Chapter #4In war council by: Yote   A meeting had been called in the war room. As the lords and commanders gathered around the table and Warmaster Hogar the Two Eyed began to give his report in his slow, sonorous voice, the King seated himself at the head of the table with his jowls in his hands, staring vacantly over the parchment map laid out before him. There had been a time when he'd loved these meetings, when the little painted clay figurines of Orcs and Elves placed around the map had evoked memories of the glory days of his youth.
But war was a game for younger men now. These days it was his family that weighed heavily on his brow. It was the transformation of his eldest daughter, Isabella, in particular which was keeping him awake at night - quite literally, he had spent last night camped outside her chamber door. Handsome young suitors prowled like wolves in her wake.
As the meeting wore on, many of the Lords struck pipes, and the air of the windowless room was soon thick with whorls of smoke and the deep, sleep-inducing drone of the Warmaster. As usual, the reports of impending catastrophe were without end - the Kingdom's borders were vast, so was its list of enemies.
"The Orc warbands continue their march Southwards. They grow more brazen and gain momentum with each battle, as is their way. They must be broken, and broken hard, or they'll only return stronger. If we can't find a way to stop them - or at least distract or divert their advance - they could very well be at our walls by this time next year. Just something for your consideration... Meanwhile, from Allarmarsh, comes a report of yet another breed of elves - accursed, feral creatures that spew a corrosive substance. Sir Golan was investigating them - alas it cost him much of his skin. The local Elven King assures us that it is an isolated, personal matter that he wishes to deal with himself, though clearly action must be taken if these beasts continue to attack our outlying settlements. Since this is a diplomatic matter, I will only pursue this with the consent of the King of course..."
Hogar paused lengthily for confirmation. One by one, the assembled Lords turned to their King. He was slumped in his seat with his chin on his chest, eyes closed beneath their bushy silver brows, snoring. Hogar's scarred face twisted in annoyance, and he drummed his fingers on the pommel of his sword impatiently. With a snort, Ivar realised he was being watched. He stirred in his seat, blinking bleary eyes at his vassals, who were were watching him in the way they did when they expected him to sign or proclaim something.
"Oh, good. Are we ordering dinner already?" Ivar yawned, stretching and rubbing his hands together eagerly. "I think the stuffed quail today for me-"
"We are not ordering dinner," Warmaster Hogar growled. "We are discussing important matters of state which will decide the future of the Kingdom, whether it survives or falls. It is not asking too much for you to focus on the briefing and not your belly for just a few hours. Or is there something more important than an impending, unstoppable Orc invasion on your mind? Perhaps you'd like to share it with your war council," he muttered acidly, adding, ".. my liege," as an after-thought.
"My apologies." Chastised but amused, the King sat up straighter in his chair. He had a fondness for the old war dog and his chronic inability to mince words even around his King. Perhaps he was the man to ask. None of the others lords had given him a straight answer, soothing him with empty assurances regarding his daughter's chastity and his son's failings.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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