(Rögdûl the Red Chief, Fortress Gloria, Nightfall.)

Upon the horizon they came, when daylight was dim and night loomed overhead. The Red Chief, his advisor, and his Hand, guided along dusty sands by horse hooves. Clatter gave way to neighs and the straddling of reigns as the Chief drew his warhorse--which was even larger than the other abnormally massive beats--to a stop. He was the fist to dismount, followed by his sister and Warchief, Aylob. She was dressed in lighter armor, but equipped with a variant of ranged weaponry and plated armor that covered the joints where arrows can easily pierce and cause significant joint damage. Nehrakgu wore his typical wizard robes.

	Up to the gates Rögdûl went, and it is there he stood. He and his company were surrounded by some hundred men, and the Chief gave a sneer to all of them, though not one befitting aggression or fear--one that told them he could rip limbs from arms faster than they could draw sword or knock bow. All in jest, of course. He folded his elephantine arms across his box-square chest, and waited for the Tyrannus to speak first. He was, after all, a long way from home and didn't quite feel like fighting his way through a swarm of soldiers to get back. Not to mention the arrows and shivs he'd have to pull out; such an image made him shutter from annoyance rather than real worry.

[color=green]"We have come. You know what we request."[/color]

The Chief fell silent--he had all the time in the world.