He had spent a restless night among the farspeakers. He had hoped that the brave barbarians of the Farthess Reach would be more willing to send an envoy into the Outlands. As dawn broke the horizon, Ulresh Blackfist strapped the last of his supplies into one of his saddle bags, checking the bedroll tied behind his saddle. He could already see the farspeaker who had volunteered, her barefooted form flanked by the pair of strangers. They wore strange clothing, carried strange weapons, and talked with a drawl that he had never heard before. Curious that these two strangers were braver than many of the fabled farspeakers, not that he could blame anyone for not wanting to enter the Outlands. The place was cursed for more reasons than one.

Drassen and Lautil fell in behind him as he moved away from their campsite. Drassen looked tired, but she always did when surrounded by people. There was a reason she was a scout. Ulresh could hear her shifting uncomfortably in the saddle as he rode over to meet the farspeaker and her strange retinue.

The two strangers, both wearing wide brimmed hats, tipped them respectfully as Ulresh rode up, “Commander.” They both said, almost at the same time.

“Greetings,” Ulresh responded with a slight bow of his head. “As you know, I am High Commander Blackfist, this is Tamesh Lautil and Vail Drassen. You have volunteered to accompany us?”

Amien’s eyes narrowed, her body somewhat tense. “Amien.” She pointed at herself. “Howard, Clark. We say we go Outlands. Not city.” She corrected the High Commander without a trace of deference for his rank.

Ulresh’s brow furrowed. “You would not like to recruit more members for the expedition? Gather supplies?”

“What supplies need? Have bow, have food, have spear. What more?”

Tamesh’s tusked mouth fell open. “What about potions? Healers? Antitoxin?”

“Orckin softer than thought.” Amien said, almost as an aside as she turned toward Howard. “You need things?”

“Reckon havin’ the things would make the trek easier.” Clark drawled.

“Yep.” Howard answered, his brown eyes searching Amien’s. “There’s a difference ‘tween cautious n’ cowardly.”

She seemed to consider his words for a long moment before she shrugged, steeling herself against the coming trek, “To city then.” She sounded as though she had just volunteered to have a limb amputated.

As she stepped forward, the brothers flanked her moving in beside Ulresh as the six of them made their way toward the capitol city of Ograkill.

The scout quickly left the group behind, ranging far ahead and off to either side, seeking any sort of danger. The soldier, on the other hand, replaced Clark next to Amien and tried to pick up a conversation. Amien’s answers were terse and almost as predictable as Howard’s. Though he kept his eyes roving, seeking any dangers to the small party, Ulresh was pleased to have the opportunity to talk to one of the strangers.

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“I have never seen gear like you carry before.” He began the conversation as his horse fell into step with Clark’s.

“Reckon that’s true enough. You were there, weren’t you? When all hell broke loose?”

“When the Rift was torn?” Ulresh clarified and continued when Clark nodded. “We were there.”

“Can you explain it to me?” Clark asked.

“Are you from the other side then?”

Clark only breathed for a moment, thinking on his response. This orckin, as Amien had told him, was not an enemy. At least not now. They had fought the farspeakers over land a time or two in recent history, but for the moment, truces held. “I don’ see as there’s reason not to tell ye. My brother Howard and me are from the other side. From Iowa.”

“Iowa?” Ulresh tested the new word, “Can you tell me about the place?”

Clark’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Now, Commander Blackfist, I reckon you’re used to bein’ the one askin’ questions, but ‘spose you answer mine first. What happened?”

Ulresh made a humming noise in the back of his throat, taken a little aback by Clark’s response. “How much do you know? He asked at last.

“Next to nothin’.”

“It may be difficult to explanation then.”

“Reckon we’ve time. It’s at least a week’s travel, right?”

Ulresh let out a sigh. “I suppose you are right. We’ll begin with a bit of a history lesson then. I warn you that I am not a good teacher.”

“Reckon I ain’t the best student neither. We’ll do alright.”

The high commander nodded and carried on, guiding his horse through the tall grasses as he spoke. “Since the Outlands were formed about four hundred years ago, the Eastlands have been cut off from the West. There’s no more trade routes or communication. Part of what was destroyed in the coming of the Outlands, was most of an Empire called Azmael. Since then they’ve had smaller holdings in the north western part of the Eastlands. They’ve apparently been consolidating their power. About five years ago, they tried conquering more lands, better lands. They are a ruthless, desperate force and we've been fighting them for a long time. We were able to rout them just outside of the capitol and my forces and I chased them west toward the Wild Weaves. They wove some sort of spell and..” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Here we are.”

Clark blew out a breath and shifted his hat to shield his eyes from the rising sun. “Sounds like its been a long five years of war for you n’ yours.”

“It has.” Ulresh shook his head. “I’ve seen things…” He shook his head again, more sharply. “Besides the point. The point is the Imperial Spellweavers tore a hole in reality and fled Rhiorn.”

“Reckon they’re brining their war to me n’ mine then. How do we stop ‘em?”

For a long moment, Ulresh seemed deep in thought, his frown fierce. “Honestly, I do not know. Perhaps we will find some clue in the ruins of Ydrassa. In Hymaera.” He heaved a sigh. “Our spellweavers are working on it as well, I’m sure. We will do all we can.”

“Well, you can count my brother ‘n I in on whatever needs doing. It’s our world that’s in danger.”

Ulresh smiled, revealing his fangs more clearly. “I’m glad of it, Ser Franklin. We’ll need all the help we can get most likely. The Azmaelan Empire isn’t a foe to be underestimated.”