[center][color=gold][h2][b]Prelude to Hostilities[/b][/h2][/color][/center]

“You’re not going to ask why we’re doing this Cormak?”

Ella and Cormak were riding toward the Ordun camp with one of Cassandalur’s banner, that of the supreme Tyrant which they came to represent. The human barbarian (well, maybe that wasn’t fair, he was becoming more civilized every day) hadn’t really spoken during the journey.

“Hm? No. Isn’t it obvious?”

He replied, actually giving to Ella something to think about since the reason she knew Cassandalur had to send them made very little sense to her. Well, they had the fastest horses available so, if Ordun decided to be impolite they could hope to run away.

“Here is fine.”

She declared, choosing to stop on a hill overlooking their enemy’s camp. No doubt their scouts had spotted them already, but hopefully standing so obviously in the open would indicate they were there to talk, not to spy.

“Do it.”

Cormak nodded and cleared his throat.

“Forces of Ordun! The Supreme Tyrant of Tacenie has sent us to talk to your leader! Come out!”

He roared. Khurgan like himself were very common slaves and their language wasn’t very far from the Bikhaan one, hopefully there would be a Khurgan slave with them or a Bikhaan tribesman who could translate for them. This wasn’t ideal, but Ella barely spoke any Khurgan and nothing close to Orduni.

A couple of minutes passed before three riders emerged from the camp and galloped towards the hilltop. One was a legionary of the Innas Shor-Mairan, bronze helmet shaped like a dragon’s head shining in the sun, his face covered by red cloth below the eyes to hide his human features, and a banner embroidered with the image of the Sun Dragon clutched in his right hand. The second one was one of the Bikhaan nobles who joined the army, sons of tribal chieftains seeking glory and riches. Five ears hung from a string passed around his neck and over his steel lamellar armor.

Between them rode Kursh, looking grim as ever in his black robes worn over his armor. The three Ördûni stopped a few paces away from Ella and Cormak. Kursh looked over them both for a brief moment before uttering a single word in the Bikhaan tongue. “Speak.”

The translation process began as Ella spoke and Cormak translated in Kurgan. “Manling, I have come in the name of Cassandalur, supreme Tyrant of all Tacenians, to congratulate you on your victory against our kin Jariel. Since you have shown cunning and bravery on the battlefield, we have deemed you worthy to continue existing as more than thralls.”

“The Supreme Tyrant is willing to accept two thousand thralls, two thousands heads of cattle and two hundred pounds of gold every year as tribute to show your respect towards the masters of the world. He of course understands if honor prevents you from accepting his generous offer without being defeated and he is willing to personally face any champion in single combat or face any army on a battlefield of your choice.”

Kursh took a moment to process the elf’s demands. Asking for tribute from those currently engaged in pillaging their lands was either the height of hubris, or deliberate insult. Her mention of honor and a proposal to choose a battlefield was equally puzzling, and the grizzled warrior surmised that the elves of Tacenie must have been unaware of Ördûn’s way of war. Still, perhaps this could be of benefit.

“We are not here to pay tribute. We came to exact retribution in blood. Since your master is here, you can tell him that if he has any serious proposals instead of foolish delusions, he can bring them to me in person. Until then, steel will talk.” He spared no glance for Cormak, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Ella. There was no anger or hatred in his eyes, only focused attention as he studied the Tyrant’s expression.

“Anything else? Or were you only sent here as a glorified messenger?”

Kursh’s stoicism was met with glee from Ella who didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction at his answer. She responded with crude Bikhaan of her own.

“Thank you. For everything you will give me.”

She returned to her elvish and Cormak’s translation. “All this effort to put the Khurgans who despise you under my yoke and train them into killers, to stage a little show that would convince you to get here, I would have been disappointed if you had just surrendered. I’ve been so hungry since I feasted on Ul-Krazol. Know that I will enjoy hearing the lamentation of your women and children when I set my Khurgans loose on your towns and cities.”

Cormak’s voice wavered for a moment as he translated, unsure how much of this was true and how much was Ella obviously trying to bait Kursh into doing something stupid.

Kursh’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was too experienced a commander to interpret the repeated insults as anything other than provocation. He deliberately showed some suppressed rage, a twitch of his lips visible on his full black and silver beard.

