Negotiation was not Rögdûl's strongsuit, his temper quick to flare should he feel his reputation or his ability called into question. The silence beckoned Nerakghu to step forward and handle talk.

(Nerakghu (SIDE), Advisor to the Red Chief, Outskirts of Praelium)

[color=silver] "Gentlemen."[/color]

Nerakghu's filmy eyes lacked the youth and vigor of his younger company, but they had seen far more--much like the crowd of human soldiers over whom his eyes fell as he spoke.

[color=silver]"Word travels far, Gajutar. Your country cries."[/color]

Dry Northern desert winds shuffled overhead, whipping Nerakghu's greying locks with the direction of the wind. His cold grey pupils trailed along the axis of his neck as he turned his head behind him to the barren rocky plains that lead back to the Northern hills. After a moment of reflection (and nonverbal conversational transition) he turned back to the officer who led the small defense force.

[color=silver]"The crows awake. Carrion from the North smell your defeat, and they are gathering. They lie low even beneath the sands of the foothills, and wait for. . . [i]them[/i] to join the feast."[/color]

To any Praelium general's ears, it is clear who the Elder orc references.

[color=silver]"We, the Red Claw--and our High Chieftan--have come to offer you protection from the [i]starkok[/i], on the condition that you give us something in return."[/color]

A pause.

[color=silver]"Free passage into Praelium, and a small supply of weapons. Swords, bows and arrows, clubs. You do this, and you may consider your fine fortress forever free from the Northern pesks; and more important, you may consider the Red Claw an ally of yours till the Ends of the Ulragim."[/color]