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To withdraw, to cower or flee at the sight of this Hag would be to lose face. Still, many of those in attendance did just that, during her speech. Grimmyr, expression stoic and grim, did not. His hand did shift, however, from lap to hilt, gloved fingers wrapping about the hilt of his greatsword- too large to draw with one hand- as if it provide some leverage by which he might stand.

As she queried him, he leaned forward slightly, now, eyes narrowing at the last two or three pronouncements. It took the warrior-who-would-be-King a moment to pry himself free of thought, or as free as he could get it, and reply.
"She has returned to the Gods," he replied solemnly, if not a bit distantly, to the Hag. If he would not go far, on who would the carrion birds feed?
Himself?

The Aldoryl clan was not lacking in strong leadership, but they were lacking in arms. And, thus, the honor of combat. Grimmyr would see to that. But first, these raiders must be dealt with.

A trio of messengers were dispatched- One to the ports west of the Thunderpaw clan (Requesting information on the port west of thunderpaw), the clan north of Thunderpaw (info on these guys, too?), and, finally, to the Thunderpaw clan as well.
A lone messenger went in another direction, eastward. To treat with the Aldoryl.
Finally, a fifth and sixth were dispatched north, one to the the clan immediately north of the rivers (Info requested), the other to treat with the northern ports (Info requested.)

The messenger to the Thunderpaw bore a message that reads as follows, meant for Alric Thunderpaw himself, and he only:

The other missives, to the other clans, all read much the same.

(Charisma I) Send messengers to Thunderpaw, the two coastal clans nearest them, and the clan furthest north offering a part in a coalition of the Northlands against the raiders.
Various information requested. (See above)
(Charisma I) A messenger is sent to the Aldoryl, to inquire as to whether or not they are in need of any assistance. If all is well, they are informed of Valdyrbol's plan to deal with the raiders and offered a share of the honor. Another is sent to the clan immediately to the north, with the same questions and offers.

E: (Charisma I) Sending a messenger to the port directly south of Thunderpaw, as well. Also requesting info on them. Sorry, didn't notice them on the map at first.

Arcturn nodded to Villieldr, waiting until the meeting was over and etcetra, before slipping out the large door, moving towards the grove. Three men, each wearing thick, woolen cloaks of three different colors, followed along after he stepped out the door.

At the Grove
Arcturn had perched himself in the crook of a tree, finally slipping his hood back.
"The wager is simple. If one of us has less support than the other when it comes next winter, we support the one with the most support of the two of us. Understand? It would greatly help our chances of a Follower getting the throne."

Grimmyr had arrived at the grove a short time before Arcturn. Alone. To assassinate another during parley was dishonorable. To do so in the eyes of the gods? That was unfathomably worse. As the white-haired witch found a spot in the tree, the red-haired warrior rose from his kneeling position, hands unclasping.
He listened patiently while Arcturn spoke, and then remained silent for a moment longer as he contemplated his own response. "An interesting wager," Grimmyr agreed, slowly, gaze shifting to the great oak which sat at the center of the grove, "And one which I shall accept. You have my word, Arcturn Storm-Born."

"Stormborn," came Villieldr's reply, his own gaze slowly sweeping the chamber's occupants before snapping back to the Witch. "We may. What is it you wish to speak about?"

His focus wholly focused on the frailer man, now, Villieldr crossed his arms over his chest, taking a wide-footed stance.

Alright...I just don't see why it's a crazy nickname. Heck, it's a real name, too...

shoot is both allergic to and deathly afraid of a certain red bird, which I will not name here so as to avoid triggering him further.

