MQ: Slings and Arrows

[Sighter Tnailog]

Blood-red dawn drenched the parapet. Far to the east, just beyond the crest of land where the Dwarf Hills obscured a view of the sea, the sun had broken cover. Its light, diffused by the tendrils of mist and cloud that draped the countryside, seemed to make the very air glow a deep crimson. The mists swirled softly where brushed by a rising wind, a faint odor of decay seeming to ride on the currents. The wind would be blowing from the south, thought Findelfin. Now we'll have to smell their filth for the entire battle.

From the turret, Findelfin could see them coming. Huge decaying tree-trunks lumbered forward, their bark splintering with every motion of huge, hummus-encrusted roots, wolf corpses running ahead, baying through their decayed vocal cavities the long, slow dirge of death. And among the horde Findelfin could see the sight that made him most angry: corrupted elves. They were the defenders of Carnelost who had not died during the fighting to become zombies, but had been unable to resist the charms and evil necromantics of Xem'zûnd, their bodies consumed and reborn even before their spirits could flee their flesh. They led the columns of evil as lieutenants and commanders. Corrupted elves were peril incarnate: not only did they retain most of their critical faculties, but they also retained their souls -- and thus they could cast song magic. And even worse, their conversion granted them some small measure of Xem'zûnd's power: they could raise new undead at will.

With this thought in mind, Findelfin turned and addressed one of his officers, "How much fuel do we have for the fires?"

"Enough to maintain a full blaze for at least four days, sir, and we can keep the fires stoked at a low burn for at least a fortnight, unless we get other sources of fuel from..." the officer trailed off, but Findelfin knew what he meant to say. It had to be done: every elf that fell in the coming battle would need to be fed to the fire, and instantly. The bodies of the fallen would be the "other sources of fuel."

"Very good. When Vanwanen Bridge falls, stoke the fires to their full capacity." He did not need to extend fuel reserves for two weeks. By that time, they would be either dead or victorious. He wished it had been possible to light fires at the bridge as well, but it looked impossible; he would have to rely on Turlin mages to consecrate the fallen there and keep them from being harmed.

Another officer quickly mounted the stairs, speaking quickly as he neared Findelfin. "General, sir, the High Bard begs your council prior to battle." Findelfin nodded at the officer.

"I will speak with him, lead the way." The officer saluted and turned to walk away, with Findelfin close on his heels. With a brisk run down the stairs, the officer led Findelfin through a large crowd milling about near the front gate to a small door leading to one of the guardrooms. Most of the mob withdrew from his pathway, but some which only stared dumbly as he passed. This crowd was made up of mainly conscripts, able-bodied elves found in the city whose terms of reserve service in Tel Aglarim had passed but were still required to serve should danger press. The others, mainly an assortment of humans and other races, had been visitors, were asked to serve, and chose to honor the call. They were a ragged bunch, but Findelfin had led worse.

As he approached Oronra, the Megilindari Dagorathar said, "Come, General Findelfin. The High Bard is within, we have final bits of strategy to go over...the enemy appears about a half-hour away, we must hurry to finalize a few things before we begin."

With only a nod, Findelfin entered through the door.

((Those of you who PMed me, you are now volunteer troops in the Elvish army. Post here and we'll start in earnest.))

[Caden Law]

Apologies in advance if this is too comedic and/or misrepresentative of anything. I wasn't sure which school we're talking about, so I just used Istien on account of it being the only Turlin School I could find. Also: After this post, assume everything he says to be spoken in Raiaeran, unless specified otherwise.

It was true that Caden had always wanted to see Istien University, even though he never wanted to study there. Caden both loathed and envied its Bardic magicks on account of being completely, utterly tonedeaf; he couldn't even produce a tune by humming, except maybe for a zany little number that made your ears want to bleed. He'd always wanted to visit the place though, if only to take in the sights, steal any useful tricks, maybe snag an elf maiden (or thirty-seven), and flick his nose down at the happy little Bards as he was leaving.

Today, amidst a mob of pointy-eared citizens-turning-soldiers, Caden is fast coming to the realization that This Is Not How It Will Be. Which is quite terrible really; he'd gone to all the trouble of getting here, and then this happened. A week and a half spent vomiting from seasickness, and then an unknown number of days running for his life from one forest to the next (while being chased by everything from badgers to nymphs to badgers riding nymphs. Try to scrub off that mental scar), and then this happens.

