in confidence. For one who doesn't read, you tell your tale without missing a step. And I do not know an orc enough brutally cunning or cunningly brutal to tell a lie of this scale."

Arku, as if having expected and then waited for his fellow chieftain, speaks next. "Then let me make an analysis." There's almost something frightening about his cold tone, as if he looked down at the guest as if a judge would to a criminal. "Aijur, as you've said, would not lose in a fight upon their own territory. We've heard the tales of how those orcs fought the dwarves of Underwuldt time-and-time again." Though Il'Tak never took part in them directly, Aijur's orcs faced the dwarves numerous times during his life; Dura led many of these with his mithral blade. "And if was humans," Arku continued, "who captured your people, then the fault likely lies to Amarria west of Aijur."

"Was it magic?" Cadrogg's voice suddenly comes up from behind, looking up at Il'Tak with nervous curiosity. Arku, merely turning his eyes toward the Walker scout, responds and continues without missing a beat. "The likely outcome. But how it manifested has yet to be determined." The chieftain's eyes briefly narrow at Cadrogg... Why?

Cadrogg isn't given a chance to explain himself as Arku continues to speak with his thick mouth and stone-like voice. "Il'Tak, let me tell you once. Whatever Aijur's value of honor is, the Walkers care more about the living than the corpse." The words sting any conception that there is honor and value in death. "We are composed of a couple dozen, our numbers whittled in our past skirmishes with Lorestal; a place which you seem interested in."

Cadrogg's voice from behind comes up to whisper to Il'Tak. "We often call Arku the 'Man of Shadows'. He was an assassin before he was our leader. And we all learned reconnaissance and scouting from him."

"Indeed," Arku speaks, as if able to hear Cadrogg's low voice. "you seem willing to learn when you needed rest, a trait we value."

"But we must ask," Triscur speaks up, her hand still resting on the greataxe with a rather judgmental tone. "What DO you want, Il'Tak? 'Warning,' us is appreciative, but pointless. If our scouts pick up invading forces, we simply pack up and move elsewhere in the sandsea; no one knows this land better than us. So we think you've come for something other than altruistic needs. Do you look for allies? We are but a couple few dozen, all literate, all knowledgeable, all skilled, but we cannot fight a kingdom and we cannot provide our full might to you. Or do you seek power of some kind? A stronger weapon? Magic? Knowledge?" She brings this up as if a test of character. Cadrogg gently holds his breath, exemplifying the importance of Triscur's question.

Il'Tak pauses, considering the question.

"I do not know what I want," admits Il'Tak, feeling inadequate under Triscur's gaze, "but I never wish to see a tribe of broken orcs again. I never want another orc so see the sights that I have endured. I'm ready to travel once more, I think, to warn every tribe I can find. If I can, I'd gather allies and watch this Amarria for any signs of weakness... for any way to free my kin. If I find nothing, though... I... I guess that's it. No tribe lasts forever. Just find a new tribe... have children... teach them to watch for the dangers we missed."

Until his dying day Il'Tak coudn't say what compeled him to keep talking. Perhaps it was a fool's game, grasping at every shred of hope. Perhaps it was orcish stubbornness, unwilling to accept that time had been wasted. Perhaps it was simple morbid curiosity.

"But... before I continue my journey... I would visit the borders of Lorestal. From what I have heard, none are certain whether humans yet reside there. While I have no interest in dying, there is something in that town that I need see. While it may be a fool's errands, nothing but nightmares await me until I make an attempt. It is... important."

Arku and Triscur are silent, again. As if they let Il'Tak run his mouth and speak and speak and speak, they listen in on the orc from Aijur and his increasingly shaky voice. That the chieftains don't change expression iss perhaps a blessing and a curse; no clear sign of disdain yet no confidence that this all hasn't been a waste of time.

Yet there is a small, quiet gasp from Cadrogg once Il'Tak mentions Lorestal. The scout seems in thought, rather than listening to the words of the guest, and Cadrogg's kneeling stance shifts briefly upon the rug and shifting sand beneath. The chieftains turn their experienced eyes over to their Walker; Triscur gives the faintest smirk to him. Though Lorestal is a dead nation, something about it still interests these orcs.

