In a large, torch lit war room, an armored man stood before a map of the countryside, his face drawn in worry. He stood with his back to the door, and the page shook his head. In any other province, that would be a dangerous thing. But this man trusted almost everyone in his province, and with good reason. This was the capitol of the kingdom. The peasants and troops stationed here worked harder, paid more taxes, and trained to be stronger than anywhere else in the kingdom. And they did it happily. For he was the one who gave them this place to live and they came from across the lands of Utopia to be here, in the Province of Crimson Vengeance.
The first thing the page took note of was the wings. For the man was an avian. Just like humans, but with six feet of wing extended from each shoulder blade and hollow bones for flight. They were some of the greatest warriors in the land and, ironically, produced some of the greatest philosophers and poets. This man was no different. His name had been lost to obscurity. He was now called simply, Masterpoet. And he was the king of Crimson Haven.
The next thing of note was the royal blue plate mail that he seemed to sleep in lately. It was polished by squires like himself and lovelingly tended by pages. A huge body shield and war mace complimented it greatly. His hair was a dark black, though he had seemed to age in these last few years, and it was now streaked with gray. He was an old man in his prime. A dark goatee and should-length hair followed. But the thin, gold battle crown was on the table. To be worn over his helm when in battle, it was tossed carelessly to the side while he was indoors. In concentrating on this man before him, the squire was too focused. He, with a start, finally noticed there were others in the room too. And he blushed in embarrassment.
They were all there: advisors, generals, high wizards, master thieves, and runners. All grimfaced and stoic, they talked in low tones. No one tried to out speak the others. No one tried to control the floor. They had all been together for years. And everyone knew their roles. The squire felt privileged to be in the presence of such trust and camaraderie, as precious and rare as honor in this land. In their hands was the future of his home. And he felt safe. There was nothing in the whole world these men and women couldn't overcome. He had seen them take on tremendous odds and succeed where others failed. He'd seen many of them carry the others to healers or give the final rest to a friend in battle who had no chance. He believed they were invincible. And he was honored to just be there.
The squire stood at attention until he was noticed. It took some time before he was, but he knew why. War. War was in the air. Spies and runners had reported armies gathering in the north. But the source of the attackers was uncertain. And this was why the tension was so thick.
"It has to be the orc clans of the northern ranges milord", said one of the advisors, " they have been rattling their swords since we taught their allies to swim." Slight chuckles from around the room followed his statement. It was a known tactic to sink the boats of an enemy, therefore, preventing them from reaching you. However, this could not work for an army that, to a man, could fly. And this was one of Crimson Vengeances main advantages. Even the lowliest soldier could fly on his. The best were taught to mount trained griffons or even powerful drakes in combat. The sight of a massive army descending upon an enemy prepared to defend against a land bound opponent, was often a sight that sent armies fleeing and cowering before them. But even an army such as this had a weakness: no one can defend from all sides at once. And this was what caused the faces around him to darken. An enemy had called in allies. And Crimson Vengeance was the target.
"I have reports of at least two orc clans massing in the north", said the master thief, "but I just cannot seem to find out whom. It's very frustrating and unusual." " I know we can take on any of them, so there is no matter", added a general. "Yes", said a high wizard, "but what if there are more than one?" This was the point everyone was worried about. Only a coward would see the need to attack someone in concert with another province. But honor and chivalry were more and more, becoming things told in stories by old men, of times long ago. Crimson Haven was one of the few kingdoms left that clung to morals and right. And others hated them for it. So far none had been able to challenge them, until now.
Allowing the debate to go a little further before speaking, Masterpoet finally gave the orders. The room grew silent. "Spread the griffonriders to the north and northeast. Begin bringing in the outer villages into the castle grounds. The normal soldiers will have to be spread in the eastern marshes, and we'll use the drakeriders as a reaction force from here in the castle. It is the only way to cover the province without spreading ourselves thin trying to watch every acre." The room buzzed in agreement. Masterpoet had led them to many victories, and they were confident in his decision. Once they knew from whence the attack would come, they could mass their forces and sweep the enemy from the fields. If they only knew who was the enemy.
The squire cleared his throat. He knew that his news was not good news. And he hated to have to pass it along. But they needed every ounce of intelligence his network could give him. "Sire, I have news of dwarves clans preparing for war as well. Far to the west, however, their target has yet to be discovered. It may well be that they are just going to do a random grab on someone else in the kingdom." Standing silently, Masterpoet seemed to digest this new information. "Whoever wants us dead has great influence and many allies. Until we know for sure from what direction the attack is coming, we cannot make any assumptions. Put a border watch in the western forests. We'll utilize Queen Aurora's gift of her elven scouts to keep raiders out of there." The page smiled at the mention of the lady's name. Betrothed to King Masterpoet, she was already called queen in all circles. However, the wedding was still far away. Too much war and strife and rebuilding abounded to plan such a festival yet. But the page felt that his king deserved companionship. And couldn't wait for the day he could see them married.
Breaking his revelry, an advisor spoke out. "Milord, the kingdom has offered their services in providing troops and resources for the coming battle. Should we not take them up on their offers?" The crowd shifted at this note. This was one of the sore spots of the debate. The advisors felt it was only right to have the kingdom support it's king. Masterpoet felt they had given enough. And he did not want to drag them into a kingdom-wide war. "They've seen enough conflict lately." He said quietly. "If we are destined to fall, another will take our place, but I cannot, in good conscience, allow more of their people to die because I have made enemies. They are good people. They deserve a better king." The sadness in his voice pulled at the hearts of those gathered. And the discussion was dropped once again. They will die for him. They knew it. But maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to live by example. Not time to lean on others. It would be a tough lesson to learn. But they would teach a lesson as well. Crimson Vengeance could take on any province their size. In the past, they had defeated armies twice their size. They would do it again. Or die trying.