Well, Caden had the time to think, while being shoved this way and that in the slowly calming mob. At least things can't-- as per cliche, Caden's thoughts hit the neural equivelent of a trainwreck. Because things are going to get worse. For instance, someone just started singing the elvish version of You're in the army now! Said someone has a voice like an opera tenor, and the pitch keeps jumping, and other people are joining in...

Look at Caden's face right about now. Notice the crazy little smile curling its way onto his face. This is the realization that I'm probably going to die here. It's followed, after some minutes and the sudden cessation of mob singing, by ...well, it's not like I've got anything to lose.

The mob stopped singing by then, brought to order by one poke-happy lance corporal who looked like a pointy-eared slab of elfmeat. Silence ensued; almost disturbingly disciplined, but more like that of a chorus of singers than an organized squadron of soldiers. Someone coughed. Because someone has to cough. And that someone was Caden. He drew the attention of Lance Corporal Poke, who promptly lived up to his name. Like so.

"Ow." Poke, poke. "Cut it out!"

"You're not an elf," said Pokey, and in Raiaeran.

"No shit, bright-eyes!" said Caden, in what sounded like a vocal meatgrinder; words from several different languages, and none of them even remotely human.

This caused Pokey to stare. Caden glared back.

"Human?" Pokey asked, and you can't really fault the guy here. There are so many species running around Althanas that look human, and at least half of them can go nuclear at any moment with little to no warning at all.

"Human, Salvic, Wizard, yes, thank you, stop pointing that sword-thing at me," Caden said, switching to Raiaeran and keeping it that way as he smacked Pokey's sword aside -- a curvy little number with a flute built into the hilt. By then, the crowd around him had thinned out enough that this didn't get anybody stabbed or mangled. Coincidentally, it'd also gone quiet enough that people could hear him when he declared himself.

Many sidelong glances, a lot of mumbling, and some very decisive nodding later, Caden went through the door as well. Chiefly because a bunch of elves threw him inside.

[Viola Darkstalker]

Greed. Lust. Envy. Wrath. Why were the deadliest of all sins the most pleasurable? More importantly, why did- no, it was perfectly clear why he wanted her. Blood-red lips were brought up into a smile that could never have been described as anything but sinister. Why were they the most pleasurable? Because they were the ones that guaranteed you a place in hell. He wanted her because her goals were the same as his. It couldn’t have been a more perfect way to finish off the boat trip. Her place in hell had long ago been reserved.

“What do you want from me?” She asked, honey oozing from her mouth. An iris was perched atop her right ear, petals black as the night sky that graced the world. A quiet series of clicks and slight hisses was her only response, but it was not the sounds she was listening to. Somewhere on the ferry taking her to the continent of Raiaera was a creature that had sensed the evil flowing through her thicker than the blood in her veins. It was that creature that she spoke with now; even if she couldn’t catch a glimpse of it yet due to irritating circumstances, she probably wouldn’t notice it even if she could see. Necromancers were fun like that. Especially when her conversationalist partner spoke directly to her mind.

Your heart is black, more twisted than many could comprehend, and so delicious. I’m sure you have an imagination… what do you think I want from you? The voice sounded in her head like tar flowing down a river. To anyone else, the voice would have surely driven them insane, but to one who flirted with sanity from one moment to another, that was nothing to worry about.

“You want me to do something for you.” A fruit that was ever so succulent, so sweet that it would kill you in an instant. She must have looked a little strange staring out toward the horizon and talking to herself, but few paid her much heed. After all, she was just a babbling blind beggar. Nothing at all to worry about. Beggars always talked to themselves.

You have great potential; I do not feel you need be reminded of that fact. You will be great one day, but I can make that day come much sooner. Gravel pouring down a chute would have been easier to listen to than his voice. Unfortunately, her reaction was not quite what the necromancer’s slave was expecting. The creature keeping close watch on her could not have known her past from before she came to this world. She laughed a deep-throated laugh that only drove the few people who thought they could deal with her talking to nothing if they just ignored it. They weren’t expecting something that had gone past the farthest reaches of sanity.

