Well, to be honest. This is the first time I have seen such a gentleman gesture where both parties declare their intentions and if both ends can suffice not - it is war. Habaraef is barking orders which I find unintelligible. I do really prefer someone who can enunciate words to be the one who is making the tactics. No offense. An orc, an elf, a dwarf, or whatsoever; as long as the one whose pronunciation is well articulated, not a muffled gurgling noise. I mean she do stutter as well. It is better to do nothing than to do stupid. No one can accuse me of this since most words the naga utters is a screeching noise to my ears. I can not even seek to understand those words out of her mouth. The other camp is hissing towards us in a frantic aggression, as Habaraef does not fall for their intimidation so she hushes back to them. The crowd of clamor follows behind me where I find it absurd since they, my kind, are following a half-serpent, half-man. I am at the epicenter of the family’s army - Celamus’s men. I look around as the roar does not seem to dissipate. The shout grows stronger from my side. It is not deafening and bothering, albeit, I find it amusing.

“This will end in a yelling contest or what?” asking to myself, as I am oblivious about what they are doing - Habaraef, alongside with Celamus’s men, against her own kind.

I can sense that their throats and lungs are about to concede about what they are undertaking just to intensify the battle cry. On the other end, I am no naga… a scaly cold-blooded sentient. No, no, no. And no. I do know not how their bodies work. Hmmm? Oh, I forgot to ask that with Habaraef. Maybe, I should inquire with her about that after this charade has finished. I am aware that they are as well trying to sustain their snarls against us, however. I mean, after speculating how things should work - we should be more aggressive than them due to the fact that we are hiding behind these half-assed built walls. Like dogs barking at each other when there is a fence acts as an intermediary. And when there are no walls between each side, the dogs act in a passive manner hostile to each other. Provoking them, at least. The other side of the nagas should be the one who is making the move since they encroach into our turf. Our turf? No, Captain Leonis’s backyard.

“Up high above, please end this misery. It makes me humdrum per se.” I talk once more to myself where I send a prayer from the heavens.

And after a minute and a half or so, the fighting continues… actually, it is not a fight, it is a bickering between two sides. My camp and the other camp. A passive-aggressive of ‘all barks, no bite’ face off. I do join not with my comrades. First and foremost, I am fairly on their side. Second of all, I am not willing to do something dumb like what my camp is doing as of now. Thirdly, they are my allies and it is under my volition to defend when danger strikes at all cost. Hence, to conclude it for this fourth and final reason; it does mean not that I am their brother-in-arms that I am going to take part in a partake with them but I will not do stupid things with them. This annoying transpiration is turning into an entertaining amusement after a while. It is just a couple of minutes but the roars of each camp are resonating within my chest. I will still not take part in it. It is just plain stupidity. In all honesty.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

All I can utter is: "What the hell is going on, actually? I'm confused." as nothing, I could think of some sort of competition such as this.

And right now, their voices are starting to lose some of the steam. And just by now, the air inside their lungs - all seems exhausted. Empty. As the other side looks the same as well. The nagas from the other end thud their weapons down to the sand, creating a tiny bit of tremor which I am flabbergasted at first. The foes instead make the initiative of the next phase of this harmless debacle. I survey around. Around my so-called comrades-in-arms. They are not fazed by their dread. Incurring fear of the opposing nagas sends a chill down to my spine. Yet, the men of the Celamus family are not. This, I do anticipate not. In retaliation, the men-at-arms of the family of Celamus fiercely oppose the intimidation of the foreign scaly slithereen sentients by incurring a noise of their own. Some of them deliver unison stomps to the pavement then follow it with the slamming of the butt of their weapons to the ground. Stomp of foot. Slam of the weapon. Stomp of foot. Slam of the weapon. Vice-versa. Then repeat. And after a while, the rest of the men then accentuate the rhythm of the beat with clattering of their weapons. They insert the clamor after the thunderous slam to the ground. The sequence of the beat would sound like this: stomp of foot, slam of the weapon, and the metal clattering sound comes from the weapon clashing. Stomp. Slam. Clash. Stomp. Slam. Clash. Repeat.

“Such a spectacle, overseeing this kind of display!” exclaiming this in the depths of my chest, as I am trying to contain this emotion where I search the meaning behind the reciprocal verbal clout of each camp.

Meanwhile, the group of nagas stops their action from making small quakes on the ground. From the looks of their faces, they seemed defeated despite their number counts… their superior mass advantage - 1:4. As they withdraw to the beaches.

“What is this fort for?,” I say underneath my breath, “What are they celebrating for? Are they out of their mind? This is a fiasco!” as I express my disgruntled remark towards the situation. Do you call this a victory?

I approach one of the men whose participation in the battle rally beside me, questioning: “What was that for? This is phony. Did we win just because of that?” as I express my repudiation and also my disapproval to this hysteria.

“You know, gentleman. Not all wars start with a first blood. And few of them conclude it in an unexpected fashion - a bloodless confrontation.” he replies, as the man is attempting to teach me.

He then laughs, tapping my shoulder, where he adds: “I guess, my friend, you have a different kind of perception about how wars work. I admit I don't know you. And not quite. But, I do see you how jingoist your characteristic is. Well, in fact, based on my observation.” as the man assumes to judgement, deciding how shallow he sees from me.