As Urma and Ylvima, two massive, well-groomed Ursaroks, walked through the bustling streets of Hearthglen, Urma's brow furrowed in thought. "If the Necro Corp can supply the same amount of weapons and armors that the Lupens do," he began, his deep voice a low rumble, "wouldn't that start a fifth racial war against them?"
Ylvima shook her massive head. "That won't happen as long as the Gryphons are around. They keep the alliance strong against the demonic orcs. While war would surely be inevitable without them, the undead are currently trying to establish a stable influence in the market. They're deliberately limiting their sales to avoid upsetting the large merchant companies."
A shiver suddenly ran down her spine as she remembered her earlier visions of Karl's potential—a world of iron wagons that ran without horses and weapons that spat thunder. She feared he was building something that would change warfare forever.
"What do you mean?" Urma asked, sensing her unease.
