[b]27th of Mid Year
Wayrest, Greater High Rock[/b]

The flatfooted messenger boy made his slapping footsteps carry him as fast as they could to the throne room. Many of the guardsmen on the walls couldn’t believe what they were seeing, not really on account of any real disbelief, just that they were sleeping off hangovers or still drunk. A lot of them were still deep into their skooma highs which contributed to the scare, as there were soon bandits on the walls screaming about encroaching iron golems. The sober messenger boy was sent by the more level-headed of the bandit chiefs on wall duty and he rushed to get to Pirate-Lord Mackin. Once the doors to his chambers were thrown open, the screams of a few wenches could be heard as they scrambled through the door, past the messenger boy and down the hallway clutching anything they could grab onto to cover themselves. Once the flood of whores had passed, the messenger boy stood in the doorway, beet red from cheek to cheek.

“Out with it, boy!” Mackin spat.

“We’re under siege, sir!”

“What!?” Mackin rose from his bed and slipped on his trousers, following the boy back outside to the walls.

“When did you first see them?” Mackin asked, adjusting his swordbelt.

“Sunrise, sir. Thousands of them! Some of the men said they saw iron golems but the chiefs said they were wearing armor like any living thing that bleeds.” The messenger boy responded, walking as fast as his short, skinny legs could carry him.

“Whose banners do they fly?” Mackin asked.

The boy only looked away and gulped. Mackin growled as he shoved a door open out onto the battlements, greeted by one of the bandit chiefs, “Sir, there are thousands-”

“The boy already told m-” Mackin stopped in his tracks as he saw exactly how many banners were being flown. Every noble house in High Rock it seemed, even the ones who could only offer thirty fighting men to muster were there, if only to say they were. Mackin’s unsure footsteps brought him to the battlements directly overlooking the massive army. Once there, one of the bandits fell backwards with an arrow in his throat. Mackin shielded himself reflexively but saw that there was a message attached to the arrow’s shaft. Carefully removing it, Mackin read the contents of the letter.

[Hider=Breaking the wax Royal Seal of Daggerfall]To Pirate-Lord Ambrose Mackin,

I intend to make you and your companions an example to any who would encroach on Greater High Rock with supposed impunity and no fear of retaliation. I have bided my time to exact justice on you for the vicious and vile murders of House Valois, the royal family of Wayrest. I come here with five thousand men bearing banners belonging to every Noble from Betony to Northpoint.

I come to ask for your surrender. Do so and we will only burn your ships and let you live out your days in whatever Gods-forsaken hole you manage to crawl to.

Hold out with hope of victory against five thousand trained men and peasant levies who are no doubt wanting to kill you if only to get back to tilling their fields and we will burn your ships with you on them.

Your choice,

High King Ferrand Bellemont of the Grand Kingdom of Greater High Rock[/Hider]

Mackin gulped audibly.

[b]22nd of Mid Year
Everard III of Wayrest
Soulrest, Argonia[/b]

Everard didn’t know what to do as the orcs marched right up to them, even as their swords were drawn. The Breton thought they’d cast an intimidating figure, three fully-armed and armored men with swords drawn. Everard watched as the orc leader poked and prodded at his sword before telling him that the Orc Chief Yagurz would want to talk to him. Everard smiled, “What was that about being a gamble, Montyard? It seems we’ve been dealt quite the hand and I intend to take it if this Orc Chief will listen to me.” The Breton sheathed his sword and waved his brothers onward to follow the Orcs back to Yagurz’s chambers.