For experts and fine connoisseurs, war is akin to a witty game. In the center of the board stands the Citadel - a rather large cobblestone hollowed out from the inside, reminiscent of a chess rook. The enemy team sat inside, doomed to lose, no matter how events unfolded. The gwerfs huddled close to the loopholes, their clumsy paws clutching tightly drawn bows, spears, darts, slings, clubs, short swords and similar rudiments of a bygone era. On the walls, boiling resin smokes in copper vats, human slaves throw bundles of firewood into the fires built under the cauldrons. Fuel reserves in the fortress are running low, and soon the furniture will go on fire. Infantry reserves were lined up on the platforms near the gates, ready to rush at the enemy at the first command.