[center]The Hold of Grimmanar[/center]
[center]The King's Palace[/center]

[indent]King Thordrek Foesword finished reading the letter aloud and set it on the side table to his right. He strode over to the window overlooking Armgaudr's central plaza. He gently massaged his temples and contemplated the festivat. The oldest Dwarf present, a General named Dogthen Axeheart, rose and addressed his King. "My lord, if I may speak my opinion, I believe-" Thordrek quickly turned to the General and barked, "You may not give your opinion, as I did not ask for it!" The echoing silence that followed created enough tension that the Council Chamber Guards in the hallway shifted their footing. Thordrek snatched the letter back off the table and read again, " 'To all nations that follow the one true religion'," he snarled. "My father told these men that we would continue to worship our own, [i]true[/i] Gods. They mean to mock us! I won't stand for it!" The King looked to Falan Orcspike, his friend and advisor. "What do you believe this means?" Falan, having a sly tongue, smoothly slid from his chair and moved to examine the letter, which the King had crumpled and thrown to the ground in his rage. As he restored the paper to legible condition, he read over the brief message. "Sire, perhaps they simply wish to conduct a conference, and wouldn't want a thief or pickpocket to get hold of this and know your personal business." Falan strode to the window. "I believe, your Majesty, that we should send in a politician and a guard detail, to see what the fuss is about." Thordrek nodded slowly. "Now, has anyone another say on the matter?" No one in the Council breathed a word. "Now then, let us put it to a vote. All those in favor of Politician Orcspike's plane, say aye." The entirety of the Council chorused 'Aye', and the meeting was dismissed.[/indent]

[center]In the wilderness, near the border of Aethinia[/center]

[indent]Baerya Metalworker sat in her home, looking over different smelting recipes given to her by one of her friends of Armgaudr's forging center. The recipe was for a shortsword. Baerya was quite fond of the short blades, getting up close and personal with those she had to fight. Her last sword broke, when she tried to prove to Jorn Firehammer, the governer of Gornae, that her swings could shatter stone. This was not the case. Now, required to forge her own blade, she had been pouring over different schematics for forging blades and settled on this one. As she was about to stand, there was an urgent knock on her door. Living alone amongst the mountains, no one ever came to visit her. When she opened the door, a Royal Messenger stood to attention and saluted. "Baerya Metalworker, Representative of the Outlying Villages, the King has requested your assistance," The Messenger held out a letter, and Baerya took the letter and opened it. As she did, a small paper fell out of the letter. She read over the request to come to the festivat, then looked at the King's request.[/indent]

[quote]To: Baerya Metalworker, Representative of the Outlying Villages
From: King Thordrek Foesword

The Doge is once again requesting us to 'kindly' accept his religion as our own. I must ask you to go to the festivat and remind him of the deal made between my father, King Gornak Foesword, and himself. Please deal with this matter quickly. there will be a guard for your journey and stay in Calxus. Report to the Palace at your earliest convenience. 
~[i]Thordrek Duili Foesword[/i][/quote]

[indent]Baerya sighed. She had hoped that her days of being the ambassador for the King's every whim were over. She looked at the Messenger, who had stepped inside and closed the door. "Let me grab my things. I'll be going back to the palace with you." The Messenger nodded and stepped outside. Baerya put on her armor, which consisted of a leather tunic and leather greaves, chainmail gauntlets, and iron shoulder pauldrons and boots. She placed her cloak around her and strapped her replacement shortsword on her belt, and her arrow quiver and bow along her back. On her way out the dor, Baerya grabbed her Thranarum purse and stepped into the chilly air. As she mounted her horse, she nodded to the Messenger. "Let's go."[/indent]