Calitan Valentis sighed as he reached the great golden doors leading to the Grand Agora, the building housing the Senate and from where muffled shouting could be heard even through the thick doors. Calitan sighed once more as he pushed the doors open to be met with a cacophonous wave of noise.
"You talk treason, Tzimarios! You would have us forgo our ancient duties, handed down by Telaeus Themself, and cower behind our walls like cattle!?"
In response to this accusation by a large, long red-haired senator of native stock, Senator Aedoros Tzimarios puffed his chest out and said, "Treason? If anyone speaks treason, it is you, Enelcir! I only wish for the continued safety of the people of Eiselene! Why should we risk the lives of our citizens by marching North to protect some barbarians? Eiselene was built by the Aristocheia, and its walls have never fallen, and they will never fall so long as we do not act recklessly!"
Tzimarios then sat down, stroking his short black beard and wearing a smug smile as the shouting match resumed. Calitan ignored the senators as he marched straight across the open marble floor of the round building, right between the ascending benches housing the various senators, with the korónatorikoí senators sitting on the left and the native senators on the right. He walked right up to the throne, situated slightly above the ground, and knelt, holding a letter up to His Royal Majesty, King Leoryx IV. Without a word, Leoryx took the letter, read it, and stood.
"SILENCE!"
The king's voice boomed, the acoustics of the room making it sound as if the king had shouted in the faces of each senator and not from the other side of the room. Almost instantly, the arguements ceased, though Enelcir Orlon, the senator who had been arguing with Tzimarios, was still red faced. Leoryx slowly descended the throne, his sons Codarion and Tharlimon following behind him, their tan skin and black hair almost identical to their fathers, though his was graying and reached to the base of his neck. Once he reached the center of the agora, the aging king began to speak.
"I have just received word that Maeve, daughter of my good friend and vassal Corrigan of Dún Thuaidh, has just entered the outskirts of the city. Therefore, this meeting of the Senate will be closed until I can properly greet and perform the traditional hosting duties for my loyal vassal."
Though many grumbled as they left the Grand Agora, no one would dare oppose the Great Lion of Eiselene. At least not while he lived, as once the senators had all left King Leoryx nearly collapsed, only avoiding falling to the floor due to his sons holding him up. Calitan bowed before Leoryx and spoke.
"My King, as your personal guard I must ask that you allow me to greet Lady Maeve. You are unwell, and we cannot risk your assassination by some Calemite firebrand. The princes and princess will be able to host her ladyship in your absence."
Though Leoryx made to argue, Codarion quickly interrupted.
"Father, Lord Corrigan and Lady Maeve will understand if you cannot meet with her. And my brother and I have sworn to set aside our struggle, at least so long as Maeve is in the city."
Once Tharlimon nodded in agreement, Leoryx reluctantly allowed himself to be led to his apartments, as Calitan prepared to greet Maeve.
"By Rían Fhómhair's beard, where the bloody hell is the royal welcoming party?!"
Maeve shouted, as she pushed her spear through the skull of a charging goblin, felling him. Dressed in scale mail and wearing a steel helmet with the visage of a roaring lion, one could be forgiven for not recognizing Maeve of the Coraithe, as her characteristic raven-black hair was hidden along with her freckled face and green eyes. Another goblin charged, spearing the mount of one of her Oathsworn guards, and swiftly cutting the poor man's throat. Another fell to a rock thrown from a sling, hitting her squarely in the face. As she impaled another goblin, Maeve couldn't help but wonder how so many goblins had managed to make it nearly to the gates of Eiselene unnoticed. Perhaps King Leoryx would not be able to help her father as she had hoped. All in all, she counted ten goblins still alive against her five surviving Oathsworn, including the young Edwyd ap Senigor.
"This trip better be worth it," she thought, as the goblins charged once more.
The small hamlet of Anga Tierne held little of value, its thirty-odd inhabitants existing mainly due to the abundance of lumber from the nearby forests. They did have, however, a good number of cattle, which they traded for barley with Dún Thuaidh. Like most Northmen villages, Anga Tierne was surrounded by a low palisade and guarded by a small number of night watchmen armed with spears, falxes, and bows. Good against bandits, but not so against a rampaging orc warband, which Suleypaalwah fin Laadkend knew as he entered the tent of his chieftain, Wadaahweh din Kaalopaala. Though orcs did not adhere to the ways of the humans with their "manners" and "respect", Suleypaalwah still knelt before his chieftain, earning him a few snickers from her guards.
"Chieftain, the human village is practically begging to be burnt, and their cattle are guarded by a few old men with sharpened sticks. Give the command, and I'll personally slaughter their chieftain and bring you his head!"
Once, the great city of Khol Urendizum guarded the entrance to the Underholds, the cities of the dwarves. Once, its great stone walls held countless souls within them. Once, the features of the massive stone statues on either side of the Gate of Kalgar could be made out as the first King of Khol Urendizum, Kalgar, and his son, King Lavkir. Now, the stone walls have fallen, with hide tents and skulls on sticks replace the stone works of art made by the dwarves. The statues of Kalgar and Lavkir have been eroded so that they seem to be merely giant lumps of stone. And the orcs of the Tribe of the Great and Mighty King Morokzaal vin Naardova squat in its ruins, armed and armored with crudely reforged dwarven armor and weapons. Their "king", Morokzaal, lounging upon the ancient Throne of Kalgar, which had been uprooted from the ruined palace and brought to the center of the dead city so that the pompous orc could lord over his underlings and their human slaves. Morkzaal was giving one of characteristic "speeches" when a dwarf was brought before him, armored and masked but obviously badly wounded. Morokzaal was so surprised by this that he did not hear the first time his scout said his name.
"Chiefta- I mean, King Morokzaal, we found this one outside the northern walls. Tried beatin' some info out of 'im, but he's only been repeating the same words over and over again. Nearly game me a headache listenin' to it."
Morokzaal adjusted the golden circlet on his head, originally worn by the Kings of Khol Urendizum, and fixed one of the teeth he had mounted to it. Then he leaned in close and listened to what the dwarf was mumbling.
"Yalgurd will save us, Yalgurd will restore us."
Smirking, Morokzaal grabbed his great-axe and gathered his warriors with him, leaving the dwarf in the slave-pens. Grinning, he led them out of the city, eager to kill some dwarves once more.