Grobakh gazed around the dimly lit table at his lieutenants. Taking a long drink from his tankard and then a deep breath he readied himself for an order he knew would not be as easily swallowed as the ale that he had just drank.

“Brothers, too long have we settled for petty spoils. For many years we’ve been a thorn in the paw of the Kormyrians. Today, we stop being a thorn in their paw and start being a menace they cannot ignore.” He paused, staring off for a moment before looking back across his constituents. “We head across the great rift, to Travance. Too long they’ve grown soft on their wealth and they are weak on the heels of the attacks they have so recently survived. There is no better time than now to claim our place in this world, to be rightfully feared by all…”

Everyone paused stiffly. Tankards remained on tables and an unease swept over the table. Grobakh did not wait for another to speak. “Rally your troops, we begin our march at dawn. We will claim our rightful place on the stage of this world within a fortnight. This is not up for discussion.”


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Baroness: "Billliamm, I'm teaching the bards a song that will calm the enraged, and I can think of no better person to assist than you."

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