Our patience grows thin mortal...
And thou will require our help far more then we require thee.
The group of mortals fighting thee march ever closer to thy doorstep. And one by one thy generals fall.
It shalt not be long before they reach thee, and when they do, there shalt be no room for the treaty table. They want thy head 'Cole MacGrath'
Now, think on it. Would it be benefitial to thee not, to hath immortal soldiers defending thy keep?