“Cheap talk from one who waited behind her walls to be rescued by her master. It is a good thing your kind lives long. You will live to regret these words.”

With that, Kursh and his men turned to ride back to their camp, the Bikhaan noble shooting Ella and Cormak a predatory grin before following his commander.

Ella didn’t shy in smiling and even waving back to the Bikhaan noble. Cormak however, sighed.

“Think your provocation worked?”

Ella looked in the Orduni riding back to camp, her smile twisting itself into something wicked.

“Lets just say that if I were them, I’d try my luck. It’s obvious we’re arrogant to the extreme… A feint attack as we march toward their camp, then a retreat. As we enter their camp, they’ll expect us to disperse and pillage it, so they wheel back and set everything on fire.”

“...Only it wouldn’t quite go like that, would it?”

Ella only continued to smile before turning her horse around and riding away.

[b]tl;dr: Tacenie offers peace in bad faith, it is refused in equally bad faith.[/b]

[center][color=gold][h2][b]Those Left Behind[/b][/h2][/color][/center]

Belshanar took a step back to observe his work. It was coming in nicely, but he wasn't sure it was his exact vision... though to be fair, it had been so long he wasn't sure what his exact vision even was. He was doing wood carving, a grand display of wood carving displaying the ancient history of the elves, back when they lived in the trees, were one with nature, an age before even the one before they lived their lives in their flying city. Back during the age of magic, he remembered partying at the house of an elf named Solaris who had such a display in his grand hall, it had impressed a bored Belshanar so much it had given him a love for crafting.

Back then there was of course magic, but while it maybe trivialized technique, it didn't give people vision! With the lost of magic his depression returned as he was left with no way to express his art. He took up his sword and fought as had to do but with no real conviction behind it. When the storm abated and they went out in the world however, he watched with fascination as thralls did the same as he once did, though crudely with basic tools. It was so imprecise, complex and time consuming... but he would have forever to get better at it after all.

Now, he dared to say it was all coming together! 

"You've really outdone yourself. This is breath taking..." A female elf wearing a colorful and extravagant robe with red, orange and yellow hues like fire hugged him from behind as she looked at his work over his shoulder. Narwen was a kindred soul who had always found swordplay boring, she herself was much more into carnal pleasures as her choice of distraction however and liked to watch one of her lovers exert his strong arms with a chisel.

"You said it is wood, but doesn't it look like stone?" She asked as she tilted her head to take in the sight. The wood itself was dark as night but was also streaked with golden yellow, forming a unique pattern she had never even seen in the previous age.

"Core wood imported from the western Mushroom forest." He explained before pointing at the yellow streaks. "The core of the tree itself dies as the tree ages and grows, but to prevent itself from rotting, it floods the dead wood with resin, which in times hardens and becomes amber. Wood that won't decay or be eaten away by insects." Back in the previous age, wood had practically be left on earth, deemed as useless, too impermanent, like dwarves, they had embraced the eternal beauty of stone. But now they were rediscovering their roots.

"Think you could do something like that for my new manor?" She asked with a smirk. Belshanar smiled back with a shrug. "I mean, maybe? You know I don't have farmland to sustain my lifestyle. I had to exchange a fair few of my good craftsmen thralls to get this expensive wood, I'd love to give some to you, but..."

Narwen simply laughed it off. "I'll buy it silly! And I'll pay for your time too~" 

The craftsman raised his eyebrow. "I didn't know you were so wealthy..."

The lady let go of him and stuck out her tongue mockingly. "For now, buuut, once our Tyrant comes back with thralls and gold from a long campaign, what do you think he and all his warriors, and the thralls too, will spent it all on? I've already prepared a dozen new outfits and reserved all the wine Clarion's vineyard can produce! New glassware too, from Thulieth.~"

All elven names, which was surprising. Elves usually were not so productive, they were too busy with martial training, competitions and never ending feasts and parties you were expected to attend to maintain social standing. It seemed however that now that the Tyrant and all of the diehard warriors, those with passions other than fighting were free to pursue other activities without judgement.

Hopefully the war would take a long time.

"Eh. I think I could make something for you then, I have a design in mind I think you might like actually..."

[b]tl;dr: While the martial elite of Tacenie is gone, craftsmen thrive.[/b]