Florian regarded the assembly of generals cooly, fingering the wisps of his nine-day beard. Peoples of nearly all of the Western nations (excepting the thrice-damned Ulahids, though one could scarcely count upon them for aid even in times of peace) had come in defense of the Maw. Elves...Men of all varieties...and even the [i]green ones[/i], the hated Uruks, all had come to the Maw to participate in this grisly masquerade, this final farcical revolt against the all-ranging might of the Empire that would surely grind the West beneath its iron heel. No matter how long they delayed Alaric, it would not be enough—the West was ill prepared to contend with the Empire. Jan-Leopold XII, King of Galatia, and Florian's own lord-father, did not even consider the Empire a veritable threat to the kingdom. 

"[i]They will be swallowed up by the steppe, and then we shall ride them down, and show them the mettle of our spears[/i]," he had said, in an almost mocking manner, when Florian had pleaded before the court to send more men to defend the pass. 

[i]You will hide in your castles[/i]. [i]You will burn the fields and offer up the country to rapine[/i]. [i]The people will be the toll for your folly[/i]. [i]When all is said and done, they will find you, and tear down your walls[/i]. [i]You will die screaming, and in your death throes you will wonder why[/i]. 

On the road to the Maw, it had consumed him, the thought of death, the thought of dissolution, the thought that everything they would do here would be for naught. But Florian shook away such thoughts now. Let come what may come; he could ill afford to think beyond the moment, so long as they were here. 

His eyes settled upon each leader of the assembly as Torr delivered his speech. Pizurk, the uruk with his disgustingly beady eyes, who instinctively made bile rise to his throat; Lothian, the monumental elf in his black armor; Torr, "The Wolf", his blue eyes as sharp as knives; the young king Alexander Myerscough, who he had almost instantly disliked; the imposing Bane of Riganite, as much a barbarian, in Florian's mind, as Alaric; the unfathomable Erebus Dragon-Keeper, encased in his enchanted armor; the Grand Duke of Saqquar, Gastó Canalis, in his lavish finery; and the beautiful and striking Gyrid Thometilldottir, the Goddess of the Roffellans, who the Galatians knew well. Who would lead them on the first day of their death march? 

Florian glanced to his left at Ludwik-Balbo, his lord-cousin, who regarded him with a bewildering look that said, "Don't." Ludwik-Balbo was ten years his senior and looked it, too. At only thirty-three his face was drawn and wrinkled, and he was balding, with what hair remaining him being gray and as frayed like a torn carpet. He was, as were most people in Florian's estimation, a fool who could hardly see what was before his eyes. But he decided to keep his cousin's counsel, at least for now. After all, he didn't think it wise that he should lead the first battle that he had ever fought in. He was, though he would never admit it, afraid to make a novice's mistake, even if he had proven himself in an endless number of exercises and mock-battles. So he would sit out for now, and watch how the others moved, before making his own. 

But when Pizurk volunteered for the command, Florian could simply not stay silent. An Orc? The leader of a Western army? An Uruk, who in ages past his people had hunted like vermin? It was madness. 

[color=lightcoral]"[i]You[/i] would lead us, Orc?[/color]", he snapped, starting up from his camp chair, "[color=lightcoral] And what would you have us do? Shall we throw ourselves into Alaric's troops, so that you and your fellows have more meat for the roasting? I suppose we'd make a fine repast, would we not? And when you're done, and your bellies are full, you'll run back to your caves and your hiding places, and let the rest of us perish upon the tips of the imperial lances."[/color]

Ludwik-Balbo sighed and averted his eyes. 

Florian continued, looking deeply into the face of each general, [color=lightcoral]"Why should we trust him, I ask you? When have the Uruks ever come to our aid, save to enrich themselves?"[/color]