[center][h3][color=993333]István Shilage[/color][/h3][/center]

[color=993333]"Sounds like a real laugh."[/color]

Thunder rumbled from somewhere behind the "unlikely" duo of merchant and lordling, heavy footfalls upon the stone leagues removed from Kayliss's quiet floating. A small cohort had surrounded his charge now, each stranger than the last, but such was the state of affairs beneath their banner— a cornucopia of backgrounds, skillsets, and lives caught in the rising net of the Hraesleg. Good tidings for the future, that of the soldiers among them—

But Better Tidings Still came in the name of the foe their many directions had now converged upon. [i]Morahti[/i]— savory upon the tongue, and tinged with copper. The pair that had marched down from the North, in their long years of study, had grown very familiar with the idiosyncrasies of their customs— rite of conquest being one thing, but shamefully, their blase attitude on slavery rendered them abominable.

Pleas for mercy would be difficult to hear in pitched fighting.

[color=993333]"We'd gladly make use of it."[/color]