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-----As Sol steps into the large tent, his sense of smell is befouled by the stink of humanoid sweat and foul breath. In front of him, he sees a long table lit by small braziers at each end. Two large hobgoblin soldiers wearing metal armor finish gathering up what looks like maps as Sol approaches the table. On the opposite side of the table, Sol can tell someone sits back from it in the shadows. Flames glitter off darkened, but finely made armor and also shine menacingly from reddish eyes.
-----Something almost awakens in Sol and his temper threatens to rise. Even before the foul goblinoid speaks, Sol would love nothing more than to attack it.
-----“Human,” the shadowed thing that must be the chief, Morosh, growls cruelly, “you have orders for Morosh? Speak!”
-----Sol's jaw clenches so tightly, that in an abstract thought he briefly worries that his teeth will shatter. For once he was glad that the obvious object of his disgust was unlikely to even care that Sol could not conceal his disposition towards Morosh. Nonetheless, the entire point was to keep up this illusion, so silently the warrior strode at a controlled pace alongside the large table, coming to a stop some ten feet from the hobgoblin's imposing leader. Personally, Sol found the situation he was in somewhat eerie. Lying brought a foul taste to his mouth at the best of times, and here he was - play acting with virtually nothing but lies and disguised truths as his latest weapons of choice. That foul taste still lingered, but necessity forced his hand. It also took more than enough concentration to hold back his own speech patterns, as he also quickly strained his mind for words he was not comfortable using.
-----A brief snort of distaste followed before the plated figure spoke in harsh, uncaring tones, "Chieftain, I am Commander Ulthang. Still, we are not in Ravenhold... I do not care for the niceties of my lord's court, so I'll make this quick. This being your tent, I'll assume it is secure from... unwelcome ears."
-----The Gorian pauses as his eyes wander sharply over the four corners of the tent, seemingly ever suspicious of outside interference. Grudgingly, Ulthang continues to speak, "Blood will be spilt this night. By decree of Lord Dartanian Sintor, command of Kulendra and its operations are to be turned over to Chieftain Morosh's sole dominance."
-----Ulthang turns his head to the side and spits at the ground in disgust as he explains, "He was advised against relying on orcish scum and my lord now has received word to actively not to. The dogs at the river mine have been cutting a share of their own profit of the gold, and Lord Sintor wants it stopped now."
-----A plated fist claps into his other palm as the imposing warrior drives home another point, "Proof of the Priest of Hate's involvement has not yet being found, but the orcs aren't smart enough to try this on their own. Which is why I am here now. To make sure Kulendra becomes completely secure under your forces, and to ensure a smooth operation, it needs to happen tonight, so assemble your troops."
-----Ulthang's eyes lock with Morosh's and for a brief moment, the fury in the commander's eyes light in glee at the prospect of blood yet to be shed.
-----"By Lord Sintor's orders, my blade is yours till Kulendra is properly subdued from interfering influences."
-----For long moments, the hobgoblin chief stares at Ulthang, the lower jaw of the humanoid slightly agape. Still his expression is unreadable until he speaks. “WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?” Morosh roars as he lifts himself from his seat and stands to face the disguised Gorian. A furious glow darkens his eyes as he clenches his large clawed hands.
-----Jyan tenses as he watches the hobgoblin chief pull closer toward Sol. “Chieftain Morosh,” the mage quickly speaks up, “I am Jyan, War Mage of the Black Bog. Have you not noticed any suspicious actions of the Priests of Helator? In other troops, it has been discovered that the hobgoblins have been treated little more than . . . slave fodder.”
-----The chief stands rooted; his large face just inches from Sol’s as his breath snorts heavily from his mouth and nostrils. He continues to meet the Gorian’s glare, which does not retreat in the slightest. The two guards suddenly have their weapons pointed at Jyan and Sol.
-----After a few more long tension filled seconds, Morosh opens his hands and motions to the guards. The guards with expressions of caution lower their weapons.
-----Still looking at Ulthang, the hobgoblin chief snarls, “It is what we have been waiting for.” Finally turning from the Gorian, Morosh growls at the guards, “SEND FOR THE CAPTAINS!”
-----Only once the chieftain turned to his guards did Ulthang follow suit, his smile a strange mix of grim satisfaction. His command was sharp and laced with the promise of future violence, "Mage, inform my company to stand down and await further orders, then get back in here."
-----Jyan suppresses a nervous smile and nods, saying, “It shall be done, Commander.” He then turns and exits the tent just behind the two large guards who are already reacting hurriedly to Morosh’s command.
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