Vesanior walked into the dim speakeasy. It was a tiny place that not many people knew of, which often made it the site of many shady, or down-right illegal dealings. However most of that business was conducted in the night, and few visited the speakeasy during the day. So when Vesanior walked in it was completely empty, except for the surly Orc barkeeper. He was old, with wrinkled dark green skin and hair whitened by age. He had a long beard, several parts braided with metal locks. His dress was simple, a leather tunic and wool pants, both stained with food and drink. He was currently rubbing the counter with a wet, soupy rag, trying to remove an old blood stain in the wood.

Vesanior crossed the room, nearly slipping in a puddle of spilt beer. He sat down on one of the stools. The barkeep noticed, and sighed before pausing his cleaning to fill a wooden mug with cheap beer. As he placed it on the table by Vesanior, the Fae greeted him. 
"Hello, Jrax. How's it been for you?"
The old Orc grunted, a man of few words. After a few more minutes of scrubbing at the stain he appeared to give up, and moved the stool on his side of the counter to be opposite to Vesanior's.
 "You've heard 'bout the Westgate?" the Orc finally said. 
Vesanior's mouth went a little dry at that. "Unfortunately, yes," he replied. 
"Worried 'bout that Garden?"
"Course not," said Vesanior with a grin. "It has existed for hundreds of years, and it can exist for hundreds more. Dunno what the fuss is with those "Scorn" things."
"Still, the Emperor reckons they enough to be pulling out the big guns. Ya know, the Artifacts."
"Mmm, really is about time for that." 
"Yeah, he's also sent out a bunch of these letters." The Orc said gesturing to something on the table. It was a official, very important looking letter. Vesanior had not even seen the Orc place it there.
"May I?" he said. The Orc nodded. The Fae gingerly picked up and read the letter. 

[i]To Jrax Stromclar, who fought as general of the old Orcian legion. We, the nobles of Caldania, have heard of your courage and strength in the past wars. Now, in this time of crisis we wish for you to join us on a mission to stop that which blights our great nation, the Scorned. Please come to discuss...[/i]
At that point, Vesanior stopped reading for it was mostly more official blabber. However his eye did catch on the signature in the bottom. That of the Emperor himself...
"Are you going to-" he started but was cut off by the Orc's sudden laughter.
"Really?" The Orc chuckled. "Look at me now! I am no soldier! Maybe years ago, but today I am an old man."
The Orc wheezed some, catching his breath. He then noticed that the Fae's gaze was still fixed on the letter.
"You can keep it, if you want. Probably someone you would convince to buy it," said the Orc. Silently Vesanior nodded his thanks, still fixated on the letter. He said farewell, and emptied a large amount of coins on the table. More than enough to pay for the beer, the Orc noticed as he put it away. He looked to the door, but the Fae had already left. Finally the Orc shrugged, and went back to cleaning.

A tall armored man stood at the door of the palace. Showing an official envelope to the guards, he was let in. He walked through the palace, eyeing the great treasures lining the hallways. Finally he reached the dining room
door, where a servant ushered him in. Seeing the Emperor he bowed. "Jrax Stromclar, former general of the great Orcian legion, my lord."