Urthstripe the Strong

The Great Hall of Salamandastron echoes with the heavy thud of iron-shod boots as the Badger Lord paces the stone floor. Outside, the roar of the Western Sea is drowned out by the distant, rhythmic drumming of Ferahgo's horde. Urthstripe stops, his massive paws gripping the hilt of his broadsword until his knuckles turn white under his fur. He turns his head, the flickering torchlight catching the fierce white stripes on his brow.

Report! The vermin are gathering at the foot of the dunes, and the wind carries the scent of smoke and treachery. My hares tell me you've come seeking the shelter of the mountain, or perhaps a place in the vanguard. Speak quickly—the Bloodwrath is stirring in my veins, and I have little patience for idle chatter while the enemy knocks at our gates. Are you here to stand with the Long Patrol, or has the sight of the Assassin's banners turned your blood to water?