Readying the Tides of War

The hoofbeats of the horse were muffled as Andrew guided it through the wet, heavy snow. Ridding hard, he was following the curve of the Dagger Mountains, the same mountain range that the dungeon of Deciet lay within. His destination was not the Dungeon however, not this time.

He slowed his steed to a halt as he came upon one of the many caverns that dotted the side of the mountains. His eyes searched the entrance...There, near one of the rocks..Just what he was looking for; a tattered banner, frayed at the edges due to the constant, harsh north wind, bearing an image of a Raven.

It marked the cave as an outpost for the 3rd division of the Legion of the Shattered Hand, otherwise known as The Fallen Raven orc clan. Andrew worked his horse up to a slow trot, and rode into the cavern...

Immediatly he was "greeted." A large, dark green orc with pathces of black covering his skin stepped forward from the shadows, a torch in his hand.

Before the orc could even ask "Who er you...?" Andrew hopped off his mount and handed the reigns to the gatekeeper. The orc, silent from both stupidity and anger, could only gawk at Andrew as he strode deeper into the tunnel-like cavern, hand resting, as always, on the tsuka of his katana.

Do'Kora looked about as he entered a chamber lit by torch and forge. The hammering of orcish blacksmiths could be heard, orders were being shouted out in all manner of speech (common, orcish, and a meld of the two which was difficult for humans to understand). Large, white northern wolves could be heard snapping and growling at eachother in thier pens, a dispute over food, no doubt.

Andrew Do'Kora stood, motionless, for near ten minutes, surveying the confusion.

his straight, thin lips pulled themselves into a familiar half-smile, a satisfied smirk.

The 3rd division of the Legion was almost ready for battle.

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> The hoofbeats of the horse were muffled as Andrew guided it through the wet, heavy snow. Ridding hard, he was following the curve of the Dagger Mountains, the same mountain range that the dungeon of Deciet lay within. His destination was not the Dungeon however, not this time. > He slowed his steed to a halt as he came upon one of the many caverns that dotted the side of the mountains. His eyes searched the entrance...There, near one of the rocks..Just what he was looking for; a tattered banner, frayed at the edges due to the constant, harsh north wind, bearing an image of a Raven. > It marked the cave as an outpost for the 3rd division of the Legion of the Shattered Hand, otherwise known as The Fallen Raven orc clan. Andrew worked his horse up to a slow trot, and rode into the cavern... > Immediatly he was "greeted." A large, dark green orc with pathces of black covering his skin stepped forward from the shadows, a torch in his hand. > Before the orc could even ask "Who er you...?" Andrew hopped off his mount and handed the reigns to the gatekeeper. The orc, silent from both stupidity and anger, could only gawk at Andrew as he strode deeper into the tunnel-like cavern, hand resting, as always, on the tsuka of his katana. > > Do'Kora looked about as he entered a chamber lit by torch and forge. The hammering of orcish blacksmiths could be heard, orders were being shouted out in all manner of speech (common, orcish, and a meld of the two which was difficult for humans to understand). Large, white northern wolves could be heard snapping and growling at eachother in thier pens, a dispute over food, no doubt. > Andrew Do'Kora stood, motionless, for near ten minutes, surveying the confusion. > his straight, thin lips pulled themselves into a familiar half-smile, a satisfied smirk. > > The 3rd division of the Legion was almost ready for battle.
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