“One day?” She said between heaves. “Great potential?” She barely said as she recovered her composure and stood stoically facing the night skyline. This wasn’t something she could let just anyone hear. “I’ve already been great. How about this, I’ll stop playing dumb and we get down to the serious business. Flattery will get you nowhere with me. What you don’t know about me is this: I am not on this wretched ball because I want to be, and the potential you say I have has already been realized once before. Go to Adwa, There, or Théodo; visit the Ceon or Eared galaxies. On the handful of worlds that still exist, ask one question- mention one word. Viola. They tremble at the very mention of my name, and for good reason. Alone, I destroyed everything they had. EVERYTHING! The disaster that sent me here, however, also robbed me of all but the smallest fraction of my strength.”

Murder was written all over her face as she remembered what she had been. Entire worlds forbade parents from naming their children after her. The slightest or quietest mention of her or trace of her presence sent galaxies into panics. That was what had been stolen from her.

Well then… I suppose my proposition will be simple if you were everything you claim. I can say I’ve never heard of any of those places, but I feel that you are not one to boast with nothing to back yourself up with. I need generals for my army. I want you to be one. Gravel mixed with tar flowing over a pool of lava, venting its fumes into her lungs. She stumbled for a moment before catching herself on the sturdy railing. The stumble was from the absurdity of the proposal. But to think about it, it would be quite the honor and it would certainly engrave her face and name into the lives of the denizens of this world. There was only one thing missing.

“What’s in it for me?” It was time to discuss business. If she was going to put her life on the line for a necromancer that wished to take over a continent, she was going to have just compensation. It was only fair.

A taste of your former glory, perhaps? No, I can tell you are one who prefers a more… tangible reward. Simply offering gold would be an insult, but what if I gave you something better… yes, that would do nicely. Your eyes see nothing but darkness, do they not? What would you say if I could give you your sight back? What would you say if I could give you something to strike fear into the hearts of those that oppose you, both now and when you eventually leave my service? What would you say? He wasn’t desperate. He was bargaining, taking her most coveted chips and turning them into his most prized tools. There wasn’t much she could say.

“I would say you have yourself a general.”

And so, the deal was struck. All that was left was finding her way to his front lines.

[Heartsblood]

Romis shivered slightly in the cool breeze. Around him many elves and even a few humans milled about anxiously. Some of the younger men seemed excited, almost eager to begin. Others were more apprehensive. Romis was neither. He had been a soldier for many years and had seen much in his long life. He had learned to control his emotions a long time ago. Above the heads of those around him he saw an elf that looked to be an officer of one kind or another go through a door. Romis made his way confidently through the crowd directly for it, assuming that the door led to the command post.

These people have no idea what they’re getting into. I’ve fought undead before, they are no easy enemy to defeat.

The thought was sad as he moved through the crowd. Most of those around him were local people unaccustomed to how a battle worked. However, he could not fault them for wanting to defend their home. He just hoped enough of them would survive to make the victory a little less bittersweet. Sighing, Romis pressed on toward his destination. It was his hope that the commanding officers of this army would welcome any help they could get. As the Captain Commander of Moriah’s military forces (even if he was currently presumed dead), he had a lot of experience and knowledge to offer.

Normally, the Romis would not have been in Raiaera, however in his continual search for Princess Jasmine, his travels often took him to the most unlikely places. He’d followed a rumor about a young woman with long black hair to Raiaera. As it happened, the rumor was false. Dejected, Romis had been planning to leave and return possibly to Corone when this Xem'zûnd arrived. Despite his desire to find Jasmine and take her home to reclaim her throne, he could not bring himself to abandon these people. He couldn’t help it. It was in his nature to help when and how he could. He could not just simply walk away.

Nearing the door, Romis ran across a young-looking soldier. Romis stopped him.

“Excuse me, I am Captain Commander Romis Heartsblood. Who is in charge here and where do I find him?”

“That would be General Findelfin ap Fingolfin. He’s just gone in to talk with the High Bard, sir. I don’t believe it’s an open meeting sir.”

“Very good, carry on soldier.”

Assuming that the soldier would do as bidden, Romis strode up to the door and knocked loudly on it.

“General Findelfin ap Fingolfin, Captain Commander Romis Heartsblood reporting for duty, sir!”

[Twisted Infinitum]

Three months prior

In the cold, clinging afternoon fog, a small boat broke the muddy water’s surface. The lone oarsman, hunched upon the middle seat, pushed mightily with only insubstantial results. Particles of ice clung to the oars on each airborne pass, but there was not enough in the water to account for the slow speed. The oarsman and his two passengers hunkered down in their heavy coats, their hooded forms still and patient despite the unearthly chill. It seemed to increase, degree by degree, with every moment that they moved farther from their main ship, now only a brown smudge within the mist.

