blue and red, crossing through below. Large bones scattered across, presumably of the giant's, along with other traces of bone and flesh... including those belonging to a troll.

"Can't tell you for sure how accurate that is," Cadrogg concludes, telling the myth as a surprisingly decent linguist. "But myths are how we make sense of this world. We find the artifacts of the past and figure out what happened." His heavy voice hides his interest in these myths and artifacts, almost as if it's a passion, rather than a mere curiosity. "And Xir'Nag is the only one we could imagine surviving that. You don't see another troll out in the frontier. We'd need a way to cross it to get to the Grand Library, so maybe we'll find something when we get there."

The two orcs now stand in front of the gate leading to Lorestal's excavation site. The reinforced, wooden doors reek of a stale, pale blue color across the many cracks upon and between the wood. "This is it," Cadrogg comments, lightly pushing against the door on the right and feeling a minor creak. "Locks must've rusted and cracked. There's nothing keeping anything but small animals out." He's ready to push it open, before looking back at Il'Tak. "And... thanks, again. I'm just hoping whatever we find may help both of us. Ready?"

Hearing a past story of the immortal Xir'Nag's death surprisingly calms Il'Tak. If he can come back once, after all...

"Ready as I can be" Il'Tak admits, rolling his shoulders and wincing in lingering pain, "I don't suppose you can tell me what we're looking for, could you?"

Cadrogg does not give an immediate answer. Instead, he focuses on the large wooden doors as he puts his orcish strength into pushing it open. First, there's the heavy creak of rusted metal. Then, both orcs feel a cold wind break out from the other side. The sudden chill accompanies a faint stench of decay; Cadrogg gives off an audible, "Urk," and shudders his head at the smell. The Walker only pushes the door open enough for him and Il'Tak to squeeze through. Cadrogg takes one last, long look at the outside, seeing fog thick enough to cloud anything a hundred feet ahead, before closing the door.

Inside, the cold air and decay reek strongly through their skin and clothing. A small, square path of hard dirt form the perimeter inside with another large, wooden gate at the other end of the site. Four slopes of dirt, packed hard under ancient and worn boot marks, lead ten feet down to a ring of earth connecting to numerous dark pathways and old doors. Several slopes continue further downward to a second ring, then a third, each having their own tunnels and rooms.

The excavation site stops after the third ring; the slopes only continue a few steps down before hitting the source of this decay:

Bones.

A freakish, messy pit of bones and skulls flood what was the lower levels of the site. From above, it's impossible to tell who they belonged to. Humans? Orcs? Dwarves? These bones also cluttered in spots around the various rings of the site, with some sunk into the dirt and others lying loosely upon it. The area looked just like Cadrogg hard warned days before: it's an excavation site turned into a mass grave.

"Ugh, what a waste," Cadrogg snorted, tempted to pinch his nose at the smell. "Alright, guess we're just searching the upper levels." He kneels down, feeling the dirt with his hand. "The story goes that Lorestal was created under an old kingdom, or fortress, or castle. And hidden away was a magical... thing. It was like a banner standard, or a morale booster, something for the leader to wield and inspire and motivate their forces with unnatural will and charisma. No one knows if they found it, or if it exists at all." He puts on his goggles, as if ready to get to work. "But Lorestal was a small city-state. Even with a well-trained militia, how'd a place like that be a big military force out in the frontier?" The question deserves a bit of thought and, perhaps, some exploration. "If it was here, it's likely gone with the knights. But maybe there's something we can learn about here. Some sorta trail, or lead, anything that could point out where to go." He stands and shrugs. "I first wanted to take it back home to make proper history outta the myth, and to help us when our hands are forced. But honestly, you need all the help you can get. I'd rather use it for a fellow orc."

He gives a soft smile and wipes his hands together, ready to work. "So, Il'Tak, any questions before we get searching?"

"A banner of inspiration, huh? A perfect prize for Cadrogg, future king of the orcs," Il'Tak jokes with a toothy grin.

"Seriously, though," Il'Tak continues, making his way toward the nearest pathway and trying to avoid treading on bones, "gathering orcs under a single banner will likely be less tricky if the banner is magical."

"Unless it's the same god-cursed magic that claimed my people to start with..." he mutters, darkly.

Cadrogg gave a... initially skeptic frown at the Aijur orc's jest, then maintained it for the next half-minute. Something about it rubbed off poorly on the Walker. "No good ruler relies on his treasures," he idly and, unusually, with restraint.

