Conclave of the Rose

A Knight stepped out of his hastily erected pavilion. Clad in several layers of chain mail, most of his upper body was covered and his small arms rustled around on the inside of his sleeves. His reptilian head was bared for all to see and his sleek tail trailed along behind him making it much easier to move through the mud. The armour was custom-made for him by the famous Ortuka blacksmith, Bekkta, as a gift for his ordination many years ago. Much had happened since then and only this armour remained to remind him of his past status and position among his peers. He noticed a stake set poorly and placed at a wrong angle causing the sides of the tent to sag inwards. That would have to be addressed later. He looked up as a figure moved steadily closer through the mist.

"My Lord Ss-sslick", the messenger stumbled over the foreign name as best he could as he also struggled to draw up before the Commander. The supersaturated, churned mud offered no easy passage through the rain-soaked earth even here, and this was the highest point around for miles. Lord Commander Sslick smiled inwardly. Inconvenient, yes, but much more so for the approaching enemy forces. No sign of this slight amusement showed on his face however, though he doubted most other races could accurately read a Ssarss' emotion anyway. He motioned for the messenger to speak.

"Knight Errant Edward, reporting from the south Pass, My Lord".

Sslick never had understood the Hu-main custom of introducing oneself before reporting. No one in Ssarss culture would care who you were if it didn't directly affect the report. This world was filled with customs he would never understand though, and he had long ago accepted that. He gave no response and after a slight, uncomfortable pause, the messenger cleared his throat and continued.

"My Lord, the enemy has been sighted in the lower reaches on the other side of Mount Pjesekc. Their numbers are much higher than anticipated and may well be in the thousands. The banners of Liokcd, Kcench, Orswing and Mankc have been sighted as well as a few contingents of mercenaries."

"What of the Ortuka?"

The knight errant eyed him strangely. "No word. Surely you don't still expect them to come...begging your pardon, My Lord" Remembering his place and who he was addressing he attempted to stand at strict attention which was hampered by the shifting mud."You do not need my permisssion nor pardon to sspeak plainly...Edward. We all face the same trial ahead and deserve honesty. " Motioning back towards the main camp he went on. "You may return to your company and resst. Inform my aide to attend to me at once. And Edward, " He spoke in an undertone as the knight turned to leave, "The Ortuka will come." (edited)

As the Hu-main moved out of earshot he continued his thought out loud, "but will they get here in time, or even make enough of a difference if they do? Highly unlikely." Lord Commander Sslick, as he had been recently dubbed by his followers, had tried to dissuade them from following him here. "Go home, finish your days in relative peace. You do not need to die here." He knew it was a fool's errand to even hope for success here and any who joined him were doomed. But as the determined few at his side swelled to a force that could not be dispelled, he had given up hope to discourage them. He cast his die one final time and had arrived here.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scrabbling sound rapidly approaching. A young Eep, in an ill-fitting tunic, came bounding up before Sslick and bowed four or five times.

"Sssleeping again, Sssoo?" Sslick regarded his young apprentice with a stern expression of disapproval. "How am I to make a Knight of you, if you cannot learn disscipline?"

Soo wrung his hands in distress and stared at his feet. The last thing he wanted to do was to displease his master.

"So so sorry, Sir. I don't know why I am so tired. Seems as if the cold sends me straight to sleep every time no matter how hard I try to keep my eyes open. Biological hhhhhaaaaalmooooooooost." An enormous yawn distorted the last word to an almost unrecognizable state. Soo clamped his hand over his mouth and shook his head in denial of his own weakness. He had been raised in an orphanage in the worst slums of Orlan, far from whatever Eep tribe his ancestors were from. Most likely a product of raids and pillaging by Hu-main into the swaps of Chogwaaay. He, therefore, knew nothing of his race's physiology and racial traits. He did try his best, honest! but the life of a knight was especially hard for him.

