[color=crimson]"A battle would likely end in our destruction,"[/color] Oromis said, frowning as he examined the map, having listened patiently to each of his captains. [color=crimson]"Our army, without the Night Hunters or Grey Winds, will have perhaps five thousand men, if that. The Prophet could come bearing down on us with ten times as many men- a god I may be, yet even I can be killed with enough arrows. But I see your point, you can never have too many backup plans."[/color]

He turned to Captain Claes. [color=crimson]"As for your own suggestion, I see no issue with it; you know your men better than I, and I'll trust operational matters to your own discretion. As for your concern of the ravage your men will cause, as Wolong was kind to point out, chaos can only further our cause. In any case, as long as you deliver the city to me, any method is acceptable."

"In any case," the God-King concluded, leaning on the table, "We must act quickly, before the League can bring its own navy to bear. I've already taken the liberty of ordering the preparation of our ships and supplies. If all goes well, I aim to set sail in three days, whether the waters are still or stormed."

"Claes, how many ships do you believe necessary to carry your force? According to the dockmaster we can spare..."[/color]

The meeting continued into the afternoon, and then into the evening. When it was over, those present left weary, disheveled, and frozen to the bone.


________________________________________________________________________________________________________________




That night was cool and pleasant in Lucar, like every other night of the year. Being located on the coast of the Timerian Sea gave it that as an advantage. It was a bustling town at day, the most important harbor in the Kingdom of Merida due to its position above all trade coming in and out of the sea. It had endured for centuries, if not millennia, undisturbed by the passing of time. Rulers came and went, as their old lords were displaced by the Etruscan Meridians, and Lucar continued to thrive and bustle regardless. In many ways, it was the kind of city that made others envious: prosperous and wealthy, yet not large enough to warrant the notice of those playing high politics. 

The sharp observer would notice several marks that time had made on it, however. In its harbor rested a little over two dozen warships of all sizes, flying the proud twin snakes of Merida, the entirety of the kingdom's royal flotilla. Other snake banners hung from the Lucar's squat brick walls, old and decrepit structures on which walked the occasional men-at-arms with the same snakes on their vests.

On one watchtower along the wall, which inclined curiously towards the sea as if it were drunk, three such men rested, enjoying the cool air that the height afforded them.

[color=blue]"I tell you, this is where I'd want to be,"[/color] the first one said, leaning on the crenelations to admire the beauty of the town below.

[color=purple]"What? On night-watch?"[/color] the second one, a young boy of fifteen asked, curious.

The first man gave his comrade a look of condescension. [color=blue]"Night shift? Don't be stupid. I'm talking about living here, in Lucar. This is where I want to be when I'm done in the King's service."[/color] 

The third man, a grizzled veteran with a shaggy beard, snorted. [color=teal]"You? Live in Lucar? Don't be an idiot, Vivaric. You need actual coin to live in a southerner town like this, coin I know for a fact you don't have."[/color]

[color=blue]"I'll have coin, enough to be a lordling,"[/color]  the first insisted, affronted. [color=blue]"We're going to smash those greenskins across the Sea, like everyone says, and I'll cover myself in gold and glory."[/color]

The third man only sighed and shook his head sadly, but the second looked at the first with admiration. [color=purple]"How will you do it? Get gold and glory, I mean."[/color] 

[color=blue]"Easiest thing in the world,"[/color] the first answered with complete confidence. [color=blue]"I'm going to capture that orc king in battle, and drag him to-"[/color]

[color=teal]"'Capture the orc king'?"[/color] the third interrupted, aghast. [color=teal]"I don't think you have a thing in that big empty head of yours, you oaf. The only way you're even seeing that king is when the greenskins slit your throat, and mount your head on a-"[/color]

He would have finished his rant, but found himself incapable of speaking. Reaching for his throat, his eyes wide, he felt beneath his beard where a large red gash had appeared, his blood pooling out. He made an indistinct sound before crumbling, to the shock and horror of the other two soldiers, who could only stare at the large black-clad orc behind him, wielding a strange blood-stained knife. 

Any attempt on their part to call for help was cut short when they were grabbed from behind and dispatched in the same fashion. Having accomplished their mission, the orcs continued on to the next watchtower, creeping in the shadows.

With the watchmen dead, there were none to sound the alarm as a trio of small ships sailed into the harbor, arranging themselves beside the Meridan waships. Suddenly, they exploded in a hell of wind and fire, ripping the Meridan ships to shreds in an instant in an explosion that could be heard from kilometers away. Other, larger, warships then wasted no time in sailing into the harbor, their decks covered in hundreds of orc warriors, screaming for blood. 

From his vantage point on his flagship, King Rusadir, a surprisingly small orc who nevertheless emanated fierceness and authority, admired the handiwork of his sappers. The crazy shamans of the Orkantor tribes had done something well, for once; the explosive powder had worked like a charm. Still, he did not allow himself satisfaction- not yet.

[color=orange]"Orcs of Rusadir!"[/color] he shouted to the warriors assembled on his deck. [color=orange]"Everything from the Orkantor to the frozen north is ours! So cut these meatbags apart and take it!"[/color]

[color=orange]"Rusadir! Rusadir King!"[/color] the orcs chanted, and continued to chant as they poored onto the flaming dockside, cutting through the panicked and confused defenders. The time of waiting had passed. The orcish invasion of the Etruscan League had begun.