The story of the Alfhiem party begins in a mercantile land called Darokin. To understand our heroes' position, we must understand a little about Darokin in the late spring of 1020 A.C.. The Republic of Darokin was being threatened by a horde of Goblinoids to the north called "Thar’s legion." Thar, a mysterious Orc warlord hell-bent on the conquest of the great spacious plains of Darokin, fought and killed his rivals to hold the seat of power in a region of the world known as "The Broken Lands."

This stretch of parched barren earth, riddled with openings into the deep dark caverns, existed as a great divide between the Magocracy of Galantri and their southern neighbor, sometimes ally, Darokin. Because of its position, many trade caravans chose to travel through the searing days and freezing nights of Thar's Domain. The earth, cracked and broken with tunnels running deep to where the sun was but a myth, proved to be difficult to cross, and travel was often slowed by the unforgiving terrain. Also, the jagged earth provided an ample supply of places for Orcs, Trolls, Goblins and ilk to hide in wait of caravans, and then ambush them. Thar feuled his legion by such highway-men tactics at first, but soon he was getting bolder. He sent out raiding parties into the border-lands to pillage frontier villages of Darokin and Galantri.

Once the War of Wrath broke out, Thar raided caravans as deep into Galantri as the Principality of Blackhill, and even within view of the mighty gates of Couroglain in Darokin. The Darokinians and Galantrians sent independant armies into the Broken Lands to eliminate this inhuman threat, but to no avail. The magically armed soldiers of Galantri were cut down through a slow process of guerilla warfare and attrition. The Darokinian Expedition force was dealt with much faster, leading Thar to believe the Republic was weak. In 1020 A.C., Five years after the War of Wrath, Thar sent his Goblinoid raiders smashing through the great northern Darokinian city of Couroglain, capital of Darokin's northern-most province bearing the same name.

In the late Spring of 1020 A.C., Darokinian fears of immanent invasion had been laid to rest by the news of victory at Couroglain. Riders bringing news from the great battle hurried home to Darokin City, and the governor read the letter aloud to the people, who rejoiced for days. They were told that the wretched Thar had been captured, and the menace was crushed. However, no one was allowed north. The State of Emergency remained in the province of Couroglain, and the Darokinian people began to complain about it.

Little did the people of Darokin City suspect that they had been blatantly lied to, and that Couroglain was in ashes. The entire Darokinian Northern army had been annihilated and Thar was rapidly gathering resources for a brash move down the Streel river. What remained of the Darokinian Army entrentched itself, preparing to extinguish the momentum of Thar's advance. And all was quiet. This stillness lasted until the day came, the mighty, the INFAMOUS, the "Battle of Darokin City."

But that all is the story of Darokin. The players in our little party had little to nothing to do with all this. They were simply in Darokin City at a bad time. Our story begins on a particularly unremarkable summer afternoon on the busy streets of Darokin City, the merchants haggled, the Plutocrats and Bureaucrats quarreled, the people went about their business in a most usual fashion. A local cop, Ulrich the Ugly, was busy chasing his least favorite street urchin away, a twisted little dwarf named Despot who hobbled when he walked. The street people whispered of Despot possessing strange powers, and he would often enter in to what looked like a state of deep concentration whenever he was in trouble. Something would happen, miraculously, and the little dwarf would get away.

Despot was running through the streets, damaging property and bothering people, as usual. Trying to pick pockets, or hustle, and talking to himself on occasion like a madman. Ulrich chased him to stop all this fuss and was accompanied by three fellow Darokin constables, Ulrich’s personal cronies. The five ran into the merchant district, where Despot happened upon a few newcomers. First was a Lupin from the Border Mountains upon the Isle of Dawn. Her name was "Rakasta-maker-of-chief’s-daughter," but no one would her ask why. The next character thrown into the mix was a man of golden complexion, not claiming any particular homeland, answering to the name of Kinjitsu. If you asked him where he came from, he’d simply look around, think a while, turn back to you, and say with conviction "EAST!" Ulrich and his cronies caught up with Despot, and promptly arrested him. The two newcomers asked what the little dwarf had done and Ulrich, surly as always, told them what they could do with their questions.