After, however, he relaxes his tight facial features. "I call it like a banner, but I don't actually know what it looks like. Apparently, the only people who've least seen it were the twelve knights and their architects. I'm hoping they left something behind that'll tell us what it looked like."

He looks out down the slopes of the site, mentally counting each door and tunnel across the three rings. "Got about twelve places to check. We're better off covering more ground; I'd rather not spend time searching at night." He looks at the small scattering of bones ahead and sniffs the air, much to his own regret. "...And I hate all this decay. No dead soul would rest peacefully here."

Up above, the structure's open roof reveal the foggy sky. The lack of burning torches on the wall will make this site a very dark place to walk around without stumbling over bones or, worse still, tumbling down the rings of dirt without any rail guards or fences to prevent it.

"I'll search those," Cadrogg continues, pointing over to the six tunnels on the left side of the site. Over on the right, there are six other tunnels, two connected to each ring. "And let's hope for the best." With a smile that barely hides excitement, Cadrogg begins his heavy steps down the slope to the first ring.

Il'Tak nods absent-mindedly, walking off toward the nearest tunnel on his side and doing his best to stay silent in spite of his fatigue.

The sheer number of dead in this pit, combined with the apparent revival... or reanimation... of Xir'nag still has him on age.

Il'Tak muses to himself as he thinks the matter over. What sort of 'banner' would inspire the masses from a hidden position... and why would it be surrounded with such death?

The most obvious solution is some form of dark magic, a throne or blade or similar trinket that needs to be bathed in blood to keep its abilities... or perhaps a ritual that requires a sacrifice.

Then again, the bodies in the main pit seem almost haphazard. Perhaps they were already corpses when they came down, tossed in as food for some great beast... but what beast could inspire the masses without showing its face?

If Il'Tak was hoping for any answers to his musings on the site's death and decay, the nearest room doesn't give any clear answers. The orc is greeted by an awful creak of an easily-open wooden door. At first, there is nothing but cold darkness and a dry, stale air within.

Several blinks pass before his eyes adjust to the lighting, or lack of it, and he can make out a rather... to put simply, human-designed room. The stone walls had possibly been painted red; the lack of light and age makes it nigh-impossible to distinct itself from the dark brown stone. The floor is uncomfortably smooth, minus the dust gathered all over, and a rug made of wolf fur, rough and dried up, lies flat in the back half. At the end of the room is a large desk, made of some sort of dark wood material. Like the floor, it was so unnaturally smooth to the touch, paired with a sturdy chair, and containing six small drawers with three on each end.

Compared to the site outside, this room is like a symbol of vanity.

On the desk, itself, are a number of papers. At first glance, under barely any light, they appear written in common. Reading the actual contents, however, will take time. That's time that could be spent looking through the drawers. Either way, there might be a wealth of info, provided Il'Tak can sort through the dry, uninteresting, day-to-day writings about the excavation's slow progress.

...Really, how do humans, elves, dwarves and all the rest deal with all these papers?

Il'Tak makes a brief show of rifling through the paperwork, hoping for some sort of picture that might demonstrate a map... or a picture of the mysterious treasure.

He quickly grows bored, however, choosing to look through the drawers to check if there is anything of use.

The paperwork on the desk proved to be a chore to sift through. Much of the common writing were the daily recordings of prisoners at the site. Each one was named "Prisoner" with a number next to it. No description, no identity, just, "Prisoner," and no indication of when or if they were ever released from their cells.

Amidst all the papers, however, is the floorplan for the site's first three levels. The remaining five entrances on the right side of the site correspond as a mixture of prison cells and rooms for security. The other room on the first ring is the Vice-Captain's Room, whoever that may have been. Below that is one of the prison cells and another odd human term called the "mess hall." The large space on the plan indicates a gathering hall of some kind. And on the third level was another prison cell and the Advisor's Room, whoever that was.

The drawers, opening with the surprisingly smooth sound of wood reeled out, contain something of interest for Il'Tak. Among yet more paperwork, some of it crumpled and torn out of frustration, clumsiness, or both, are the remains of a document page. What stands out is the format; unlike the other boring words and ink, this one is written as if it was someone's personal journal. Unfortunately, only the upper third of the page remains. But the writing, in clear, well-written black ink, speaks of a mind that didn't speak out loud.

"The advisor is here again, third day in a row now. Why should we have listened to Chernoir? It was only one thing, then another, then another, before they started leading this whole dig. We carve our foes into the ground they die on, not trap them here to rot as some cover for this place. When we find it, it had better do what-"

The note cuts off there. Hmm... curious.

The other rooms are available to search, now with actual names.