the open for a scrum.