((OOC - Thanks everyone. I had issues posting this morning))
Urog heard the reports as they rushed in. The rumors were given in half-sentences. Messengers came flying at him as they each reported different things. He became really alarmed when he heard that the Herald of Wintermute pulled a dozen skeletons from a shadow cocoon. He made his way, with haste. He took his Sylvan comm crystal, deciding it was time to check-in with Shirley. When tried to communicate with her, the only thing he heard were screams of pain mixed with screams of agony. He knew what that meant… this Herald had pissed her off and she was taking it out on someone. Either he was one lucky gog… or not. He smirked in spite of himself. He summoned a tribal to bring him his Stalker as he gathered his things. His bracer, a gift from Protodoxa, was on. The gift from Nngao, an axe, hung from his side. He also bore a few useful artifacts, also gifts of sorts, and his armor, hard won from battle, completed his outfit. He called over to Vektor and told him to leave Nngao’s gift and instead bring the Warwalker Axe and buckler. Vektor brought with him the Op-U-Lints, Urog called over Jhoni, a few tribals, and few Ur Rhug. He called over to Monkeywrench, and told them to have Urog’s Raiders ready to deploy… just in case.
Jeb, on the other hand, was panicked. He knew he was mired in a pile of Malie dung piled higher than himself. In the amount of time it took to get some fruit, Shirley had created an foreign incident. And then he couldn’t find her. He had made it to the crowd when Auf Lalder appeared and tried to take over. He was in the kolgul pit now, he thought to himself. The Ur Rhug knew the only thing left was to talk into his comm crystal and relay the messages accordingly. He was most amused with Derlur’s antics, but the crazy olgog could barely be understood, which was saying something coming from a Brezan. Jeb waited for Urog’s instructions. He was the first to know that Urog was coming. His heart quickened, as his fears of death overtook him.
Urog, Vektor, Jhonhi, Teco, and Ya’na made their way on Stalkers through the crowd. Jhoni, Teco, and Yana carried Magi Cannons, made from the gifts of the Sylvan. The crowd hushed as the boss made his way to the group gathered in the middle of it. In his Armorfiend chest plate and Cloak of 817 completing his outfit, everything he wore reminded his gangmembers how far he’s come. It was a startling reminder to the Brezans gathered that he was not just a mere scavanger, but deemed worthy of receiving such gifts from outsiders.
Urog looked at Lalder and Olav and gave them a warm smile as he dismounted from the stalker. “Greetings, my brothers Lalder of Tla’loc’al and Olav of Unen. What an occasion!” He greeted each them honor, respect, and warmth. “We Brezans welcome you, for we have fought many battles together against the MagMagGor, Earthers, and all those who opposed us. We have travelled across Ol’der’al, and our bonds are tighter than ever.” He shouted a cheer, and the crowd uproariously cheered. “I am sorry that I was not here to ensure you were greeted properly.”
His warmth disappeared quickly as he looked away from his brethren and to the undead. “In case you were not aware, I am the Goblin King Urog, leader of the Great Northern Army, head of the Gang of the Uf Mag’og, and whose council seat on the United Tribes of Der’al you have come upon.” He glanced over to Lalder. Gone was his prior warmth, replaced with an intensity that warned Lalder of his intentions. He returned his gaze to the undead Herald and continued to speak. “I heard, through messengers and other means, what has been said to now. I am will make certain things perfectly clear Herald of Wintermute. Shirley was right, we are not a nation. Comparing us to how the other races live, gather, and rule is folly and your first mistake. We do not have a single head, and we prefer it that way. Do NOT mistake this lack of a single head as weakness, for our roots have grown very deep and our bonds have been forged in battle across Der’al against many foes. We have provided for each other, and we now sit together… we stand together, and we ARE ONE!” The crowd, on cue, cheered raucously. The farms of Brez, whose repute was growing daily, were a gift from the United Tribes, and one that would not be forgotten any time soon by those gathered.
