EXCERPT - BLOOD ON THE COURT FLOOR
 

“Quiet down! Quiet down!” Trevus—the watch captain of this little Imperial village—shouted over the convergence of noble voices clamoring through the court hall. “If we are ever to sort this bloody Darkun mess out, we have to be able to hear each others’ ideas!” A hush fell after a fashion, and the assembled nobles and merchants still living in Nurt looked up from their meals to the rugged man.
 

Rumors were always stirring that Trevus had some orc blood in him, with his ever-bloodshot eyes and sinuous muscle structure. He had been the captain of Nurt’s meager guard for two years now, and had five more recorded Darkun kills than any other watchman ever to grace the village. On his hip, he always carried an old orcish blade—the kind with the reversed barbs that leave horrible wounds. He raised his battle-scarred hands and nodded to a lanky man at the closest table to give him the floor, then leaned back into the flickering firelight.
 

“Have we ever sought to barter with them? We have a great surplus of medical supplies…” he was cut off by the town’s barber/surgeon, who shouted from a few tables over.
 

“Only because Darkun don’t leave wounded! I can’t give aid to the dead!” His statement brought a cacophonic murmur to the crowd but was hushed immediately by the widow Ulna—whose husband died by a Darkun’s stroke a week earlier.
 

“When the attacks started, my dear Rikel sought revenge and violence against them—and look at what that bought him. I say we look for other solutions as well, maybe not trade or barter…but some form of offering perhaps?”
 

“Offering?” a squat nobleman with a badly waxed mustache blurted out between draughts from his sloshing wine.
“The only solution is to send word to Telvar for support from their knights! These Darkun are only going to react to the very blade that spills their guts! We don’t need meetings or ideas—we need more knights!”