[center][b]Fort Ingarrson, Near Kienne[/b][/center]

Captain Invernius stood with his shoulder propped against the flat muzzle of a musket, looking out over the training yard seeing the soldiers practicing with the weight of their new muskets in mock melee combat. Wordlessly, he chewed on a bit of mint and spat leaves out onto the dirt. His commanding officer, a colonel with blazing red hair and uncomfortably long jowls strode up beside him and crossed his arms. "Well, Ubren knows the score once more, I wager. Word just came in from the capital that they've reinforced Torrik. But there's good news, the Attolians may have an out in the war which means we'll have an out. Similarly, His Holiness is calling another summit. Perhaps this is the chance to avoid bloodshed altogether."

Invernius simply shrugged. "They're planning to use Marines as line infantry. It's been done before, and our Marine forces are certainly up to the task, but fighting on open ground in central Ubren will be impossible. No heavy artillery, no regiments of horse, it would be suicide."

"The hope, I believe, is to return a bit to our roots, Soren. You know, the old stories they still tell in Toubres about the Aontan raiders in longships coming to take away the women, wine, and gold. Only I don't know what we would do with Ubren women," he chuckled, "we've just got to keep them on their toes. Besides, our services might be needed soon in the east as well, what with Rubrus being a part of the Treaty."

"I still don't like that," Soren complained, folding his arms and playing the melancholic.