Jonathan
It was midday, the sun above Dasvaz high in the sky and shining down upon the rocky terrain. While it wasn't blistering hot outside, the temperature was noticeable. An agreement had been struck between two notable individuals, one to meet at the grog house in Ezocar. Mursha Skybreaker was one such individual, and as she approached the grog house a small group of her war band were in tow- all orcs. Armed to the teeth and ready for a fight at a moment's notice, Mursha herself was armed with a massive hammer that seemed to glow a faint blood orange. Pulsing every few minutes, the hammer was obviously magical or enchanted in some way, but for now it sat neatly on the red orc's back, her long and ragged dreads hanging over and around it down her back. The closer Mursha and her band grew to the grog house, the more tense they all seemed to become. Not Mursha however. A stone cold and serious expression rest on her face, one filled with determination.

Standing before the entrance to the grog house, Mursha pressed her hand against the door, pushing it open. Walking into the building, the orc took a long look around before settling on the various patrons who she knew in her bones were not a member of the other individual's party. Mursha furrowed her brow, most or all recognizing her immediately. Before any could make a move, Mursha opened her mouth and shouted out to all. "Skybreakers! Clear out the unwanted. Let's not disappoint our Vanathi friends." Without much more encouragement, around a dozen Skybreaker orcs pressed past their leader and began throwing out patrons. Very, very few dared fight back, and those who did left the grog house with more than simple bruises or cuts. Taking a seat at the large round table at the center of the room, without asking grog was placed in Mursha's hands.

_ _
Now, she simply had to wait.

A lot of thoughts were running through the Skybreaker's head; Rathiva was someone she had heard countless stories about, the Vanathi tribe one of legend just as her own. Now, a dragonborn sat upon the Dasvaz throne, and both tribe leaders wished for the same thing; *His head.* Mursha cared not for the desires of Rathiva at the end of the day. Even if they worked together to dethrone and slay Umras Kilfras, the throne would be *Mursha's* And subsequently Bulan's, the blood orc's daughter. The world would be Bulan's if Mursha had her say. *And she would have her say.* Leaning back in her chair, the Skybreaker watched the door with an impatient glare, the rest of her tribe members sitting, standing or drinking nearby. All were ready however. There was always a chance Rathiva planned to attack the Skybreaker tribe. After all, Mursha was the owner of a powerful weapon; Malleus, the hexblade hammer.

This was the special weapon sat upon Mursha's back, glowing a glorious blood orange and begging the orc for a fight. Its all Malleus wanted, day in and day out. Today would hopefully not be a day of bloodshed, as Mursha knew the combined forced of the Skybreaker and Vanathi tribes would be nearly unstoppable.

***After all, what would a bunch of slaves do against the 'Herald of War' and the 'Wrath of Dasvaz'?***
Pablo
A howl rang out, signaling the arrival of the Vanathi representatives. The lone, long note rippled through Ezocar, clearing the pack's path. Village's inhabitants replied with slamming doors as they retreated into their homes. Those that remained, believing themselves to be bold, murmured rumors and judgments. Their words were met with growls but nothing more, Rathiva had ordered peace. The brutish behemoth strode at group's center, unmistakably their leader. Midday sun spilled across her bare, muscled frame. Her chest was bound in cloth, the scant clothing putting her scar marred skin on display. Some believed wound's remnants were shameful, a sign of weakness or poor skill. Rathiva wore them with pride. She fought without hesitance, at the forefront of every battle, and had survived every wound thus far. Each scar proved her tenacity and resilience. 

Rathiva's vibrant gaze observed scurrying figures at street's end, the grog house's patrons fleeing from Mursha no doubt. A smirk of amused approval tugged at the goliath's lips. She felt a faint sense of sisterhood with the war inclined orc, but that would have no affect on today's negotiations. The plans presented by the great Skybreaker leader would have to benefit the Vanathi tribe. Rathiva's respect for her would not be motivation enough to put the pack in harm's way. Her attention shifted briefly to the pixie haired goliath at her side. They shared the same eyes, further observation would provide the clues necessary to piece together their relationship. Rathiva had brought her sister, hoping the young spitfire would learn something. It was a risk, but one she found necessary. If something were to happen to her the young goliath was next in line, and needed to be prepared.
_ _

Rathiva took her final steps to the grog house, pushing through the entrance at the head of her group. This was her first display of trust. The Skybreakers had ample opportunity to prepare an ambush but she sent no scout. Her hulking frame filled the doorway, plainly dressed and *Unarmed*. Her second display of trust, but also a sign that the goliath likely felt she was enough weapon herself. Rathiva closed the distance between herself and Mursha as her followers dispersed, reluctantly making themselves comfortable amongst the orcs. The goliath dipped her head in greeting, releasing a clasp at her waist. The pelt that hugged her hips fell away. She grasped it with a clawed hand, draping it over the nearest chair before settling opposite the red orc. The seemingly simple item was as prized by Rathiva and her tribe as the great hammer was by the Skybreakers. The goliath resisted the urge to examine the faintly glowing weapon, instead meeting Mursha's gaze.

