A Letter Returned to Tilverton

[Talom]

A letter bearing the mark of Burz’kal is returned by a massive eagle dropping the letter in the open aired courtyard of Fort Risencrantz.

To Zomactelonyvarix, Overseer of the Human Accord,

Your words reached me. So did their stench.

You speak of diplomacy, yet call my kin by the name grunts—the very chain-word we shattered before your eyes at the Ceremony of Burz’kal. I remember you seated in velvet, ten paces from the War Chief of Burz’kal, as he burned the old banners of servitude. You heard his words. You saw the smoke rise. And still, you dare pen such filth in ink and seal it with your crest.

That insult alone is worth blood.

You question why no orc stood shoulder to shoulder with your swordlines in Tilverton or Edana. Perhaps it is because we smelled the rot behind your banners. Your “training” was a pageant, not a war council. Your men barked orders like kennel masters, forgetting we are not dogs but wolves. Orcs do not heel. We lead. We fight. And we bleed for causes we believe in—not for alliances forged in mockery and maintained by veiled threats.

As for the Darmshall lumber mill, the horde grows and we will take what we need to supply ourselves, you hold three key locations of resource, Mercadia holds more, Burz’kal holds none, the lumber mill is closest to Burz’kal if it is taken back by Tilverton it will come under orcish hands again, and again until it stays there.
You say the human realms are united. Good. So are the orcish clans. If you think us few or scattered, you have read only your own scrolls, not the hills, not the wind, not the drums.

Let this be clear: the next time you speak to the orcs, you will use titles of kinship or you will hear only silence—and then the roar of war.

We will fight Azamul when the final battle happens, if you wish to draw blood before then we will indulge you as well.

War Shaman Vor’thul

A large bloody hand marks the bottom of the scroll.

[Wyrd]

The same ethereal raven as before carries a letter back to Burz'kal.

To the esteemed War Shaman Vor'thul,


I am glad my words reached you. My apologies for their stench. We're dealing with a certain sewage situation here. Having visited Burz'kal myself, I should have foreseen the sensitivy of your nostrils.

As for the titles, pardon my lack of orcish culture knowledge. We were there for your ceremony, that is true, but that was the extent of our involvement with your city. Burz'kal is secluded, its gates somehow impenetrable. Your people doesn't mingle, doesn't welcome outsiders, doesn't participate in anything outside the clan or the volcano. A rite that happened months ago was not enough to consolidate in my memory what titles you use now and which ones you don't anymore. Know that my reference was not out of malice.

In regards to the training sessions: how can you call it a "pageant"? You were not there, none of you were. You claim my men barked orders like "kennel masters". This never happened, which you would know, had you only honored the pact established in the mercadian castle between you, me and Arkais. You say the orcs lead and fight. Maybe I misunderstood, but didn't you claim Grummsh showed you a vision that the orcs would follow, against Azamul, whoever won a tournament? That seems a bit contradictory now. And if I recall, in that same meeting you were called a "rabid dog" to your face. And you didn't howl this loud then, sitting there on your own.

But on the topic at hand - the lumbermill. I am first and foremost a wizard, a being of logic. Had you come to us with the argument you present now, namely, that the human realms hold key resource locations and that Burz'kal holds none, believe me, this whole ordeal would have gone differently. We're not opposed to sharing resources with those who call Azamul an enemy; on the contrary, we'd be happy to. This is diplomacy, War Shaman. By taking the lumbermill without any communication you've set the tone for this exchange. We had assumed a much darker purpose. Good to know it is not the case.

I've been around long enough to understand the ebb and flow of this world. I've stood where you stand now. I've been in the same position not long ago, in our dealings with the Shield of Dawn. And I knew then, there would come a day in which we would stand on the other extreme. I hope you know the same, to save yourself from future disappointment. People come and go. Armies form and disband. Kingdoms rise and crumble. When the Wyrd Cabal first arrived in the mainland, Burz'kal was but a faint presence in Regisfall. Clearly the winds have changed direction since then. But if there is one truth I've learned to trust the most is this: the wind never stops blowing.

In other words, you win. We concede. At least I know now what we are giving up and why. The roar from Burz'kal was heard all the way up north and seemingly scared away most, if not all of mercadian leaders, if the letters I'm receiving hold any truth to them. Such uncanny timing... So now we have this domestic problem to deal with, in the human realms. The last thing I wish now is for the Consortium or another menace to fill that gap, same as they did to Tilverton before.

Rest assured there won't be a second chance to mistake titles. There won't be another letter from us. Naturally, when the time comes, we will also stand there against Azamul. Fighting amongst ourselves now would only strengthen Mortimer, as I said in my first letter. Your reasoning was a sufficient one. Make good use of those resources, for the day we fight the demon draws ever nearer. However, if you still wish to paint the ground with blood, it is simple: name your champion, we'll name ours. Surely one amongst you will step up to the challenge. Or come to our next training session. I guarantee you'll find a little more than a "pageant".


Una Voluntas, Nullo Adstricta,

- Overseer Zomactelonyvarix