“Where are we going?” asked the smaller of the two motionless forms. Her voice was distinctly feminine, every word baring a sharp edge of temptation. There was not a hint of shiver, annoyance, or even embarrassment at asking the question so late in the expedition.

The rowing man responded without any signs of strain or harsh breathing. In fact, he wasn’t breathing, and neither was she. “He’ll know.” He indicated the large, muscular body in the front seat.

“I don’t-“ the man began in a raspy, guttural voice that must have been born deep in the throat. His breath caught, allowing the clouds in his cowl to dissipate. The boat nudged up against earth, and the fog faded just enough to see the firm yet barren state of the land. “Jade, these are the Red Fields.” To the as-of-yet unspoken question, he said harshly, “I just know.”

Jade Vipress pulled that question back from the tip of her tongue and substituted another. “Why is it called that?”

“It used to be green grasslands, then we turned it red in our war against the demons. I don’t know why now there’s… nothing,” the broad man said calmly as he stood and lowered his hood. His purely reptilian head rotated across the scene, taking in with cold eyes what little there was to see. He gripped the boat’s edge with an equally reptilian hand and stepped out, using his tail for balance. “I didn’t realize until now just how long I’ve been asleep.” His people were gone, those most ancient of elves. Not even in him did their bloodline continue. In that distant age, those who were too weak or undisciplined to aid in the war subjected themselves to the mages and became Guardian Beasts. They did so out of honor and love for their homeland. He had done so to quench a broken heart. He turned with wondering, beady eyes to the oarsman. “Why is it bare earth, and flooded?”

“It wasn’t time’s passage,” the hooded man said in the slow speech of one who contained too much knowledge. His voice wheezed shrilly, as if coming out more openings than just his mouth. “Very long ago, and all at the same time, this land was victim to volcanic eruptions, floods, hurricanes, and the movement of a glacier; maybe even a change in time itself. Only now is the ice receding. That is, according to our Lord Necromancer.”

The lizard-man seemed unsurprised. He just nodded knowingly, ”They succeeded in the Undoing.”

“And undid themselves too,” added the woman in smug amusement. The lizard-man looked at her sternly, and she met him eye for eye from inside her furred hood.

“Rask,” interrupted the oarsman, “We have other myths to raise. You cannot take long in this side trip.”

Rask nodded, the scales of his head already glistening from collected moisture. “What are we here to find? Artifacts from the temples?” he asked, looking about as if to find millennium old buildings in the blinding fog.

“Looted or destroyed, like everything in this age. There are, however, buried treasures.” With a hand that was more bone than flesh, the oarsman hefted a shovel and threw it onto the shore. It stood on its blade, deep in what appeared to be solid rock. Only a cataclysm on par with the Undoing could have produced such unnatural terrain.

Rask’s claws gripped the shovel solidly. “Then, one last fight alongside my brethren,” he mused to himself. If his face were capable of it, he might have smiled.

[Sighter Tnailog]

((TI, what's your current AIM? PM it to me before you post again so we can discuss some things))

Findelfin had just greeted the High Bard and was sitting down when the door flew open and a man was shoved inside by a brusque elven commander. Arching one eyebrow, Findelfin said, "Who is this man and why is he here?"

The commander saluted, and responded quickly, "My Lord Dagorathar, we have a number of men outside who were asked to render their services and who accepted, but they speak an assortment of languages and tongues. When Captain Tyreles was interviewing them, this fellow here spoke fluent Raiaeran along with an assortment of other dialects and manners. Captain Tyreles felt we could use an interpreter within the command structure."

Findelfin could see the sense in that; he was about to say so when the Councilor of Dagorlin, Nalith Celiniel, stepped forward and said, "A human in the command structure? General, you have seen that rabble out there, half the human recruits don't know which part of a bow and arrow is the arrow, and the other half would rather be looting the city! Better to send them all away with the refugees than to fight for us here, even less serve as commanders!"

Findelfin held up a hand, and said, "When last we fought Xem'zûnd, it was a man who saved us -- Devon Starslayer. He also led the troops at Valinatal and turned back Thoracis Rakarth's advances. His daughter later assisted us in ridding this very city of the first wave of undead. I will not deny his people the chance to defend us from this threat today."

Turning to Caden, he spoke, "Now, sir, tell us your name, and I will confer upon you a rank on the urging of Captain Tyreles."

But before he could say a word, there came a banging on the door, and a voice crying out.

Findelfin rolled his eyes, turning to Nalith. "More humans? Hopefully I have not misplaced my faith in them, for it seems every one of them wants a command." Gesturing towards the doorwarden, he said, "Send him in. But make sure he knows we need to hurry this along...we have a strategy to plan and very little time in which to do it."

[Caden Law]

With great and forced dignity -- the sort you'd expect of a properly schooled Wizard of Salvar -- Caden stood up and underwent a rather stark transformation. It didn't have any fancy lights, nor was there dramatic music in the background, and the camera angle wasn't even that good.

He just dusted himself off, inspected his clothes to make sure El Poke hadn't damaged them, and then calmly removed his glasses. They found their way up into his hat somehow, and up went the goggles. Normally, he just wore them like a gaudy necklace. Now he pulled them on and took a deep, relaxing breath...

...and when he exhaled, the temperature in the room had dropped by a good fifteen degrees in about two seconds -- and it was coldest around the good lady Nalith, upon whom he fixed a look that was colder still. There are a lot of people who can give you the kind of look that he was giving Nalith, but only a token few who can pull it off looking like Caden did.

"And you wonder why people think you pointy-eared sods are a bunch of conceited leeches," he said, and for all the generalization that went into the statement, it was patently clear that every single word was being thrown like a solid brick at Nalith. Caden wasn't a Bard, but he knew magic, and he knew how to make an impression with it.

Which is probably the only reason he's not being skewered to death from five angles right now.

Another breath, and the temperature shot back to normal almost as quickly as it'd dropped in the first place. He looked to Findelfin, and then he smiled the officially trademarked Smile of the Haplessly Doomed.

"Just call me Blueraven. I'd rather not give my actual name in the presence of a wretched little gnome like her," he jerked a thumb at Nalith, and then went back to ignoring the Elf's existence. Which was quite easy. "I'm a Salvic Wizard. I don't ask for command or rank; just give me a job and let me do it."

And that was that. Caden spoke Raiaeran flawlessly, lacking only in that he had no accent. When he was done, he delivered a faux salute to Findelfin, something copied secondhand from the raw recruits outside. It lacked discipline, but that's to be expected with any Wizard; schooled or not.

[Sighter Tnailog]

"Conceited maybe; leeches, I think not." Nalith's voice cut the air, her face colder than the chill in the room. "But conceit comes from skill...skill which you lack."

She raised one arm in the air as Caden's magic faded, and snapped once. Instantaneously tendrils of fire swept from the very air around the upstart mage, thin but hot, wrapping only a foot from his body in a complete encircling of flames. Findelfin stood a good distance from the display, and he almost sweated at the blast, so he knew it was sure to be toasting the poor Salvic wizard. Findelfin would have moved to stop her, but he had been somewhat disappointed with the young man's outburst; Nalith was perhaps overly critical, but she was still a Councilor of Raiaera and deserved respect.

Findelfin could see that Nalith intended to perform the rest of the spell. He had seen it before -- she would slowly move the flames closer and closer, until they touched the body for a split second, then remove them. It was one of her more favored tricks. Raising a hand, though, he cut her off. "Nalith, please." The tendrils vanished immediately and Nalith shrank back satisfied.

Fixing the mage with a stare, he searched for a moment. He could not do it, he had not trained enough. "Varalad, the lad's name please."

The High Bard smiled, and said, "I believe Mistress Celiniel knows..."

Without reservation, she said, "His name is Caden Law, and he guards his name and his thoughts with a great deal of carelessness." She was obviously satisfied.

Findelfin returned his gaze to the youth -- old enough for his people, a mewling infant to even a young elf like Findelfin. "Caden Law, we do not have the time for you to try to show your superiority in conjurer's tricks. The youngest bard in Istien University could have done what you did just now, and have done so with more humility and much better form.

"Furthermore, look at my ears." He raised up a hand and moved it across smooth, pointless ears. "I don't know where you humans got the idea that elvish ears are sharp as daggers, but remove it from your mind. We find it insulting and inaccurate. Mistress Celiniel can tend to distrust humanity, it's true, but she is still a Councilor of Dagorlin and a name to be feared, I would counsel you to show her respect.