Sslick's fondness for the youth softened his countenance. What would be the point of a reprimand...? He knew the young Eep struggled valiantly with his faults and would most likely be dead in a week's time along with the tattered remains of his makeshift army. Honestly, he envied the child his ability to rest, for the last time he had slept easily was a lifetime ago. The commander laid his hands on Soo's shoulder in silent understanding if not forgiveness. Being so close to the end of his time on Monde Major seemed to prompt himself more and more frequently to these uncharacteristic acts of outward emotion that he never would have even considered a decade ago. He was getting soft and weak and the other Knights of the Rose would highly disapprove. Not to mention his own people, if you could call them that, back in his homeland. The Ssarss were not known for compassion or solidarity.

"Inform Oraon and Petule to meet me in my tent for counssel" Soo seems slightly reassured by the opportunity to redeem himself and bounded away before his master could finish the instructions, forgetting to salute in his haste. Forgetting every manner, actually, as was his norm. Sslick watched his odd bouncing gait as he disappeared into the mass of clustered tents and mentally shook his head yet again. He couldn't remember Soo ever saluting a superior without a reminder, an offense punishable at least by dismissal in the Knight's ranks and worse in Angkcleg society. He knew he coddled the boy far too much, but the code was a bit more forgiving for non-Ankcleg, in the Knights of the Rose Charter, at least.

Left relatively alone once again, Sslick surveyed the field for the coming slaughter. The nobles of Shekctoh had driven them back to the plains of Ekcteth, defeat after defeat. There seemed no way to win against their superior numbers and escape was not an option for a Knight of the Rose. The nobles had camped on the other side of the mountain pass, mustering their numbers once again, for though they had won every battle the Knights had made them pay dearly for every inch of ground conceded. Though they had been pushed back for months now, exhausted and harried at every turn, Sslick had been able to maneuver his force into this favorable position for one last stand. They couldn't last much longer at this rate and Sslick knew the only outcome was death by far and large at any rate, so he had chosen this spot to force a ceasefire for a few days' rest before they faced the final assault and their last days. He had done his duty to the best of his ability, he believed. Everyone had ample time to prepare their souls for the inevitable onslaught.

Even so, from his vantage point, he gazed out over the clear expanse and knew that he had chosen well. His force had occupied the area blocking off the only pass for hundreds of miles in any direction. They must pass through here and they would pay dearly for it once again. Soldiers were finishing up fortifications defending the last stand, a large hilly incline where he stood now, some ways from the mountain. Being so far north, snow and ice still dotted the landscape but the torrential downpour sent from the heavens the night before had created a swamp of muddy, slushy snow several feet deep everywhere. Cavalry would be nearly useless in these conditions and any engines of war they had prepared would have to be left behind. So many blessings and so many advantages. Yes, he had planned and done well for his men. Only to prolong the inevitable, but he had done well. All that was left to do was wait for death. Blinking three times to disrupt these thoughts and sights from himself, Lord Commander Sslick turned and slogged through the mush back to the Commander's Pavilion.

A short while later, two men sat around a small stool in the Commander's tent. an air of tired foreboding hung in the air between them. Lord Commander Sslick and Oraon the Brute. Oraon was a larger than average Broarun, even by their typically stocky standards and he adorned himself in typical Broarun fashion, shaggy braided hair with charms and runes woven into the uncut, unkempt mass and little else. Several large silver bangles circled his wrists to signify his ranking status in his house as well as an ornate silver torque, inscribed with powerful runes and giving off an eerie blue glow. Despite his name and race, he was rather intelligent, a rarity among Broaruns, and most likely the reason he has lived to the unheard-of age of fifty-six. Most Broaruns have the capacity to live into their late nineties but are so hotheaded and impassioned, rarely reach their natural end in life. It was also the reason he would most likely not live past that age...as he found himself here commanding an average-sized warband of Broaruns who had come to the aid of the Knights of the Rose. Though he himself was not a knight, the KotR and Broaruns had enjoyed a long partnership over the decades and had always dealt with honor concerning each other. The KotR had also been one of the only non-Broarun societies willing to work with and accept any Broaruns as official members. Many of them have been thrown out as well, but they were at least given a chance and Broauruns never forgot that. And so Oraon was here, ready to give his life for this cause...if only he could get a full stomach one more time before death. It took a lot to fill a Broarun's stomach.