It's after these painful moments of silence, with nothing but the sound of dust storms outside the makeshift room, that Triscur speaks again. "You wear your emotions on your mouth." Her words, authoritative, come with a mild attempt at wit. Arku speaks after her. "So I was wrong. You are indeed not a 'speaker' person. But in that failing, you act better than talk. And to make it from Aijur to here is an act of bravery." Arku lifts his heavy head up slightly. Il'Tak can barely make out the upped curve of the sides of Arku's thick mouth. "I trust your words. So listen carefully, orc." Arku's cold tone deepens, as if passing what the Walkers might consider divine advice on Il'Tak. "Amarria needs no orcs to its army, for it has plenty enough to defend its borders. If you seek its weakness, learn why it has enslaved your people and how it has done so. Look for the chink in the armor, not the head which wears it."

rku now wears a small but clear smile on his heavy, raised head; he's quite proud of that proverb. It's a mix of pride and smugness fitting of a line that could've been spoken normally. Triscur, taking no heed of her fellow chieftain's words, is thankfully straightforward. "Though our forces are not available in full. We do have a couple to offer." She lays her brown hand out, palm up, pointing over to Cadrogg. "The one you met has planned his own journey to Lorestal. And you will find in him an orc curious in magic. And a small thief as well."

The scout, standing up, seems to swallow as if clearing his mouth before looking at Il'Tak with those youthful eyes. "She means I once took some books from an elven sorcerer that perished lost in the sands and picked up. a few evocation cantrips." He points over to his large spear. "I can fight, but I'm more of a scout with some tricks and skills. And my spear is nothing compared to that mithral blade of yours." It's difficult to say whether Cadrogg is merely humble, or genuinely underestimating himself. Surely a Walker skilled in some martial, stealth and magical prowess is worth their value in an adventure.

"You were never as strong as your kin," Arku intrudes with his deep voice before clarifying. "Here, Il'Tak, the Walkers refer to our 'family' as kin, whether brother, mother, sister, father. Elybin is Cadrogg's sister, and one of our greatest warriors in spite of her injury. And she heads to Lorestal today to learn about the knight, one of Lorestal's once-ruling Twelve, that she seeks out." To have one of the Walkers' greatest warriors is an honor, though Il'Tak has yet to meet her.

"And I'd be visiting Lorestal's excavation site right within its borders," Cadrogg speaks again, adjusting the goggles on his forehead. "There's a myth that Lorestal was created above a powerful relic that lay to rest underground and I believe the site was to dig it up. I wanted to learn more about it. I was hoping to find any documents left there once Lorestal started using the site as a... mass grave of its enemies." The scout shakes his head in disgust. "And maybe a trail to follow. One of the knights might've taken it with them when they separated."

There's a pause, as if Cadrogg waits for Il'Tak to respond, before the scout suddenly blurts out, "Oh, right. I forgot to mention. Though me and Elybin are leaving today, we planned to go our separate ways. We'd rather cover more ground on our own, as the Northern Wilds are expansive. And the two of us don't... get along..." Cadrogg rubs the right side of his neck, revealing an old, thin scar as long as his finger.

"I'd suggest you just have one of us come along with you for now. I wouldn't want our journeys and weigh down yours. You've got a greater burden on your shoulders than we do." Cadrogg's humbleness shows again; his youthful eyes seem almost embarassed. "If you want to meet Elybin, she's over at the Divine Shrine northeast to give her prayers to Gruumsch. I'll take you there if you want."

Cadrogg's smile gives Il'Tak a chance to decide who he'd rather take along, if he wants to make one now. Surely he'll have to prepare too. The Walkers may not be merchants but they'll likely have supplies Il'Tak can haggle for... Or steal, if he'd rather not offer something in exchange.

Il'tak frowns in thought as Arku describes the several missions leading orcs into Lorestal. From the vague way it has been mentioned, Il'Tak imagined that orcs kept from its borders. From the sound of things, however, the place has been explored and is truly abandoned. Of course, neither revelation was "bad", per se. Just another warning sign that Il'Tak was working on hearsay and assumptions, the favorite tools of dead orcs. As far as travelling companions are concerned, however, Il'tak is silently pleased. Two orcs willing to take Il'Tak precisely where he wanted to go...