"Greetings, Herald of War." A fitting title for the woman before her. Her eyes roved over the orc, fully taking her in as grog was offered. Rathiva set the battered mug atop the table's worn surface, speaking further, "I'm not one for pleasantries. Let's get to the point, if you have no objections?" The establishment had been cleared and it was assumed each leader trusted their present tribe members, meaning they should be able to speak freely. Rathiva's sister flanked her, arms folded over her chest and a stern expression on her face. She refused grog with a grunt, gaze fixed on Mursha.
_ _

"My sister," The Vanathi leader spared few words on her sibling's introduction, "She's here to observe." Rathiva guessed the orc mother understood such an endeavor, her daughter would likely train to be the next Skybreaker leader, if not more. It was her assumption that the young orc was the primary reason for their meeting. Rathiva would stop at nothing to see her sister happy and successful, Mursha likely wanted the same for her daughter. There was no better way to accomplish this than to take the throne of Dasvaz, to shape all their futures.
Jonathan
As the doors to the grog house swung open once more, the orcs within it fell silent and shot their glances at who entered. There were no hateful glares or obvious signs of disdain on any one orc's face, but there was no expression of respect or awe either. They simply watched as quietly as they could, for they knew interrupting Mursha could cost them greatly. This matter was of great importance to her cause, that much they were all well aware of. Mursha kept her red eyes glued to Rathiva the entire time the goliath stepped into and walked across the grog house. The orc did take note of the lack of weapons, but chose not to dwell on it too long. For all the goliath knew, this could be a trap for the pair of them. Umras likely had spies of some sort within his ranks. Slaves always managed to get information from one end of Dasvaz to the other, this much was simply fact. Leaning back in her chair, Mursha slung an arm over the back of it, her hand dangling idly over the front as she furrowed her brows.

Nodding back toward Rathiva, her words practically pulled straight from Mursha's mouth. A faint smirk soon emerged onto the orc's face as Rathiva spoke her title, respect slowly filling the look in her eyes. "Greetings, White Wolf." Mursha would have called her 'wrath', but it would likely sound as though she were giving the goliath a nickname of her actual name, and she'd rather not offend anyone by seeming so informal. "I agree, let us get on with it." Mursha's voice was heavy and deep, nearly sounding like a man's. Eyeing the younger goliath beside Rathiva, Mursha offered nothing more than a simple nod her way. It was true, the Herald understood better than likely anyone present how important it was to train the next generation. The sibling's strong gaze was one Mursha returned, but it quickly slid back to Rathiva with a sigh.

_ _
"I'm sure you've heard of this *'speech'* The Slave Chief gave yesterday morning. Just this morning the damned scale-heads in my camp attempted to escape. It cost most their lives." Mursha shook her head with a glare in her eyes, one that was obviously meant for Umras Kilfras. After a long pause, the orc woman took a long drink from the tankard in her hand, that look of pure hatred for Umras lingering in her eyes. "I can't stand the lizard bastards that plague Dasvaz. They make for shit slaves and even worse leaders. I want them *Gone.*" Mursha growled, the grip around her tankard tightening. Taking a short second to collect herself, Mursha's eyes fell into Rathiva's, her own filled with a look of determination. "I suggest a meeting." Once more, the Herald leaned back in her chair, scratching her chin idly as she thought of the words that would soon pour from her mouth.

"A meeting between myself, you and Umras. Only the three of us, however. At Rommolsgrul." That name carried enough weight to make any and every man or woman in the room widen their eyes. The place Mursha spoke of was sacred to all in Dasvaz. It was a place where the greatest chieftains, war mongers and fighters were buried alongside most other warriors of Dasvaz; orc, goliath, dragonborn and kobold alike. No man or woman dared set foot in Rommolsgrul and shed blood, for it would result in being killed by your own tribe. This was known by all, so Mursha was certain the meeting would be peaceful. With a deep inhale, Mursha looked around the room with only her eyes before settling back in on Rath. Her next words would cause a shockwave to ripple through the room, as what she was about to say had never happened in the history of Dasvaz. "I will strike a deal at this meeting with Umras-"

**"-we let he and his lizard-kin flee from Dasvaz, and take the chieftain throne without a single drop of blood."**