These Trolls travel land and sea in an eternal search for their next war. The Host of Battle—for they have no other name for themselves—is part mercenary army, part ethnicity.
A loose organization of heros who have toppled regimes, the Brothers of Dusk and Dawn have given their lives to the Gods of Chaos, becoming potent agents of change through out the known worlds…
The Twilight Tunnels, the Imperial Gate system, was the backbones of the Imperium. The ability to travel almost anywhere via the Twilight Tunnels, allowing for near unlimited trade for little money, quick communication (any message anywhere nearly instantly (or within 3 days for the hinterlands), and easy personal travel. The Order was charged with the creation, maintance, and defense of The Gate System.
The Guild of Messengers is one of the few guilds/ orders accepted in every civilized and many near civilized lands. The Messengers know only their own special language and script (though they might know how to speak A dozen or so languages, they are prohibited to be literate in any other tongue). They are the tool of civilization, allowing for communication to be passed across the world (and the occasional small item as well).
In a crowded marketplace, a man is standing on a soapbox, orating. Some of the crowd are cheering, some hissing, some standing around saying "I can't hear a bl**dy word he's saying". It's a hustings for an election. The PCs can either leave, or stay and listen. If they do the latter, then they can vote too, and they might get quite involved in the cheering. Depending on who wins they might get quite involved in the post-election brawl too...
There are numerous possibilities with this encounter: the PCs might end up talking to one of the nervous candidates before their speech, and offer encouragement and support. Of course this candidate may well turn out to be someone with outspokenly unorthodox views, and the crowd don't take kindly to s/his supporters. Or maybe the seemingly innocuous candidate turns out to be a complete racist, and the PCs wander off embarrassedly, pretending they weren't talking to this person five minutes ago.