"Now, your skills at languages are clearly useful. Captain Tyreles's lieutenants will escort you to the Vanwanen Bridge, where a large contingent of Elven regulars await to defend the bridge against the undead. The men outside have been formed into two companies -- those who speak Raiaeran and those who do not. You are to lead those who do not, translate the commands of all Elvish soldiers above the rank of a Lance Commander -- Captain Tyreles's lieutenant will teach you how to recognize rank as you go -- and assume the duties of commanding your division of human soldiers when need presses. The Bridge is not an easy assignment -- it will be dangerous and you will probably need to retreat at some point from it. But serve well and capably, and you will be granted the respect you clearly desire. May Galatiriel Protect You, Caden Law...Blueraven."

Findelfin turned to another man who had been escorted in. From his body language, he was clearly done with Caden Law, and he needed to deal with this man.

"State your name, purpose, and why you seek audience with the Council of War."

[Caden Law]

An abrupt lecture and a dismissal, but there are things of note. Slow down, hit the rewind, and let's watch this again, shall we?

Starting with the flames. Watch them flicker in; spectacular, flashy, and all around impressive. Caden certainly watched them, and he was doing so with intent and a mind that snapped out in thirty directions at once -- maybe more, maybe less, but you get the idea. An attentive eye would notice a few things though.

One is that he is not sweating. The flames are getting closer and his temperature is dropping faster and faster with every single inch they move, and Caden is not sweating. There's a rough equilibrium between magicks, and it's obviously one-sided, and Caden is obviously not going to win in a match of power-on-power, but that's okay -- because he's still thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking some more, and there it is! Look at his left hand, and see the little flicker of light as something starts to slip out of his sleeve.

It's an altogether innocent looking scalpel, if only by virtue of the situation. Its tip pricks into his finger, and maybe this isn't intentional or maybe he's got something planned, but his expression is only just starting to show nerve and he's still not sweating.

Then the fires are gone and Caden lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Suddenly deprived of magic to push against, there's a wave of cold as temperatures shift; the only telltale sign that Caden has lost control of the magic he was using for a delaying action. He looks towards Nalith, and there is no respect in his eyes.

In fact, there's something in between murder and Crimes Against Life, which fall into a category of acts literally made unspeakable because there isn't language to describe them. The look shifts in an instant, and Caden -- who never was all that good at shielding his mind -- is still able to sense the presence of another sifting through his thoughts. He's even able to track it back to the source. Right as Nalith gives Caden's name, the Wizard speaks an old saying in proper Old Diamonic.

"I see. I see very clearly now."

This is the only thing he says to any of them before being given his orders. How they interpret it; that's their problem. He nods to Findelfin, without once looking away from Nalith, and acknowledges him with a surprisingly easy voice.

"Consider it done. Sir. Use whatever Name you'd like," and here, right here, you might actually notice a bit of righteous anger in his voice. Extremely subdued, very hard to spot, but it's still there, and it's a far more personal thing than the respect they think Caden wants.

A Wizard's Names are not things he gives lightly.

Again, he salutes. With that, he's guided out of the room and off to fight war for people he very clearly does not like.

[Heartsblood]

Romis stood respectfully at the back of the small room, waiting while another man was given his instructions. He’d not ever taken the time to learn Raiaeran, so he did not bother to attempt to use it. Once summoned, he walked briskly forward and stopped at a respectful distance from the commanders of this operation. He inclined his head to the Councilors and then saluted.

“Good morning, my name is Romis Heartsblood. I am the Captain Commander of Moriah, a distant nation, the rank is equal to yours, General. However, it is of little importance here in Raiaera. Why I am here in Raiaera is not important, so please do not ask me. What is important is that I have experience with war, something a good many of your recruits out there lack. Do not think me disrespectful, I am only speaking the truth. I am here to help and offer only my experience as a soldier and officer.”

Romis fell silent then awaiting General Fingolfin’s remarks. He had no wish to flaunt his rank boastfully. For him it was a tool, though not one that would necessarily do him any good here. He would accept whatever the General asked of him, even if it was to do nothing else but join the rest of the soldiers. His shoulders itched at the silence in the room and he shrugged them uncomfortably. He hadn’t flown in quite some time and his wings were starting to ache with the inactivity.

While he waited, he observed his commanding officers. The Councilor seemed to disapprove of him, but that did not bother him in the slightest. After 450 years, what anyone thought of him meant very little. Providing the gods were with him and allowed him a life suitable for a dragon, he would outlive most people that insulted him or disapproved of him. On the other hand, the General did not seem to be as quick to make judgements, something that Romis found a good quality in any military officer.