Stephanie
*When the letters of the day were written, the fire burned low, and the eyes of King Astalios were heavy enough for sleep, there remained only one task before the beginning of the next day - an incident report that seemed connected to an encounter he'd had in the Greenheart. One orc was a coincidence - given that the orc was from Dazvaz, and not a citizen of Alynthi.

Two was concerning.

Though he'd been dispatched, there was a small investigation he needed to conduct - leaving no stone unturned was the best way to proceed, though it undoubtedly took the most effort. One man's attention could only split so many ways. Delsandra and her antics in Thyseer, the eye turned towards the border in Dazvaz, Alyus and his ilk in Gantrick, Matron Dhakashira in Lazaroth and her knowledge of his secrets, this Catalyst and Devourer... 

Anthron.

Rest was a commodity for a man that had little time in the day - and Astalios had quickly become such a man in the time since his ascension. How his father had dealt with the workload, he had never known - but he supposed he was to find out through experience. Perhaps it was because his father spared only an hour for physical practice a day. 

Regardless, as he sat exhausted at his desk, he pulled himself upright to await the next entrant, making sure that he was presentable. His armor shivered for a moment to shake off any dust or impurity, polishing itself to ensure a fresh shine. His crown re-seated itself on his head, the antlered circlet raising and lowering to reset its position.

The next guest he could see with his mind's eye almost from half the castle away - the animated armor that had once been an honored knight. Though he had lost his voice, he had been in service for a few centuries. The encounter with an orc that had attacked him on sight was sure to yield a few details, and he needed to review his conduct regardless.*

_ _
*As the suit of armor approached the door, the iron lock unlatched, and it swung open of its own accord. The king's voice met the knight in a deep baritone that masked his exhaustion with strength, and piercing mud-brown eyes surveyed the guest as he entered the study.*

"Enter, sir."
Terrie
*The day was nearly over, most would be completely shattered and craving for rest. But not Dragoon he can't get tired, anything a human feels. Dragoon does not. A blessing and a curse as it makes him a formidable opponent in battle but he is practically just a shell with no real feeling towards anything. He stood there eerily silent outside the entrance to his king's office/study, he was an opposing figure. 9 '0 feet tall, hundreds of pounds and completely blacked out with no ability to talk.*

*It was true that he had been in Alynthi's service for near three centuries, 50+ years alive as a Dragonborn knight and well the 200+ centuries as an Animated Armor that's soul purpose is to protect the royal family and kingdom of Alynthi, So he isn't going anywhere any time soon. He is not exactly sure on why his king has called him here as well, he's not exactly the easiest to talk to and he surely has better things to do than talk to this old soul. But it was nice whenever he talked to his king as he served his father in life and death and watched Astalios grow up and take his fathers throne and become an independent and great man. Sometimes he wishes he had that life, but no his calling is service not leadership.*

*As he heard 'Enter Sir' he hastily made his way in, ducking through the door and standing infront of his liege. He was quite ominous as he stood there silently with no recogniseable living features like eyes or even a mouth. His gray cape that hung off his shoulders drooping all the way to the floor with arrow holes, burn marks, rips and tears that littered it. Even more so his armor looked battered with scratches, dents and scrapes that were scattered across this ancient armor. Sometimes his new body gets the best of him as he just stands there waiting for his King to ask him a question or something.*
Stephanie
*The knight was old, of course - not as old as some in the service of Alynthi, but still venerable. Elves lived for four centuries or more, but it was not often that a man who was intended to live for perhaps one had his life extended. Once, the armor had been a dragonborn, but there were few records of that time now compared to the length of time he'd spent as a sentient suit of metal. A mental note was made to ask him later if he wished for a repair. It would be as simple as the wave of a hand for the scratches and dents to be straightened out - scratches and pitting led to rusting, one of the few ways his body could evendually be completely destroyed.*

"I apologize, sir, for the lack of appropriately sized seating, so I must ask you to stand." *He nodded his head in recognition, pulling a sheet of parchment from a drawer in his writing desk. The last sheet of parchment for the day, but he could have others brought in. A quill, too, he placed on the desk nearest the suit of animated armor - they needed to be able to communicate properly for the report to be made.*

"I asked you here in order to discuss your encounter with the orc in the Greenheart forest." *He laced his fingers together, sitting back in his chair.* "I myself had a similar encounter some months ago - a lone orc, far from Dazvaz, and neither was he a citizen of Alynthi. Perhaps it was also in the same region of the Greenheart, where the House of Elk reign."

"Please start by giving me a physical description of the orc that attacked you. Any distinguishing marks - tribal heraldry, skin tone, a particular way of braiding the hair or style of weaponry..." *He gestured to the quill.* "As thoroughly as possible, sir."
Terrie
*Dragoon looked down at his leige with, well... A blank expression. The dark abyss that seemed to swallow the light when it tried to cut through the slits in the helmet was the closest thing he had to a face, it made stuff pretty awkward and in some cases made some people look crazy talking to a perfectly still suit of armor. It was true before this life he was a Royal Knight of Alynthi serving them strongly and made a good name before himself before he fell in battle ending that era of his life, now he serves as an Animated Armour. He did try and find his old records of his life but those records have been outweighed by his many years as an Animated Armour, if he was honest he himself could hardly remember what he was like back then, or even what he looked like. It was so many years ago, his memory is slowly starting to fade. Quite sad really.*

*Ah yes the orc, a very gruesome encounter for him. It was unfortunate on the way that had to be dealt with but otherwise he posed a risk to Alynthi's lands, though it was not the worst experience Dragoon has had with those barbarians. Anyways, time to get this meeting done so he can go back to his duties. He pulled out a few pieces of well kept paper from a pouch on his belt and laid it out neatly on the table, the AA then grabbed the quill very softly so as to not break it and then began to slowly write everything he was asked.*

*A few seconds go by and Dragoon puts the quill back and pushes the paper towards the king. This list goes as follows:*

*'Orc features: 

Well built but smaller than most orcs seemed to be more agile and speed focused

Olive Green Skin with brown eyes. Long plaited hair that reached his hips. Wore a lot of garments and tribal jewelry.

His weapons were more Hunter like than a soldier. He wielded two bows, with many arrows, some daggers and a short sword. And his tactics were not ones I've seen in conventional warfare, they were more guerrilla like using trees and nature to do his dirty work.'*

*At the bottom of the page he did write this as well. 'He did put up an okay fight though when I did engage in swordplay with him. But ultimately he is no longer, I apologize for my brashness though. Maybe I should've taken him in for your interrogation and probably would have learnt more.*
Stephanie
*He waited patiently as the armor took the paper and quill, reading the letters as they were written on the page through the second sight afforded by his magic - thankfully, iron gall ink was all that Astalios stocked in his study. It made reading and writing easier to complete quickly. Before the page was pushed back to him, he mulled over the description. It didn't fit with any specific orcish tribe he knew of, though there was little doubt with the tribal jewelry and plaited hair that he was from Dazvaz. 

Few in the other kingdoms were inclined towards such primitive adornments - even in Gantrick, the next most aesthetically similar due to the abundance of furs, the style was long cloaks and the aforementioned animal furs as trim or liner to keep warm. He supposed it might have been different in the warmer Alynthi climate - there was little need for such liners. It was probably necessary to glean a bit more information from him about exactly what **Kind** Of garments he meant.*

"An orc that fought like a ranger might, or else someone used to combat in woods." *He mused, rubbing a gauntlet across his chin as he contemplated the consequences of the encounter. His own sighting of an orc in the Greenheart had come months before, within the scope of his encounters with the House of Elk and Roesia.* "One would have been an oddity. Two is less of a coincidence."

"It would have been best to capture him, sir. Information is the best weapon in any arsenal." *He agreed, letting out a sigh of disappointment. His eyes found the dark slits of the helmet, then, and with an examining glance they narrowed.* "Still, as long as I have your word that you were attacked without provocation, it was your right to defend yourself."

