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| - The young orcish warrior stood on the hill, the braids of his black hair fluttering in the wind and gazed over the frigid landscape ahead of him. He wore heavy furs to protect him against the cold, with only portions of the brown skin of his face visible. There was only snow and ice as far as he could see, and the occasional white wolf, the frostwolf, after which his clan was named. But was that all? No, there was something else, a figure in the distance, approaching quickly. Now he recognized it: a worgen of the Death Glacier tribe. The homeland of the Death Glacier was far away from Frostwolf lands. What could be so important that they would come here?, the warrior wondered. Suddenly, the creature had gone out of sight. The orc started scratching his head, when the worgen crashed into the snow beside him, a terrible bite wound to his side, and a small piece of worked stone in his right palm. The worgen reached out his hand towards the orc, almost as if he wanted to give him the stone, and then collapsed from loss of blood. The warrior picked up the stone. The escapade had attracted several other Frostwolf members, who started gathering around the scene, including Marneth, a junior shaman with a holier-than-thou attitude towards almost anyone not his superior amongst the Frostwolf shaman, and always dressed in the most ornate robes he was allowed to wear. He immediately went to the dead worgen and the confused warrior standing next to it. "Well well well, what do we have here?", he said in a mocking tone. "Looks like you've killed a worgen, Nitor!" "Of course I didn't!", the warrior said angrily. "Don't you see the bite marks? Do you think I bit him to death or something?" "Well, that wouldn't surprise me, warriors are so brutal. No grace and subtely, like us shaman. I'm sure Cerrdyre would be so proud of you." "Do not blaspheme against the War God, Marneth! I don't blaspheme against Nahdrikon, do I? I only wish you would pay the same respect to the warrior caste as you do to your precious spellcasting brethren!" There was heavy tension in the air between the two orc. Indeed, most people were now looking at the confrontation instead of paying any attention to the deceased worgen. At least until a female orc, with flowing black hair and dressed in simple black robes, and flanked by two sword-wielding orcs in heavy black cloth armor approached the snowy knoll. "Tell me now, what is the meaning of this?", the female inquired. "I... I... I...", Marneth stuttered. "I am sorry, high priestess Ras'dana! It was never my intention to stir up trouble!" "I don't care about your silly grudge with the warriors, Marneth! I want to know why there is a dead worgen at my feet!" "I am not sure," Nitor said to the priestess. "But he had this in his hand," he said, and gave her the stone. Upon seeing the stone, priestess Ras'dana immediately snatched it from the warrior and placed it against her forehead. The stone flashed green with arcane power, and it seemed to transfer the power into her. After a few seconds, she took the stone from her forehead and gave it to one of her aides. "Summon the council!", she exclaimed in a loud voice. "Immediately! This is a matter of the gravest importance!" --- Not much later, the orcs of the Frostwolves were all gathered together in the huge tent that made up the town hall of the Frostwolf home. On the round wooden stage in the center stood the three most important characters amoung the Frostwolves: Ras'dana Amolit, high priestess of Ihna Gerymos, the Hex Goddess; Anogath Ishdulam, a tough-looking male orc in red, spiked armor, high warlord of Cerrdyre, the War God; and Celdoriuth Magath, a thin male orc in green-dyed leather armor, high shaman of Nahdrikon, the Nature God. There was much noise in the tent, but with one smash of his huge morningstar against the floor, Warlord Anogath silenced all voices at once. "HEAR ME, FROSTWOLVES!", the warlord bellowed. "WE HAVE RECENTLY LEARNED OF A PLAN TO CRUSH OUR PEOPLE!" The audience gasped. Priestess Ras'dana flinched from the shouting, and Shaman Celdoriuth stared down towards the ground for some reason. "IT IS THE VILE WORGEN OF THE ICESPEAR TRIBE, LED BY THEIR LEADER MOKHER AGRUNAVID, WHO THREATEN US ALL! THEY HAVE ALLIED WITH MANY OTHER TRIBES, SUCH AS THE DARKFUR, AND CRUSHED THOSE WHO OPPOSE THEM, SUCH AS THE DEATH GLACIER, AND NOW THEY HAVE TURNED THEIR FOUL SNOUTS TOWARDS US!" Many orcs lifted their weapons up above their heads and roared. "WE MUST STRIKE AT THEM BEOFRE THEY CAN STRIKE AT US!" Now the tent erupted in loud war-cries and the banging of weapons against armor. Even the shaman and sorcerers joined in eventually. There was no doubt about it: the Frostwolves were going to war. --- As he was slipping out of the tent, Nitor was approached by priestess Ras'dana. "H-high priestess!", the orc stuttered. "W-what can I do for you, mistress?" "I will get straight to the point: I know that you are not very fond of the high warlord, Nitor of house Elringavath." "W-what are you speaking about, priestess? M-my d-devotion to w-warlord A-anogath is a-absolute!" "Do not attempt to fool me, Nitor. The Goddess has given me enough insight to discern the truth. I know what happened to your family. The tyrant needs to be brought down from his high wolf. I want you to slay him, Nitor, slay him, and make him pay for what he has done. Done to us all." "What do you mean?" "Horrible things. I do not wish to speak of it. All I wish is for you to put him down, once and for all." "I understand, high priestess." "Please call me Ras'dana. I am not your superior. Promise me now that you will kill him!" "I promise, and I would rather defile the Red Colossus than to betray this promise, high pr... Ras'dana."
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