The container is made of well-worked bronze, inside of which rests a rough parchment. Penned in neat, if blocky, orcish script, the note reeks of cheap goblin spirits and stale sweat.
Throm-Ka, masters of the Grim,
The mood of the hour is swollen with cowardice. Even now, I can feel the enemies of the Horde slithering behind our walls, with plans to gut us in what seems an endless night of political posturing and decadence. It is our children for whom I fear, as it is they who are truly wronged - robbed of the chance for glory and honor. They will learn to mimic only a shadow of the past, consigned to words and ignorant of the taste of battle. I had nearly given my spirit to despair, until news reached me of your cadre of true warriors - willing to spill necessary blood to defend our ways. This is worthy of my respect, worthy of our ancestors' respect. Idle wallowing in Orgrimmar's Drag has left in my mouth a taste too bitter to flush with ale and talk. I crave the brazen song of war, the hot sun against my neck on the march, and even the carrion crow's sickly feast. If it would mean the preservation of all that I hold dear, I would gladly submit myself to the will of the Grim, hammer and axe in hand!
Lok'tar ogar, comrades!
Khorvis Bloodstar
A bronze canister marked with a red mountain
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