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[Horace Telver]

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The cold wind whipped in sharply off the water as three cowled figures marched through the gates of Trammel Cove, the pale moonlight barely illuminating the ground. They whispered amongst themselves, creeping around buildings, counting the peasants. They examined the trees outside the walls, and then snuck across the wall to the mountains. One man set out in particular, moving with a young energy in an old body, he marched, his boots crunching on the hard dirt as he marched to the northern tower.
Three distinct voices could be heard, as they whispered hoarsely amongst themselves, one voice, a tired but patrician sounding voice, rasped out "The people?" He had turned to one of the cowled ones, a woman, and smiled faintly as he spoke. Another voice, whispered back this one belonging to a woman, "The people here are few, but hard workers, and useful in experiments. Nearby orcs provide healthy source of slave labor. Several undesirable factors, but easily eliminated."
The apparent leader swiftly, turned to the next robed one. He barked out a question in quite a different way than his past one, "The resources?", the other man then spoke softly in an elegant yet raspy voice "The war resources are staggering, metals, wood. And the access to the sea for fish, and the small farms for food allow us to be self sufficient. Only problem is the lack of hard labor, and lack of infrastructure.”
The patrician smirked pacing, his boots heavily fell on the wooden floor, “This place is very useful... Any reservations my dearest?”, the woman shook her head and said, “This place will be a home for our people.” The patrician then smirked wide, then marched out of the tower. As he came down from the tower he looked upon the darkened windows of the town, and laughed. And the night echoed with his cold, rasping laughter.