[h2] Captain General Vaalteralde - Gu-Wei Capital City Gates [/h2]

The mid-day sun had crested high into the air, and only just began to slowly give way into the evening and casting a warm orange hued light onto the world. Birds fluttered energetically from tree to tree in search of food, or crossed large distances in the blue sky in search of a mate. Their songs creating a peaceful din that could ease a man’s spirit. A cool breeze brought the grass to rustle a soft whooshing chorus. The very air alight with the aromas and splendors of spring. The subtle scents of oak and ash. The fertile aroma of the soil. Subtle hints of pine. And the perfume of wild flowers and pollen. To many, this would be a truly serene landscape, and worthy for elves.

To a Kobold known as Captain-General Vaalteralde, this was his own personal hell. It was as if the very gods of creation had decided to create something that was so loaded with pure irony, that it managed to form a paradoxical juxtaposition between what one perceived, and what one felt. If there was supposed to be any hint of peace about this, some beauty of tranquility, something that was good for the ‘spirit’ as he had often heard… he could not find it.

Being so far away from his closest friend, and second in command lulled the Captain-General into a foul humor for the duration of the journey. It was a bond so rare, that lightning could strike the same person twice in a single night… and again the next week before a Kobold could hold a relationship of any sort for longer than a second. An event that causes a complete change in the Kobold’s typical psyque. But the end result is separation could have an equally detrimental effect. In Vaal’s case, it made him into a creature more irate than a sea sick crocodile. His entourage knew well to step lightly around him after the first day. But that did not help.

For the past week and a half, the Kobold captain had led a procession of thirty draconians soldiers, and twelve kobold skirmishers through the wetlands of Gu-Wei to ascertain an audience with the imperial family of the Empire. Many of the soldiers he had with him were veterans, and at least half of them had earned the right of their midnight blue tabards. The markers of soldiers hand picked for their show of experience, valor, and deadly skill.The Claws of Tiamat, they were called and for good reason.

And yet… this entire journey had proven that no title, no acts of valor, no amount of honor, no years of service and experience could take the fundamental behavior of being a soldier out of a Draconian. And consequently, toss the commanding officer into a pit of rusty slag. The bitching, and moaning. Every, breath, every step, every second, every hour, on the hour, every day, by the day. The insistent bitching and moaning soldiers make, knowing full well it would not actually do any good… but to vent. Only like smoking in a tavern, those vented fumes were likely to bite at someone.

Despite being no strangers to other lands, they still complained. They complained about the chill air, saying that it was an affront to all that is right in the world. Compared to the warm, dry breeze of the desert landscape, the air of Gu-Wei seemed to be perfectly saturated to constantly soak your clothing so thoroughly that you would always be soaked without ever touching a body of water. During breaks between marching, they threw tantrums when they talked about the grass stuck in the claws of their feet. Hissing and fussing over how itchy and scratchy it was while they picked it out. And the accursed plant was everywhere, so there was no end to that one.

But what was the most infuriating element of the wetlands? What was the element that could turn a band of the most seasoned and battle hardened sons of bitches Vaalteralde has ever seen into hysterical hatchlings? The muck. The god forsaken mud. It did not help that the group chosen to move through the back roads and country to avoid causing a panic with the Citizens whom had never seen anything else than human and elves in their lives. Thus there was no end to the substance, and no end to the howling complaints of the band.

And Vaal could sympathize. The diminutive kobold stood no more than two feet, and six inches in height. The depths that would send the draconians down to their knees, would have them dig their unfortunate commander out of the muck. And each time, the captain would rattle out a cantankerous flurry of curses.

But long last… they came to the end of their hellish journey. They had parked at source of fresh water not more than an hour’s walk away from the Capital City. The band had used this time to clean themselves up. They had broken out the detergents they had brought along for the journey and set to work at cleaning themselves, their gear and their uniform. The elated murmurings was enough to skim the foam off the simmering cauldron that represented his irritation.

Once finished, the traveled worn and unwashed muddied bodies of Draconians and Kobolds had been restored back to the awe inspiring soldiers that they were. Scales of sky blue, Vermarilian Red, Emerald Green, and so forth all reached a luster to glint like the stars in the sky. Sapphire and Midnight Blue tabbards clean, pressed, and proudly on display. Banners out and flowing with the wind. They were ready to seek their audience to announce the mobilization of their army. 

To which, they politely informed a city guard to request an audience with the Imperial family.