"If you would jog your memory for a moment, sir, you mentioned that he was covered in tribal garments. Do you have any of the symbols he carried? Do you remember what exactly his garments looked like? Can you describe them, or has it been too long?
Terrie
*As he listened to his King with open 'ears' he was hanging onto every word almost as if he was listening to a story it seemed to bring back memories for Dragoon, odd. Very odd. Though as he stands there he got some slight flashbacks and snippets of his path when he mentioned rangers and attacked. All giving him some short clip of his life when he was organic shall we say. It's been so long he can't even remember his parents names nor if he had a wife or kids, though his body is not prone to injury and such. His soul very much is susceptible to old age giving him a hard time with his memory.*

*The 260 year old then began to write again and seemed to have a lot of concentration in his movements like it wasn't second nature, almost as if he was reteaching himself as he did it. 'I apologize your majesty but all these ways of fighting I forget about them sometimes. Though In my experience these seem like a test of your forces, seeing how we deal with these unorthodox ways of fighting. When I lead men many moons ago we would be hit by archers but only a couple to see how we deal with a force smaller than our own. It looks as if they might be trying to learn our moves and tactics for when a bigger force arrives. But I may just be speculating and it could just be a coincidence.' He finished that page and immediately began writing the next one and picked up the pace with this one almost like he didn't wanna keep Astalios waiting.*

*After a few moments the second page was written as follows. 'I will try and arrest them first next time, a learning note. That reminds me when I was serving your father he said the same thing and he utilized scouts and spies as his strongest weapons, then that let me and my men bring glory to the right places.'*

**If it wasn't clear already Dragoon is quite the talkative type.**

*'I do apologize your Grace but my memory is not as sharp as it once was as I am no longer a spring chicken. Though my body does not age my mind or whatever I have now seems to still possess that living weakness. If I do remember though I will let you know straight away. Do you have a next plan of attack? Any way I can be useful?'*
Stephanie
*It was possible, he thought to himself, but there was very little to suggest a spy or scout would prefer attacking a knight over anything else. Information only ever made it back to Dazvaz - if this was indeed a scouting mission - when the scout returned. That was the priority of such reconnaisance forces - to deliver their reconnaisance. In any case, if they were gone, the possibility that they were catchable now was small. The garrisons in the west knew their posts well, but they could not cover every inch of ground. Beyond notifying them, there was little they could do.*

"I do not believe so, sir." *He disagreed.* "With respect to your experience and history, the process of testing forces only succeeds if one is able to escape and link up with the main body, therefore informing them of the situation. A scout's priority is survival first and information gathering second. Assets do no good if they are lost or detected - which leads me to believe that the attack must either have been out of desperation or this orc was not a scout at all. Perhaps simply foolish."

*He drummed his fingers upon the table for a moment, wondering... Well, perhaps pondering was a better word - pondering why the armor was approaching it immediately from the most aggressive angle. Plan of attack, he said - and 'them' when there was no group yet identified. Like his father had said, scouts and spies were instrumental for the information they could provide - and they were sorely lacking in it now.*

"We are not attacking, sir. We are going to investigate." *He cautioned the knight, pulling a sheaf of parchment from his desk to begin writing out orders. With the wave of a hand, the ink flowed into the air and formed a thin black spike, which began writing upon the parchment as if it were a pen as Astalios sat back in his chair, letting the magic move the dye.*

_ _
"You will take four men, two rangers, and an investigator from town - a detective or spy, whichever your preference - and return to the scene where this occurred. My thought is that if this orc was *Forced* To attack you, it may have been to protect some object of importance. If nothing is found, we shall file the details and keep them for reference, but I wish to leave no stone unturned here. Ensure that the investigator is proficient in detection spells. I expect a report on my desk within a week, detailing your findings." *Astalios rattled off orders as he had during the Dazvaz campaign, back straight and gaze steady. The tone was comfortable to him, almost as if he were settling back into a soft armchair, though it was a hard voice he used. The ink rapidly unfurled itself into a set of orders, and his signature appeared on the parchment.

Carefully, he rolled it into a scroll, then reached for the golden wax he had been warming. One drop, two drops, three - and into the pool that formed upon the seam of the scroll he pressed his signet ring, leaving behind the seal of the King of Alynthi himself.*

"Dismissed." *He held out the finished scroll to Dragoon. Every day a new challenge, he thought to himself - but none could be overlooked.*