Vaalkar Tol-Lithrum
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The Song of Diplomacy
The horde of Orcs was closing in on Alliria.
The scurry of loud thuds clouded the atmosphere, cementing hooves in the thick mud that plagued the Allir Strait. They’ve been making their trail from Bhathairk for four days now through tremendous downpours, bandits, and other inconveniences that threatened their way. There were dozens of them– Orc’s shaped like statues created by the times of old, most adorning their signet bright blue markings signifying their allegiance to the Kulvaar Clan. Though, today was the day they’d arrive upon the concrete jungle that settled itself between Empressa and Liadian, an entirely foreign beast to them, and perhaps the most intimidating one of them all. It was decided some time ago that when the previous lord was succeeded by his son that tradition would break, and if the Orcs demanded to have a place in Arethil it would have to be within the convulsive hegemony that devised most species, politics.
Suddenly, the thudding of hoove against ground seized as the party cleared the thick woodlands of the Strait, the troupe parted down the middle routinely as their Warlord, Vaalkar, made his way down the aisle they made from him. It was the first sight of Alliria with its manmade structures that promoted architectural prowess within its craftsmanship. The walls stood far into the sky, making many of the party question their understanding of scale. Guttural talk spurred internally as Vaalkar got a closer look with an extended spyglass.
Speaking out to his men in Orcish tongue, Vaalkar said:
“We near the famed city that divides Empressa and Liadian, finally. I’ve made arrangements to host the people of this city, and we will.”
He let out, peering back to his men who all slowed in their own conversations as Vaalkar spoke out, and with that, they set off.
Once they arrived, it took only three days for them to arrange the feast they intended. Outside of the wall those of high-standing were alerted to the festivities that were to take place. Fliers aired around the city, obviously paid for and written in the common tongue by some third-party scribe. This was the melting pot of cultures, and it was surprisingly easy for the Kulvaar clan to make their intentions clear, that they meant no harm.
As people sifted in, there would be many tables with food from a variety of cultures littered around in an organized manner, evenly on each table. The smell of meat shrouded the event, causing many stragglers to go searching for it. In the back of the event, there was the largest table seating the Kulvaar clan, in the middle in a heightened chair sat Valkaar. Awaiting any and every conversation.