Name: Grimmyr Villieldr, The Sword of the North Hal-Jor'dan "Magic" Johnson, but his tribal name is "More-Powerful-Than-Batman-And-Superman-Combined"
Gender: Male
Race: Human Hyuman. They're like humans, but they're more human than that.
Appearance: Tall and lean, Grimmyr is athletic, though not heavily muscled. His hair is a fiery red, and his eyes a sterling shade of silvery-blue. His symmetric, high-cheekboned features are clean shaven, as is the custom among the unmarried men of his clan, and his light skin is riddled with pink scars, hard won on the fields of battle.
Bio: The first of the seven sons of Kvisa Villieldr, a famed scoundrel and thief within The Valdyrbol Clan, and the only son of the seeress Rita (who had no surname, as her one true mate was to only ever be The Gods), Grimmyr was trained among the other youths of his clan as a warrior and protector of his people. While no proper historian would make such a claim, later generations speak of Grimmyr as if he had been blessed by The Gods for his mother's devotion. Regardless of the veracity of these claims, it is true, regardless, that Grimmyr was skilled in blade and tongue, and quickly found himself to be a leader of men.
Following several successful campaigns to rid the rivers of the Northlands of the banditry and horror that had plagued them for so long, Grimmyr, then known as The Sword of the North for his potency in battle, challenged the then-leader of his clan and, either due to his opponent's age or his own skill, won. Now the leader, Grimmyr, a devotee of the Old Gods, seeks to usher in a new age in the name of the gods he holds dear, and to restore his clan to their rightful place.
Skills: Clan Leader - The Valdyrbol
Weaponmastery (Blades) I - As each youth of the Valdyrbol clan, regardless of gender, is required to train as an arms man, Grimmyr Villieldr is a skilled swordsman, capable of holding his own against many a foe.
Charisma I - Handsome as he is, and the first son of the late Kvisa Villieldr to boot, Grimmyr's silver tongue is well-known within the Northlands.

Clan name: The Valdyrbol, which in the old tongue roughly translates to "The Wolves of Sorrow"
Clan history: The Valdyrbol were not always known as The Wolves of Sorrow. Once, long ago, their holdings spread from the river delta of the Northlands to as far, it is said, as the Riverlands of the southwest. In the days of the High Kin, long gone, that was, and perhaps the Old Folk before them. It matters not, of course- For in a time before the last High Kin fell, their power, the power of a clan who's name has since been lost to time, was broken. Driven back by some ancient force (perhaps the magic of the Old Folk sorcerers who are worshiped now by the Barrow People), The Valdyrbol were slaughtered, demeaned, and ultimately, finally, their very name was changed. This is the story, at least, which each of their young know by heart:
Clan location: The Northlands Delta. Cold in the winter, and only somewhat warm in the summer, the Delta of the Northland forests are a harsh and unforgiving woodland where wolves roam free and hungry. In the summer, spring, and fall - the latter two especially- it rains heavily (though not heavily enough to make for a rain forest), and in the winter it snows. The river, however, rarely freezes, and so much of the food is freshwater fish. Scattered throughout the hills and forests are ancient stone monuments, perhaps built by the Old Folk, upon which ancient runes, unreadable both due to erosion and lack of recorded knowledge, have been wrought.
Not far from these monuments, the barrows of the Valdyrbol (and, rarely, more ancient peoples) can often be found.
Clan culture: The Valdyrbol are warriors to the last. Proud, powerful, and cunning, the only thing they prize more than the ability to lead in battle, is to fight on one's own. Often beset, in the past, by bandits of all stripes, given their position at the Northlands Delta, the Valdyrbol train their young, girls and boys both, in the use of weaponry from a young age. To them, names and blades are sacred things, and should a weapon earn a name all its own, it is even more sacred still.

Still, for all their emphasis on warriors and battle, worship of the Old Gods remains an important function. Within every village, city, and town a wild temple remains, a place where the wilderness is allowed to grow free and unreined. It is there that the Seers and Prophets of The Old Gods live, among the greenery, and where all soldiers go to pray for a guided blade in coming battles. It is there, also, in the eyes of the gods, which oaths are sworn, children and weapons named, and vital decisions made.

They bury their dead in barrows.
Clan religion: Wild Gods
Clan banner: A light blue sword and fang, crossed upon a field of white.

