[center][b]The Count I[/b]

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	Oziyltomor Simerk knelt silently before the altar, appreciating the heavy incense of smoke hanging in the air as he took the moment to empty his mind. He was not a Count, nor an officer of the Heavenly Imperial Army. At least not now. Now he was but a pious man observing his duties to his ancestors, as any other Minga worth his braid.

	With easy movements he took the bowl of fermented horse milk and placed it upon the gilded altar, taking care not to spill the liquid upon the blue silk covering its top. Mouthing silent prayers as he placed a second bowl, this time filled with dried grain, besides the milk. His father's photograph watched imperiously from the center of the headboard, surrounded by photos and engravings of his mother and siblings. This was his own personal altar, confined to his own quarters and solely for his own use. But even then, the former Lady Simerk had raged when she learned that a concubine was being honored besides her husband in her own (former) bedroom. But there was nothing she could do. If the Count wanted to honor his parents then there was nothing to stop him from doing so. And if said mother happened to be a concubine instead of his own lawful wife, then maybe it was the Lady's own fault for not being cunning enough to get her own children to inherit the title despite all the advantages she got over the competition.

	Sure, Oziyltomor's ascension wasn't entirely her fault. After all, it was only one of her sons that fell prey to foreign degeneracy. But the Count had enjoyed taunting his father's wife whenever she got too uppity for his tastes. Just a little payback for all that she had made him suffer through during his childhood. He was actually kinda disappointed she had chosen to return to her brother's estates in the west. Her growing despair had been so very pleasant to watch. But it was for the best, one less opponent to challenge his authority within his own lands. He had enough enemies outside of it as it were. Populist scum giving the masses ideas about rising against the rightful order of affairs while bending over to greedy foreigners, ossified old pricks claiming to have the Empire's best interest of the Empire in mind even as they led it to ruin and a sect of murderers hellbent on destroying the very identity of the nation to honor a cankerous, degenerate ideology from beyond the seas.

	He shook the thoughts away. This was not the time for that. Oziyltomor returned to paying his respects, following protocol to the letter as he made his prayers and offered tribute to the altar. All said, that exercise took the better part of the morning and by the time the Count was done with his spiritual duties it was already time to meet his subordinates.

	Sparing one last glance towards his mother's photograph, the Count strode off the small tent, putting on his coat and cap as he did so. The guards deployed outside saluted as the Count passed through them, heading for the command tent. The officers inside saluted in unison when Ozilytomor entered, taking his place along the central table holding the map.

	"We've received more reports of Nationalist advances, Your Excellency." Colonel Tartu Zamir started. "Another couple of forts was overrun during the night. The Northern Army continues to prove itself unable to stand up to the rebels."

	"As expected." The Count grumbled. "How far along has our vanguard advanced?"

	"The advanced elements of the Windrider and Stormrider divisions have gotten a few miles from the river but the rebel forces were too strong to risk a confrontation." Zamir replied, pointing to the map. "The bulk of their strength is still out of position to risk a full engagement."

	"Their orders remain the same." The Count spoke, toying with one of the army markers. "Attacking now would only give them the chance to fight our forces piecemeal. Make sure to remind them of that." He placed the marker back in position. "What about our aircraft? Are they in position?"

	"We've had some hold ups with transport, Your Excellency." Another officer spoke up hesitantly, averting the Count's eyes. "But it has been dealt with. We should be launching the first flights in a few days...and the local airfields should be getting the new anti-aircraft artillery by the end of the week." She added, unprompted.

	The Count snorted at that. Of course they would be getting it. The bastard of a Countess ruling this fief had been specially obstructive when it came to allowing the White Bird Host basing and marching rights. Even as the rebel forces approached from the north almost without opposition, Count Simerk had been forced to bribe that beady-eyed beast in bullion and materiel. The worst part was that he couldn't do anything about it. The Empire needed all its forces focused on the greater threat. But if she dared to withhold her own troops and let better men bleed in her own lands, there would be hell to pay.

	"Have the Countess' troops started moving?" He asked, already dreading the answer.

	"She claims that since her best troops marched with the Northern Army, Your Excellency. She has been stretched thin to protect her fief and that her new recruits aren't ready yet. Likewise, she continues to request more supplies" Zamir replied, frustrated tone making clear his opinion on the matter, passing his Lord a bundle of communiques. "That said, her conscripts have joined Windrider and Stormrider in the planned secondary and tertiary lines and have started entrenching work."

	Of course, expecting something different had been too much to hope for. Still, the Count could accept that these excuses weren't entirely unfounded. And keeping green troops out of the way of the rebel hammer, while preparing their fallback positions would allow better trained units to focus on weathering the rebel storm and blunting their attack. Still, the Countess was holding out on them. Oziyltomor was sure of it. Woe to her, if so. These were her lands, and if the rebels forced them out of Deisal entirely, then the Count would make sure that blame would fall on the right shoulders.

	"Any reports from the County that needs my immediate attention?" Oziyltomor asked as he pocketed the communiques.

	"Nose so far, Your Excellency. Everything going as planned." 

	"And what about the 19th?" Oziyltomor prompted.

	"No trouble either, Your Excellency. It seems the presence of soldiers, even the green recruits of the 19th, has been enough to dissuade our local allies from harassing our supply lines." Zamir declared proudly.

	The Count nodded, running a mental checklist on other pressing issues that had yet to be discussed. That would be their last chance at doing so before moving closer to the frontlines and taking up the challenge of stopping the rebel advance and salvaging what was left of the Northern Army.