[chpt 0]

A deep musty voice breaks the silence of the meeting hall.

“So how strong is their captain”? The speaker, a large potbellied man with coarse hair and even rougher hands could finally not tolerate the wait. He much rather be in his workshop hammering away.

“The drawing of his blade prophesizes victory, the angles of his strokes your means of defeat”.

Everyone draws in a breath of air and glances at Swift Legs Joe. Although he may be just the errands boy for the 32th division, that also means he travels a lot and knows a fact or two.

At the head of the room beneath a banner of a dire wolf, a pair of legs comes off the round table as a figure stands up. Although his 5’7 stature is not impressively tall for a human, everyone in the rooms knows that an enemy lingering on his height for even instance means a new soul in the underworld.

He slowly walks out of the room, and as his the tail of his cape trails away, his parting message echoes “I will leave this matter to Morgan”

Morgan softly sighs. As one of the youngest and few women in the group her responsibilities as the lead strategists were often the greatest.

“Ha ha ha leader sure doesn’t like to talk; he went to train upon hearing Joe’s remark”.

However no one payed any attention to the goggle-wearing Zenrik’s joke while he mixed strange yellow goo in his beaker.

The focus once again shifted, resting on Morgan’s pondering face. Although she is a young woman possessing a calm beauty, her eyes are baggy and her face is marred by deep lines from countless nights of studying tactics. Many men in the corps often wagered that if she cared even a tenth of what other women did about their appearance, she would be a real stunner.

Even now an orange haired man across from her was sketching her figure, occasionally saying “ah’” and “if only…”

Sometimes he would be open his mouth in shock as he completed certain poses, causing the long stalk of grass he is chewing to fall out. Only after a while would he stick it back in and continue drawing.

“Harith, what resources do we have from the northern front?”

In the back of a room a skinny man throwing darts smiles upon having his name called out by Morgan.

However he continues to throw several more instead of immediately answering, which surprisingly all hit the bullseye despite his spaghetti like arms.

Suddenly a loud bam thunders out as a pair of powerful arms slams the table. An angry voice attacks “Harith are you going to contribute or not?”

Harith finally turns to face the group and singles out the agitated Hunter.

“Awww Hunter here is playing Morgan’s pet again, why don’t you ask the same question to our artist Meepo over there?”

“Just ignore what he is drawing” Morgan exasperates.

“Alrighty, I will be quicky about it just because I don’t want your aging to be pinned on me.”

“So it is like this folks – we simply don’t have any ways to allocate soldiers from the north because the emperor’s second brother recently moved a large amount from there as well”.

“However if everyone recalls, we recently won a war against the Ravian kingdom and should have a large amount of prisoners”.

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“I propose that we use those large amounts of prisoners to stall the beast tides in the south border so that some soldiers there can be used this mission.”

Morgan immediate frowns at the proposal, but doesn’t speak out because she cannot think of a better idea.

Sylvia, another woman in the group, catches on to Morgan’s distress and interjects “But aren’t prisoners normally used by the empire as slaves for the farms and mines?”

“Wouldn’t it be a waste to send them as cannon fodder?”

Hunter nods at Sylvia’s remark even though he normally doesn’t care for these kinds of matters.

Harith simply laughs. “It seems like you do not know the nature of these Ravianians my dear.”

“Bluntly put our empire’s conquests of their lands were in a cold hearted manner, rushing them overnight and slaughtering everything in the path.”

“Combined with the fact that they extremely prideful to their core, demonstrated by the fact that they would rather burn their resources in the last second, it would mean that they would be useless as slaves as they would rather cause die or cause mischief than toil the sands or strike the caves.”

“But then why would we take them as sla-“ , but Sylvia cuts herself off and her face drops as she realizes she fell into Harith’s trap.

“It is exactly for situation like these.”

Harith resumes his dart throwing having said his piece, leaving everyone else to mull over the plan.

Morgan grits her teeth and scans the room. Knowing that everyone has things they need to do, and that she really can’t think of anything at the moment, she could only relent “we will go with Harith’s idea unless I think of something else”.

Everyone briskly leaves the room, leaving Morgan clenching her fists at the table. A large potbelly suddenly squeezes through the door as the coarse haired man reappears and recalls “Oh I forgot to mention that I finished fixing your telescope.”

“Thank you Olvan, just leave it on my study desk.”

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Later that night, when the sky is painted in stars, and the moon bathes the sea in eerie light, Swift Legs Joe finishes his sweep of the ship’s deck and retires to his chambers.

“Ahhh I really need to change posture when I lift those sacks of potatoes.”

Slumping down on his bed while rubbing his back, he suddenly thinks about the especially beautiful sky tonight and is inspired to write a poem on his desk.

Swift Legs Joe picks up his quill and dips it in some ink. His eyes glisten as he thinks of a faraway place, and slowly the words form: 

To you in a sea of resplendence

Possessing of meager incandescence

No matter how the waves of life toss you about

And the pain of being drowned out makes you shout

I will –

His reverie is interrupted by several knocks on his door, causing him to quickly put away his tools and tuck the parchment away.

“Who is it?”

“Morgan.”

“Oh come in!”

Swift Legs Joe, true to his name, blinks to the door and invites Morgan in.

“Sorry for interrupting you when it’s supposed to be rest time.”

“Not at all, not at all, what brings you to my quarters?”

Joe glances at Morgan’s worried expression and gestures her to have a seat at the edge of his bed.

Joe doesn’t rush her, and lets her form her words.

After a short pause Morgan  gently speaks:

“It’s about today’s meeting, and how the proposed solution.”

“Ah I see how using the slaves would stir up your past”.

Morgan Nods he head, causing some loose strands of black hair to cover her face.

“Since you joined the corps, the importance of being able to sacrifice personal ideas and personal emotions for the success of missions has demonstrated itself time and time again.”

Joe continues:

“And as the lead strategists you are the most aware of it”.

“I personally believe that being emotional is not a weakness as a strategist, but strength if utilized properly.”

“This is because by exemplifying human nature, you can gradually understand how to exploits your opponent’s weaknesses better.”

“Trying to shove away emotions is like losing an important tool that lets you resonate with other humans that have similar emotions.”

Joe pauses to glance at Morgan who is growing more and more listless.

“However not solving the current problem at the root might cause more complications down the path, forcing us to bigger actions. Imagine if the enemy managed to grow in size, causing the empire to conscript the commoners – at that time wont more innocent people be involved?”

“Sometimes the best steps to take is to keep the sacrifice in your heart, grow stronger to prevent these injustices, and then to give back and pay tribute when you can.”

Morgan mutters “Grow stronger...”

Joe sighs “To those who are puppets in the grand stage of things, sometimes only fate can guide them.”