So this unlikely team, Despot, Kinjitsu and the aptly nicknamed "Doggirl," thrown together by fate, began to brawl with Ulrich and his guards. Despot began his concentration scam, and Ulrich began to feel the sting of fear. He quickly ran away to safety, as his cronies where knocked around by a dog thing and a mysterious Asian in black pajamas. His ego poorly recovered from this hollow defeat, Ulrich and his bruised cronies returned to their HQ, where Ulrich was demoted for cowardice. Determined to clear his name, Ulrich left to find the perpetrators. Ulrich came across an old friend, on his way to the Streel River. For some time now, the Council had lost contact with the forces in Couroglain, despite news of a great victory. Merchant ships had been coming in all day with crazed stories of a black fleet of ragged transports making it's way down the Streel. Ulrich's friend was to command a scouting party of seven ships up the Streel to look for any Horde activity. It was fortunate that Ulrich was demoted, or else he would have been chosen for the shortsighted mission. The mission ended badly, and his friend’s ship came back to port in flames the very next dawn.

Ulrich scoured the city, bribed the usual thieves, and eventually found Despot, Kinjitsu and Doggirl. The four of them met and prepared to fight it out, but before they could, a rampant gang of young hooligans came across them, and attempted to defeat the newly formed, brittle party. The party resisted, and wound up killing one of the juveniles. Now, at any other time of the year, under more conventional circumstances, this unfortunate death may have been overlooked. But this was election season, and Ulrich was already in trouble. Unable to return to HQ and face these charges too, Ulrich had no choice but to stay with this hodgepodge of a thief and two weirdoes, and forge a fragile alliance. The two newcomers had become disenchanted with Darokin, and after one day in the Capital, decided to leave. Despot, always eager for a new adventure, agreed readily. Ulrich, poor Ulrich, had no choice. To stay would mean to sign his own death sentence.

The party began to make its way to the Streel River, but it was too late. Ulrich’s friend’s boat returned in flames, and the Darokin guard was conscripting all able-bodied men, and once they saw Doggirl, "dog things"... Despite news that the Orcs had been defeated at Couroglain, it was evident now that the people of Darokin had been lied to, and the masters of their bureaucracy had fled. The Northern Horde, known as "Thar's Legion" by undesirables like Despot, was making a bold and decisive move upon the capitol. The party was thrown into the biggest fray this side of the continent had seen since the marches of the evil Master of Hule, fueled by his terrible God, "Bagzodah."

The Orcs had made a brilliant move, and circumvented the entrenchments leading to the city. Underestimating Thar's naval skills, the defense of Darokin focused on what they thought would be a land-locked war. Moving his ships down the mighty Streel, sweeping aside all resistance, Thar landed behind the main force's lines, and rushed in to take the capital.

The party managed to stay together through the fierce fight. The Horde, badly outnumbering the Darokin conscripts, launched wave after wave of Orcan riders and Troll Berzerkers. High-ranking Goblin officers of the Horde, known as Knights of Aztotyl, ravaged the meager Infantry defenses with cavalry charges atop their howling Dire Wolves. The party made every effort to simply desert, but were surrounded on all side by Orcs planning their doom. Toward the center of the crazed melee fray, Thar's Archers shot out poison tipped arrows and Darokinians launched massive catapults, with no regards to the infantry below. Noting the seeming fruitlessness of "marching" against the Horde, the party ran into to a besieged tower on the north end of the battlefield. There, Clerics treated their wounds, and they shot down Berzerkers scaling the walls.

The party narrowly escaped death at the hands of the horde, and held up in a defense post, shooting down troll raiders with flaming arrows. The battle turned toward the side of Darokin, and the Horde split up in a marching retreat. The beating of their war drums could be heard for days as they made the long journey back to the broken lands, tearing up every town, village or farm unfortunate enough to be in the path of the Orcs. Some would call it a "Fighting Retreat", others, "An Exercise in Barbarism", but to the Orcs it would always be known as "The Long March." The party rode off the field of honor, deserting before they could be reassigned, or have their identities discovered. They took horses and left for the magical forest of Alfhiem, and thus got their name, their first name anyway.