(Rögdûl the Red Chief, Middle of the Northern Hills, Wasteland)

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	Shakatrog cleaved off the desert pirate's head. Crimson decorates the coarse sand, a sharp gust slapped the side of Rögdûl's face, the matte black Orc armor shone and reflected golden sun. Screams and gurdles are muffled underneath the crisp wind: the wind passes, screeches ring across the barren desert land, far along the rocks and hills and into the edges of civilization. Metal crushes bone, spikes cleave tendons, arrows javelin hearts. The Red Claw were out in full force; every desert pirate was dead, all twenty of them sprawled across the site of the raid.

[color=green]"Gather the [i]starkok[/i] and feed them to the crows. Take everything you can and load up the horses. Aylob. . ."[/color]

[color=pink]"Yes, my lord?"[/color] the Hand spoke. Her voice was soft but carried with it a predatory deluge. Her frame was thinner than her male equerry but true to typical female Orc warriors; agile, sturdy, powerful thighs and core muscles. She was far quicker and dexterous than her larger, brooding brother.

[color=green]"Send word to Nerakghu, tell him to ready the messenger crows. It'll be time to meet with their leader soon enough."[/color]

Ayrob bowed and readied her horse; she let out a boisterous warcry before she rode off. [i]Sometimes, I think she was dropped on her head as a child.[/i] Rögdûl thought. As she departed, Rögdûl picked up the pirate bandit leader's head and curled a sadistic smirk along his face--then he crushed it in both hands.

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(Aylob, Chief's Hand, SIDE. Red Claw Encampment, Northern Hills)

The gargantuan warhorse's hooves beat along the gravel and sand of the desert 'til mid-morning. Aylob halted the abnormally sized beast outside of the camp gates where two smaller orcs armed with bows, arrows, and hoods stood. They swung open the wooden gates and Aylob plodded past both into the heart of the camp. A fire burned and arrows whizzed at targets as archers practiced their craft at the far end of the circular stronghold. Near the back of the base was a medium size tent that was purposefully built without structure so it was easier to take down; in the tent stood Nehrakgu, dressed in silver robes and his wizard hat.

[color=gray]"Is it time?"[/color] Nehrakgu broke from his ponder.
[color=pink]"Our [i]timorshai konduuk[/i] says send them."[/color] Aylob infused a series of chuckles after her retort.
[color=gray]"Your brother is no dog, child."[/color]
[color=pink]"You're right--I said he was a [i]great[/i] dog. The greatest of them all!"[/color] Her chuckling submitted to full laughter.
[color=gray]"Enough."[/color] Nerakghu sizzled back a hammering imperative.

Aylob shut up.

	Nerakghu moved his hands from his pocket and lay the parchment on the table. Days old ink had settled in and made the eloquent cursive more legible and its words succint: "There will be no fight. We come in the night." He folded up the rustic brown parchment and wrapped it in some linen. As if he had delivered a silent command, one of several black crows flew to Nerakghu's shoulder where it found momentary rest. He put the wrapped up parchment in the bird's beak and it flew off. By mid-day, the crow had reached Fortress Gloria, where he landed next to the ballista battlements. From its beak it dropped the wrapped up parchment before it turned to fly away. The insignia of the Red Claw (a red circle with a talon etched in the middle) was imprinted on the linen.