Urog brought his arm up to silence the crowd, “You have come here, looking for the council of the United Tribes of Der’al. It is MY seat, and you were brought to me. My territory, my olgog, my rules.” He emphasized ‘my’ as he spoke. “So when you spoke to my councilgog, you were in turn speaking to me. And when you come to my home, I demand courtesy, respect, humility, and compassion. And as you made your entire way from the Northern Kingdoms, across the Earther colonies, on a train filled with Brezans, Earthers, and the other speaking races… to our train station here, it was unfortunate you did not take the time to learn more of Brezan custom. You managed to learn that we declared ourselves across Der’al, but did not bother to take in any information of Brez, whose way of life has remained unchanged in 2,000 years and whose reputation reaches farther than that of our council. To bring you up to date and clear any ignorance, you stand in the city built by the Earthers to destroy our people. It was destroyed by Der’na and since lived in by olgog. We were a lawless city, fighting for scraps, and ignored by the rest of Der’al for being uncouth,” he paused so the crowd could cheer, “mean,” cheer, “survivors,” cheer, “resourceful,” cheer, “and most importantly, filled with GREAT GREAT OG.” The crowd was whipped into a cheering frenzy. His tribals began to hum and stomp in agreement, focusing Troubadour Leyas on Urog, their leader who had taken them from scant, day to day existence, to the daily comforts of food, water, shelter, and protection.
“You say we treated you unkindly, and were rude. I will not refute you. We are an unkind sort of 'ol. But you came to us… to Brez, so do not bemoan the reception you got when it didn’t turn out like you wanted. We expected courtesy and respect.” He looked over to Gooberz, who had been there from the beginning. “Gooberz, repeat how we were greeted.”
Gooberz cleared his throat, doing a terrible impersonation of the Herald that was unintentionally funny. “The United Tribes of Refuge shall heed the words of the Herald of Wintermute! You declare yourselves to be a nation, we wish to see your nation with our own eyes and see your quality! Is there anyone to speak on your behalf and show the Herald that you are an a nation worthy of respect?” The crowd, in their frenzy, booed.
Urog resisted the urge to smirk. He had not known how this whole mess had begun. He still could not find Jeb, who was assigned to Shirley today to act as a ‘translator’. At least Gooberz kept his post, though Urog wondered if Gooberz considered it a job like the rest of the gang. He also wasn’t there to translate. Urog looked over to the Herald, “Let us confirm your impressions of us Brezans, we are not worthy of your respect. The Great Northern Army does not request your respect, does not want your respect, and does not need your respect. We have our olgog brothers, and that is enough for us.” A cheer goes up, though short. “And I do not believe that you wished to come in friendship. If you had, then you would have started by stating it. If you wanted to stand with us due to the injustices we have endured, then you should have said so at the get go.” Murmurs rumbled through the crowd, agreeing with Urog. “But you didn’t. So, I stand by Shirley’s decisions and her actions. Having failed to meet her expectations means you have failed to meet mine, ignorant as we may be! And when she asked you to leave, and set forth my gang members to escort you out, I do not care if you felt threatened. By my law you were trespassing, but unlike in other parts of Brez, we do not kill all those who displease us. We escort you out… for our protection, your protection, and to make sure you don’t stay.”
He looked over at Skoolz, and nodded, as if to say that he knew Skoolz had done his job. Skoolz felt uneasy. It was weird that Urog knew what was going on even when he wasn’t there. “It remains my decree, Herald of Wintermute, your overtures are rejected until such a time when you approach us with humility, respect, and compassion. You will hereby be escorted out of my lands. If you wish to speak with other councilgog, it will not be on my territory. This little conversation is over. You can take a train to Tla’loc’al, and talk to those gathered here over there, who will do so against my will but I will not interfere in, or we can walk you to the edge of the city where you can get on Olav’s ship and he can take you wherever he pleases. Until you come at us with the respect, humility, and compassion we demand, your presence in Brez will be punishable by your destruction. You will now be escorted out of my land… unless, of course, you want to learn how we earn respect in Brez.” Unlike Shirley, who said her comments dismissively, there was no doubt as to the tone of Urog’s voice. The crowd let Urog’s words linger, resisting the urge to shout in agreement, knowing the climax of Urog’s speech had been reached, and let the tension remain in the air. The sounds of a handful of tribals humming and stomping were the only sounds made by the Brezan locals, as they waited for the Herald’s response.