Humans and Hyumans only, please and thank you.
Edit: I'm going to be pissed if I'm the only guy who doesn't use magic :/ So I agree with Digital Hellhound's suggestion below.

Pick out the prettiest young elf girls from the two units of slaves and send them to Lucullus.

Get the smartest elf as personal slave.

Gift the emperor 2 units slaves. Lucullus personal regiment will act as guards.

Aftermath of the senate brawl:
Titus and his unit silently left the senate roof after the brawl started, being uninterested in the standard politics of it. They did leave with a diminshed view of the emperor, his cowardise was jarring to say the least...

---

Titus intercepts the slaves being sent to the capital, commanding the first cohort to aid him

[?-1] The prettiest and youngest (ech) of the elven slave girls arrive at Lucullus' estates in due time, with no difficulties along the way.

[?] You pick out an elven slave who appears to be rather well-educated, to serve as your personal assistant. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

[4-2] The first cohort moves as quickly as it can to try and intercept the slaves, however despite their best efforts, they always remain a step or two behind. [1] Until, however, a band of cloaked figures descend upon Lucullus' Personal Guard in the middle of the night, bearing not weapons, but the chaos born of fire and noise. [6] They are quickly driven away, and all reports later indicate that none actually bore any weapons, but they strike again and again throughout the next several nights, slowing the guard down and giving Titus' band time to catch up.


[2 vs 2] Without hesitation, Titus commands his cohort to assault the guardsmen. Arrows rain down, even as the guards charge Titus' position. For a brief moment, the battle is a draw.
Guardsmen Health: 1
Cohort Health: 1

[2 vs 3] Finally, however, by dropping off into the shrubbery along the side, the Skirmishers are able to outmaneuver, and then destroy, the Guardsmen- Though not without heavy losses on their own end.

Lucullus' Personal Guard has been wiped out. Titus' Cohort (1 Disciplined Heavy Infantry from the 1st Legion) is destroyed as well. Titus commandeers 2 Units of Elven Slaves to do with as he likes. He is 2 Days from the Capital.

Crassius left his baths. These people were too disorganised to do any real business. They failed to apprecieate the gravity of the situation and they would pay. but that would be later.

In a true popular fashion however, he intended to open his doors to the less well-off citizens and help them out. He wanted to make an impact and extend patronage to those who had to fend for themselves for so long. He was looking forward to cases and problems he could fix and ingratiate himself to the people of those areas that were looking for a protector.

Open my doors and offer patronage and help to people in lower district and slums (city influence)

[4+1][?] You're lucky. Very lucky, in fact. Not many people actually come to you seeking help, but those who do bring problems which are easily fixed. For your generosity and support of the lower classes, you quickly begin to garner even greater favor with the poorer members of the city. It quickly becomes clear, however, through your work, that crime has begun to grow rampant within the lower district and slums. It's hard to come across someone who isn't involved, in some small way, with the local criminal element...Most of whom seem to be elves.

A meal, much less lavish than the one cooked earlier for a simple luncheon, was set onto a table, and the emperor and guard were politely brought in, as well as Crassius and Kaeso. Fae hurriedly excused himself, slipping out the door and getting dressed in a thin grey tunic and blue robe/cape combo, the edges of which were lined with a golden type of fur.

“Sorry for he lack of expense on dinner,” Fae started, the dinner obviously very expensive and lavish, “But I expected you earlier, and I happened to have gave most of the scraps from the lunch to the poor and needy.”

Several Days After the Dinner...
[3] Shortly after leaving your Private Study, the room begins to burn, destroying several key documents as well as the study itself. Luckily, you were not present at the time. [5] With even greater luck, a passing servant notices the smoke and then the fire. As such, it is quickly put out before any greater damage is done to your estate or the people within. [2] While the fire was clearly started by someone (the scent of burning lamp oil hangs heavily in the air), your bodyguard, and the servants, are all adamant that the only person who was anywhere near the study at that time of night was yourself.