After a week of preparing the flowers and décor, Taqn the Proud's funeral came and went, followed swiftly with the coronation of Mob the Prouder. Kneeling before the deceased and weary old warrior who led the Berks so valiantly, Mob felt the surge of determination fill him. He donned his warlord helmet, encrusted with gold to signify his grandeur, and made ready for war.

Despite the apparent peace and prosperity the mainlanders suckled with greed, Mob felt the winds of war stirring once more. In his youth he had strategized and commandeered many toy battles, and that same prepubescent glee overcame him now. Berkinshire had been blessed with growth likewise, and a overflowing pool of warriors, boatmen and reserves were ready to be called upon. Mob knew that peace couldn't last forever. Within a season of his ascension to power, the Berkish ships creaked out of the harbour after so long a peace.

They set sail for Nichtburg, to raid and burn and steal.