"I think- " Oraon began to rumble but was cut off by a noise outside. They both looked towards the door as the third member of the leading force tentatively pushed back the tent flap as he entered. Petule moved in quick, accurate, and controlled bursts of energy with intermittent pauses between motions, gliding across the room seemingly always in motion, even when standing perfectly still. Sslick remembered thinking of a hummink bird when they had first met years ago, though this Chirt would never be airborne again. A wound had severed a tendon in his left wing and grounded him for life. He still had enough wing force to glide and hover as he often displayed in short jumps and hops whenever he was excited, as he always seemed to be, the excitable fellow. He fought in a strange blueish-grey lacquered suit of armour, which Sslick knew was deceptively light though still surprisingly sturdy, the secret of which the Chirt never told. The plates overlapped in long horizontal strips to seamlessly protect most of the body. He cut an impressive albeit diminutive figure as he perched wearily on the edge of the seat set out for him. Usually bursting with energy it was sad to see him so drawn and exhausted. They were all exhausted, but Petule more than the others. A Chirt's metabolism requires them to eat their body weight in sustenance each day to remain healthy. Food had been running low lately and he was visibly suffering from it.

"We were about to start without you, Hover-Fly". Oraon's lip curled slightly as he spoke. He held no affection for Petule and Broaruns were not known to be patient, polite, or overly tolerant of what they considered the "weaker races". The Chirt were nearly at the top of that list, along with Eep and Lagora.

"My apologies, Oraon." Petule inclined his beak slightly to the left and spoke in short clipped sentences. Not for any emotional or personal reasons, but because that was the way most Chirt naturally spoke. "My men found a stand of bearberries a ways down the mountain and I was overseeing the retrieval as well as the distribution among the forces. I'm afraid there was not much to go around."

Oraon licked his lips at the thought of the juicy fruit and his eyes glistened hungrily. "Getting the first taste and no doubt giving the majority to your men, hhrmmmm?" A low growl began in the back of his throat.

Petule looked sideways, which is naturally easy for a Chirt to do, at the menacing, shaggy warrior and spoke quietly thought not submissively. "I do not want an altercation."

Sslick stood up suddenly, drawing all eyes to himself. "You are hungry, Oraon. We are all.. hungry." His own mail was loose and chaffing from the weight he had lost. "Do not let that color your words. Let us attend to the matter at hand."

"Hmpphhh... Beeeerriees...." Oraon turned his eyes to the map and waved his hand dismissively in Petule's direction. Petule merely rolled his eyes and clicked his beak for Sslick to continue.

"Most of our options will end in grisly death and defeat" In the confines of this space, thoughts could be voiced that would be best left unsaid among the rest of the men. "It is only truly a matter of how long we can last and how much damage we can do" Closing his eyes briefly, he offered what he was fairly sure no one would accept, " There is always the Sea if anyone wishes to retreat." Looking at each of them for a moment in silence he added, " No one, least of all me, would think less of you in these circumstances". That wasn't exactly true, but he felt he had to at least offer it as an option.

Oraon rose up suddenly, knocking over his chair and the stool in his passion., "One thing, and maybe the only thing EVER, me and puffer-fluff agree on," Petule sighed at the completely unnecessary insult, " is that we are in this to the end!" He tried to slam his fist down on the stool for emphasis, forgetting that he had knocked it over and instead hit its side edge, sending wooden bits around the room as it exploded under his misdirected assault.

"Err, sorry." He looked around sheepishly. "We've told you this before, you know how much I hate repeating myself!"

Sslick smiled grimly and held his hands out to both sides in a gesture of defeat. "So, how many ways can we die tomorrow?"