...No, wait... one willing orc. The other was just volunteered.

No more assumptions.

Considering Cadrogg and Elybin, there was much to... well, to consider. While he had yet to see this supposed warrior, Cadrogg had yet to prove himself in the brief time they had known each other. Just going off of what has been stated, however, the warrior was supposedly injured and a book-learned thief would have much to offer... especially if Il'Tak made it back to that library. The decision should have been obvious... especially when Cadrogg was already looking for graves...

"Do you not offer your vows to Gruumsh One-Eyed?" asks Il'tak, tilting his head, "Considering what we are looking for, we could use all of the help we can find," Il'Tak pauses, "If you lead me to your shrine, I will not let this sister of yours harm you. On this you have my word."

While Cadrogg may seem the perfect choice, there is no reason for Il'Tak to avoid this warrior to learn a bit more about her.

No more wild assumptions.

The scout Walker gives a small, nervous to Il'Tak. "What, harm? Ah, nah it's not like that. We mostly argue. And we've sparred a few times. But I'm just not as good a fighter as Elybin." He finds a moment to diverge into the question Il'Tak gave prior. "And call it odd, but I don't like vowing anything to the gods without having something of my own as proof." He sounds a little happier than before, holding more confidence in his beliefs than he does in his skills. "Regardless, I'll go get the mounts ready. And you should go prepare too." Cadrogg slips his goggles over his eyes and walks out of the once-grand throne room.

Over on the two thrones, Arku speaks once more in his deep, unnerving tone. "Elybin is unlikely to welcome a fellow orc she first meets." The chieftain's warning resonates with the flowing windy sands outside. "If you ultimately wish her to join you, prepare to prove yourself. She is direct in her trial." A warrior's trial? The only logical outcome is a duel, either with blades or hands and feet. "Though we expect Cadrogg will test you too, though less direct than his kin." Arku's vagueness continues to bleed from his dry mouth; what did he refer to, a test of character?

Triscur raises her hardened hand toward Il'Tak and adjusts it into a wave. "This is all we can offer. We hope you will not squander the opportunity. Hold onto the honesty in your cause and free your tribe. May Gruumsch One-Eye bless you on your path of destruction." To be blessed by chieftains is a bit of praise, and a much-needed relief that Il'Tak is not mad to the eyes of others in his goal.

The relatively calm interiors of half-buried ruins, assisted by the patchwork roofs keeping sand and dust out, quickly becomes a far cry after Il'Tak steps out with his supplies, sword, and bag in hand.

Cadrogg stands with several other Walkers in the middle of the small, nomadic camp. A half-open tent is set up in a hurry with several small holes on the brown cloth as it flails widely in the dusty winds. The sound of the sandsea's winds makes it impossible to hear out the discussion, or perhaps arguing, that is going on inside. Cadrogg turns his head once, noticing and waving over to Il'Tak. "One of our scouts was found dead," he says in a huffed panic. "His mount returned with poor Ornargd slumped back. Most of us are already preparing to move elsewhere. I'm sorry, but we don't have long. Get any supplies or anything you need from us and meet me over at the stables." The scout runs off to a horizontal building of brick, surprisingly not as weathered as the other ruins besides a huge gap in the corner of the room.

A look inside the tent highlights Cadrogg's panic. Inside on a makeshift platform of wood is the scout called Ornargd. His lifeless body slumped hard upon the wood with dried blood, caked in sand and dust, covering much of his head. The only visible, fatal wound is a large arrow piercing right through his forehead; the iron tip punctured right through the brain and out the back of the skull. Someone, somehow, managed to fire an arrow from a large bow across the sandsea, through the windy sand and dust, past the limited eyesight, and nailing a headshot right at the head of a presumably unaware Walker. This killing smears of foul play. No one should be good enough to land that without some special assistance.

More alarming is the arrow's material. No arrow quite has the same hardness of light brown oak, the same sharp leaf tips of minotra leaves, the same sharp iron tip, now covered in orc blood, as the ones Il'Tak knows.

These arrows are from Aijur.

Ugh... tests.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy...