(Intended for Philomel, Ioder/Hayate, and Shin; other entries welcome but a PM would be appreciated to discuss plans)

The cold wind howled across the plains of Corone, the biting nip of dry air clearing the nostrils of the tired wizard. The cold stole all flavor from the air; stripping the sweet honey and sunflower fragrance and the foul stenches of a too-long camped group alike. Atop his mighty black horse Atilla, Storm Veritas sneered as he glared northwest towards Radasanth. The sun was dropping quickly on his left, and he squinted back at a large army behind him, as the now-bearded Seamus Brackett had approached.

“Sir, food’s starting to get thin. You told me to let you know when we were under a month’s grain, and our salted meat is slim. Winter’s coming, and we can’t keep squatting. It’s time to make hay or give our men leave for the winter. ‘Shit or get off the pot’, I believe is your preferred axiom.”

With a thick “p’tew” sound, Seamus produced a large, teardrop shaped projectile of tobacco and phlegm, firing a mouthful of chaw down to the rock below. The hardened general had lived through more than any of them, and would no doubt outlive them all just as easily. His experience earned him plenty of gravitas, and he was one of very few that would speak frankly to the dangerous magician. It produced a rare smirk from Storm Veritas, who had grown weary waiting for good news.

“Any words from scouts, north or south?” Storm’s nostrils flared a touch, leery of the inevitable bad news that had become as regular as the cock’s crow to mark the morning.

“It appears Radasanth is still secure, a bit of tumult there but no shortage of warriors. They’ve camped firmly since Gisela, and have gotten more rest and rations than ours.

“On the southern front, there’s word of Vaan Osiris every other week. He’s alive, he’s gone, you know the drill… The man’s a fucking ghost.”

Storm looked up to the navy blue sky above, darkness creeping slowly up from the east, its nightly promise to overtake the light. Perhaps the stars would offer some answers for him; the sun certainly hadn’t been so generous. The gravelly voice of his general continued.

“I told you that Shinsou seemed off the cause. That same guy you took Whitevale with… that old fraud is dead.”

Instinctively Veritas glowered, rearing Atilla and spinning about, his eyes flashing white with an electric fury. The air crackled with electric energy as if rich with heat lightning, the scent of ozone washing over them. This stirring caught the attention of the nearest battalion, where men quickly found themselves backing away from the volatile leader, wanting no part of the wrath that the electromancer could pass off. Even the steely eyed general stepped back a few steps, raising his hands in a defensive show of peace, as one may approach a cornered wolf or snarling cougar.

“Gonna kill me, too? I’m old, my severance is cheap; if you want me out just have the balls to call for my note and I’ll step down.” Brackett wasn’t backing down, but rather embracing the blowfish strategy of meeting strength with strength.

“Of course, if you’re going to keep me around, it’s to speak the truth, and I’d appreciate not being made some horrible example of.” Brackett’s jaw was squared and jutting, his hands by his sides in meaty fists. The slightly loosened skin was all that differentiated the sixty year old general from a champion soldier of half his age.

Exhaling, Storm smiled, the white in his eyes clearing way for the human blue that lay beneath it. His demeanor also softened gently, flipping from incensed to political quickly, but no less smoothly than the crawling night that captured the skies above.

“Don’t piss your pants, you old pussy.” A white, toothy smile flashed to Brackett. “You knew you were getting a rise out of me with that. I defend my friends – few they might be. “

Eyeing the troops, Storm watched as soldiers feigned indifference to his conversation with Seamus. Yes, they definitely weren’t staring as one of the most powerful wizards in Althanas apparently nearly lost his mind and incinerated a respected general. There was a time when Storm was like them; vulnerable and weak. He almost envied their frailty, as so little was expected of them.

“We’re all getting punchy, all this time in the fields. It’s been a long time since I’ve had cold glass of mead or a warm piece of tail. Words of the Osiris Legion reinforcing us, joining us, with Hayate, to attack Radasanth.”

Soldiers, archers, cannoneers, militia, cavalry and giants alike had been sitting out the summer into fall since the end of their last battle. Gisela had been but a precursor to the destiny they were promised; to rip the city free of it’s dynastic rule and bring a freedom to rule as they saw fit.

And with it, to the victor goes the spoils. Taking the centerpiece of Corone will come with a mountain of gold none upon Althanas has ever had. Even better, who would make a better, democratically elected leader than the wise warrior who led the revolution? I’ll be the answer to their goddamned prayers.

Popping down from his horse, Storm worked on Seamus, speaking at length of his love and trust, embracing and reconditioning the old general to accept his volatility as a cost of doing business. Besides, the wizard reminded the veteran, you’re the other friend I go to bat for. Satisfied, the two sat upon the stones as they stared north and discussed tactical options over a pipe.

As the night fell more full over the armies, the old mage noticed the red star – one he had seen the night before. He could swear the star had grown larger each of the last two nights. Noting the big, brilliant scarlet jewel, Storm asked the old warrior what to make of it.

“Holy shit, boss. That’s no fucking star.”