Rhatheh, Daggerfall,

3:35 pm, 17th Banem, 1092.

The cold air of death milled over the once bustling village, subduing the atmosphere. Warrior orcs patrolled the streets, gazes hardened in rage as they passed empty houses and charcoal sooted ruins. These buildings served as a stark reminder to the orcs, such that they would never forget the horror that was committed at this place.

Several tents were erected outside the village where the orcs not on duty rested. None of the orcs were willing to enter the village if they did not have to. Even those whose houses survived the fires chose to set up camp outside. The memory of their loved ones and the gruesome scene they saw still freshly haunted their minds, and as a result, they could not bear the thought of sleeping in their own beds.

It was toward this scene that a company of dwarven soldiers approached from the North. The company comprised roughly one-hundred soldiers. It was a number large enough to serve as a deterrent, but not large enough to induce a significant threat. This number of soldiers already showcased the dwarfs' attitudes toward the upcoming negotiations without a single word being spoken.

The dwarfs were willing to negotiate and did not look down on the orcs' authority.

Fifty orcs flanked the company at either side and escorted them to the village gates. The orcs glared at the dwarven soldiers, hoping for some sign of treachery. At that time, they would not hesitate to cut them down! Unfortunately, (or was it?), the dwarfs so far, seemed to be on the up-and-up. They had not made any suspicious movements and allowed themselves to be escorted to the gates.

Grovitch awaited the company at the village's north gate. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the dwarf at the head of the company. His red, leather armor stood out against the stock armor the other soldiers wore. The dwarf's eyes were strong and held an unyielding conviction. His gaze did not falter even when faced with the hundreds of orcs camped outside the city gate, glaring at him with unshielded hatred.

The lead dwarf raised his hand and stopped the company when they were roughly twenty meters from the gate. He then dismounted, and walked toward Grovitch, accompanied by three warriors, and two astoundingly fat dwarfs garbed in expensive civilian clothing that reeked of expensive perfume. The dwarfs, whose opulence was displayed by several gold chains squeezed out from within the company. Both dwarfs bore a striking semblance, varied only by the passage of time. The older of the two sported a dark grey beard while the younger of the two, seemingly in his early thirties sported a pure, black beard.

Grovitch sneered as he saw the fear and hesitation in the civilians' eyes. 'Hmph! As expected of those cowardly dwarfs. We haven't even pulled out our weapons, and they're already pissing themselves in fright. To think our people were killed by these cowards!' The orc's face contorted in rage, but he eventually managed to control his emotions.

Grovitch looked at the dwarfs in civilian clothing. "Which one of you is Rudega Farvulia?"

"How rude!" The younger dwarf spat. "Who do you think you're speaking to with that attitude?"

Rage burned in Grovitch's eyes, and he reached for his ax.

"Wait! I apologize for my brethren's conduct," the lead dwarf stepped between Grovitch and the civilians and offered a bow in recompense. "I am Rudega Farvulia. You must be Grovitch Bone-Breaker. I wish we could have met under more favorable circumstances."

"Farvulia!" The younger dwarf shouted. "You dare bow to a low—"

"Shut up!" Rudega roared and glared at the dwarf. He glared at the older dwarf and warned, "Thonur, control your son, or I will discipline him myself!" Rudega began to regret bringing this wastrel father/son pair along.

Mokern Thonur, the older of the two dwarfs, was the dwarven lord of the Nuxvar province. He demanded that Rudega brought him and his son, Ungund along, and Rudega could not refuse. After all, Mokern was the lord of this region. Rudega would be considered to have overstepped his boundary if he carried out such a pivotal negotiation without the presence of the lord.

Rudega's eyes burned with rage as he glared Mokern. Bringing them along was one thing. However, he would not tolerate their antics if they jeopardized the negotiations in any way. The stakes were far too high. It also helped that the Farvulian household had direct blood ties to the previous dwarven king. As a result, Rudega still had a modicum of seniority of these wastrel nobles.

Mokern's features darkened after Rudega's outburst. However, only a moment passed before it was replaced with a smile. "Ah, apologies, Farvulia. It's my foolish son's first time outside our city. Please understand. I will ensure it does not happen again."

"You see to that," Rudega huffed then turned to look at Grovitch. As expected, the orc had just released the grip on his ax. Rudega had no doubt of Ungund's outcome if he completed that sentence. He had just saved the dwarf's life, but he doubted Ungund would ever realize how closely he just danced with death. Just as Rudega feared, hatred and disgust momentarily flashed past Ungund's eyes, but with a nudge from his father, he lowered his head. Rudega was oblivious to Ungund's rage. He looked at Grovitch and said, "Please lead the way."

Grovitch snorted. "Follow me," he said and led them through the city streets.

"Sweet Mera," Rudega sighed beneath his breath as he took in the burned, and crumbled buildings. This was worse than he had ever imagined. Assuming at least one non-combatant orc lived in these homes at the time of the massacre... How many thousands of innocents were slaughtered here!?

