Flyers begin to appear in Cordor of an Art Show, featuring Cordor Historical art work, Rare and Priceless Dwarven artisan work, Rare Artifacts from a recent archeological dig, and more!

An Auction of a select few of these artworks will be held, by the Auction Manager; owner and founder of "Kestrel Enterprises".

Auction is to be held within this week, and should last for some days.

// Beggining Monday 18:00 GMT, and later in the day sometime.

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Those trees won't burn themselves down. (by Maryn)

*Hunar reads one of the flyers*

"WHAT?! They're selling ancient dwarven artifacts found in some diggings?! Bloody hell! Just as we thought we were safe from some bloody arse spreading all our secrets around!"

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Characters:
Hunar Iroff, The red-bearded, grumpy dwarf with a bastard sword. Chair of Military Issues
Daren Sten, High Inquisitor of the Eternal Order of Kelemvor on Amia

A notice follows:

"Due to threats of violence against our employees and manager, the auction and art show has been cut short.

-Management; Kestrel Enterprises"

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Those trees won't burn themselves down. (by Maryn)

Strange noises, cries of an unknown creature; might be heard in the forest west of Winya. Some travelers have been reported as having gone missing in the coastal forests.

Winya Ravana seems to be on edge, and the guards are especially mistrustful of Humans that appear to be Mages.

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Those trees won't burn themselves down. (by Maryn)

Winya has made preperations for battle, and gathered supplies to hold out on a siege, if need be. Captain Amilith, if asked, informs others that he has recieved word of a "Credible Threat" against the city, though he cannot definently say more.

The number of caravans and carts going missing between Uhm and Winya is alarming.

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Those trees won't burn themselves down. (by Maryn)

The Final Work of Art
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Onboard the Company Sailing Ship; "Kestrel III", Sailing away from Cordor, two cloaked men stood upon the deck, observing the Shoreline of Morribund Isle with a lens.

A small fire had broken out on the Graveyard Island, and there were still some sounds of clashing and battlecrys on the wind. The two men held far-too casual discorse for the time, as the battle still raged with fury.

"Ivanovich, It seems that the battle is faring poorly. The estimated chance of success of our raid has dwindled to less than fourteen percent with the arrival and coordination of Bremmens forces with the adventurers. I recomend a complete withdrawl of our forces, Sir President."

The second Figure turned away from the lens, and simply laughed.

"Comrade Matthews, you doubt our Mages too much. I am sure that they will succeed with minimal eff--"

Ivan Murdoc's Sentance was cut off, as he paused to observe an Evocation of a Swarm of Meteors pummel the isle, with some expression of dread. Illych Matthews simply frowned, and folded his arms.

"They have already begun casting their spells of desperation and last resort. It now is statistically impossible for them to succeed without further reinforcement. I recomend we steer the ship to within range of our onboard spellcasters to provide support and launch another ship of our onboard compliment of soldiers, Mister Murdoc."

Ivanovich began to glare at the Isle, and shook his head.

"Executive Officer Emrys has not allocated us with his resources so that we may spend them on frivolous pursuits such as this mission. We are abandoning the men we have already sent, and cutting our losses now. Set course for the Gulf of Lumorir, we will have ample opportunity to crush opposition once we deploy our "Secret Weapon" in anger. Cut anchor! We are leaving now."

"But Comrade Murdoc, If they are caught and the defenders reveal our opperation, it will be seen as an act of War... we can predict that there is less than optimal percent chances of being able to continue our opperations within the city, and if they do wage war against us..."

"Indeed, Mister Matthews. But little do they know that we were already at war with them, and by now, they are losing without even knowink it..."

The Kestrel III began to sail off northward, along the coast, abandoning the three landing boats it had sent out and their marine-landing force. The bodies of their armed soldiers washed up with the tide, among the central piers of Cordor.

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Those trees won't burn themselves down. (by Maryn)