A large lump was stuck in Rudega's throat by the time they reached the city center. To the dwarf's surprise, a single tent was set up on a field of white. The dwarf stared at the white earth in shock. How extravagant. He did not think the orcs were the type for such opulence, let alone a small orc village like this. However, this was not the most important thing at the current time.

Rudega turned to Grovitch, bowed and humbly implored, "Before we begin discussions, could you please point me to the graves. I wish to pay my respects."

Grovitch's expression hardened as a dark cloud descended over his eyes. He pointed at the ground and said, "You're standing on it."

Rudega's eyes widened, feeling like lightning struck his soul. His eyes shook as he once again examined the white ground. "This...This is ash!? 'Soul Clings to the Earth!?'"

'Soul Clings to the Earth' was an extremely rare occurrence. It was a phenomenon created when innocent souls perished with extremely powerful resentment. Their resentment created bindings that locked the souls to the earth and prevented them from joining The Circle. This phenomenon manifested in the world in different ways. One of the rarest versions was the binding of the deceased's ashes to the ground of the crime. The only methods to release the souls were to either slay the responsible person and drip their blood over the area, or through the help of a powerful priest with strong holy energy (or necromancers who seized the wandering souls for their own use).

Grovitch snorted. "My people are unresigned. They will cling to this plane until their death is avenged. For your sake, I hope you have a convincing case." The orc's eyes burned. "If not, at least you'll help pacify some souls."

Rudega felt the collective glares of all the orcs. Their pain and hatred created a heavy pressure that pushed down on his shoulders. Rudega, however, did not let the pressure get to him. With a resolute expression, he got down on his knees and kowtowed three times. Each time, he smashed his head against the Earth with enough force to shake it. After the last bow, he sat on his knees and loudly swore, "I, Rudega Farvulia, hereby swear on the name of the Farvulia Household that I will do everything in my power to bring about the release you seek."

Rudega rose to his feet and dabbed at the blood dripping down his forehead with a handkerchief. He looked at Grovitch, gestured towards the tent and said, "If you would please..."

A hint of respect momentarily passed through Grovitch's eyes. If nothing else, this Rudega man had proven so far to be a man of respect and honor. He could not bring himself to completely hate the dwarf. However, his family still clung to the earth. Until they were released, he would not believe a single word that came from the dwarf's mouth. For all he knew, this could be an elaborate act to let down his guard.

The light in Grovitch's eyes died down as quickly as it came. He threw a cold shoulder Rudega's way and led him to the tent.

The tent's interior was as simple as you'd expect from a temporary meeting spot. A single furniture, a large bone chair sat at the end of the tent directly opposite the entrance. Durst sat in the chair with his ax on his lap, cold eyes measuring the dwarfs that entered the tent. Renark Ragelock and Guvern Dreamstone flanked the orc on his left and right side respectively.

The trio discussed earlier and agreed Durst should lead the negotiations. It was no secret among the orcs that Durst was one of the most intelligent orcs among their race. It was just that he had no interest in power, hence why he was content with his small village. Guvern's presence had always been to legitimize the decisions made during the discussion. The arrangement clearly depicted the trust Grimlock had in Durst.

Ragnaf Banbeast stood by the entrance. Together with Grovitch, they guarded the tent's entry point. Unlike all the orcs in the room, Ragnaf's eyes only held curiosity as he looked at Rudega. His instincts told him this dwarf was strong, and if it were not for Durst's presence, he might have already attacked, just to see what a battle against such a small creature would be like.

In the end, however, Ragnaf managed to restrain himself and watched the meeting with a tortured expression.

Oblivious to the young orc's thoughts, Rudega approached the Durst. He stopped a few meters away, clasped his right fist in his left palm and bowed. "Durst Blood-Drinker, your renowned name has graced the lips of thousands of bards in the north. It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance. I only wish it was under better circumstances."

Durst's eyes remained cold, but he rose from his chair and approached the dwarf. "I have heard of you, Rudega Farvulia. They say you are a man of honor. I sincerely hope that to be the case." He looked at the father/son pair and frowned. "Your companions?"

Rudega introduced the dwarfs. "Mokern and Ungund Thorun the lord and heir of the Nuxvar province."

"Hmph!" Renark snorted in disdain. "To think you dwarfs dare to claim lordship. We've truly taken it too easy on you in the past years."

"Not now Renark." Durst looked over his shoulder at Renark and shook his head. Renark snorted but kept his rage in check. Durst turned his attention back to Durst. "Sorry for that. Renark means well. We're just on edge, as you would understand."

'You said 'Not Now' didn't you? Aren't you implying later is fine?' Despite his inner turmoil, Rudega stiffly smiled and replied, "I understand." He cast a gaze at the orc shaman in the corner, but seeing that Durst had no intention of introducing the orc, Rudega gave up and turned his attention back to Durst. "We can begin whenever you're ready."

Durst suddenly sat on the ground. "Come, sit down. We'll speak with my people as witnesses..."

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