As it turned out, the promise of a feast was no exaggeration. Beyond the abundance of breads, considerably more fresh than we were used to back in the kingdom, there was an ample supply of meats, all cut into neat little disks of surprising freshness, cooked to seal in their juices. Meat was, naturally, far from unheard of back home, but it tended to be difficult to obtain in any significant quantities, and even when we could it was, more often than not, half rotted. Even in that state it was considered to be a treat, but nothing compared to the flavorful and juicy bits which were offered to us that day.

"Where did all of this come from?" I asked one of the local servers. Unlike the attendants of the umpiress, he wore plain white garb, but of fine enough quality. It was a sort of uniform worn by most of the citizens, made up of both shirt and pants, strangely enough. Back in the kingdom, pants were a rare novelty, rarely indulged in. They were generally considered to be both uncomfortable and impractical, and thus were in low demand.

"Why the Players, of course. Who else?" He said. "Sadly, availability varies dramatically with the seasons, and the meat, in particular, does not keep very well. We go from periods of abundance to periods of near starvation, based on the activity of the grounds above us. Right now, however, we have more than we know what to do with, so I implore all of you to eat your fill."

It was an easy request to obey. Augustus, in particular, greedily devoured as much as he could. It seemed that the standard bits of bread didn't really agree with him, which was hardly a surprise. Dark Lords of all kinds were known to be eaters of flesh. The important thing was that it wasn't our flesh.

"I take it these are the... 'players' as you call them?" Jebediah asked, standing, facing one of the colorful depictions set within the wall. It was a tableau of striking realism, depicting a Maker dressed in a remarkably similar uniform to the server, which was likely no coincidence. The quality was, of course, much higher, and there were stripes of radiant red running through it as well, not to mention the solid helmet atop it's head of a matching color, whereas the server had worn a plain white cap with a forward pointed brim. The pose showed the human diving through the dirt which kicked up all about him, ready to strike at the legs of another Maker, this one dressed in blue, mostly out of frame, standing above him.

"Oh yes. Great and mighty warriors, one and all. For their size, they run with shocking swiftness, leap with remarkable agility, strike with unfathomable power, yet still have keen eyes and masterfully accurate hands. Theirs is an existence we strive to emulate above all others, and their inspiration gave rise of this great nation." the expression of the mouse, formerly beaming with pride, crumbled all at once. "And perhaps, also, its fall."

"Yeah, we're all still a little bit fuzzy on the details of the situation." Jeb said, "What exactly happened?"

"The players granted us many wonderful gifts. From their example, we learned tools and clothing, armor and tactics, and of course an abundance of foods of many differing types." he continued. There was no denying the food variety. While my focus may have been the meat, there was much more to it than that. Particularly interesting were the strange sauces, the bright red and yellow colors of which made them appear to be completely inedible but, to my surprise, instead offered an intense burst of flavor. "There was one thing they offered to which even the most exotic foods and powerful combat techniques paled in comparison: That was the spirit of competition."

The server mouse sighed as he stepped alongside the farmer, longingly stroking a single finger down the plastic coating of the image in question. "It may seem unintuitive, but competing against one another drove us to innovate, to improve ourselves and as we, as individuals improved, so did everything else around us. We were driven to procure greater types of foods, stitch superior uniforms, and to emulate the tools of the Players with ever more accuracy until they became near perfect imitations. It was truly a golden age. Sadly, no age can last forever. In time, rather than seeking to merely enhance ourselves, we turned to sabotaging one another, who we had increasingly grown to see as obstacles. No longer driven by practical benefit, instead we were motivated by pride which lead to bitterness." he shook his head and chuckled, "I suppose that must seem pretty foolish to you, a group of creatures of such clearly varying origins, all banded together in service to a greater cause."

"Nope, it sounds pretty familiar to me." Samson said, clearly recalling his past life studying within the lower levels of the university.

The offered explanation was another vague one which helped little. It was impossible to not notice a general trend there, however: That people, in general, didn't seem to fault one side of the conflict over the other, instead apparently seeing it as a greater social failing. As thought it were an inevitability, rather than the product of one or more foolish individuals.

"But, I've talked enough of our problems, and you all have been burdened more than enough with them." The server said with a smile, "Tell me of your own conflict, and of the enemy you must face. How did it begin?"

Jebediah was about to give an explanation, only to stop himself, his brow furrowing as he struggled to come up with an answer, one which was far beyond his grasp. "To be honest, I have no idea. We'd been fighting them for quite a while now, and only recently did things escalate."

"I can answer that. Well, sort of. The exact details are a little bit fuzzy." Samson said. "It started with Mollenoch, the shadow king himself, as one might guess. Of course, back in the early days, he was a hero. Perhaps the greatest of heroes, but seemingly overnight he turned away from the kingdom, and not long after, rumors started to spread about a technologically advanced nation, deep within the southern continent."

"Yeah, we know that part. Everyone does." Meryll chimed in. "I doubt that there's a single mouse here who hasn't read Mollenoch's Guide to Heroes. I even skimmed through Mollenoch's Guide the Villainy. Morality aside, it just didn't have the same flair. Could have used a proper editor." she said. She was overstating the popularity of the work, somewhat, but it was, unquestionably, quite famous. The sequel was significantly less critically acclaimed, largely seen as rambling and possessing significant third-act problems. Well, that along with the fact that it was filled with a lot of ravings about death and destruction and the like, which rarely made for popular subject matter. "That still leaves a lot of questions, though, like the how and why. From what I know, he fought with a sword not... whatever it is that those soldiers of his are using. Also, of course, what could have made him change so completely and so suddenly."

"As for the 'how' that is a complete unknown. He was famous for crafting his own weapons and armor, but while he was considered highly skilled at it, his works weren't of legendary quality. He was simply a very good crafter as well as warrior, but so far as I could tell, he had no knowledge of advanced engineering. One theory is that while he is the leader of the nation, he's not the mastermind behind their technological developments, that when he left the kingdom, he joined this group and organized them, making them stronger through proper leadership. Even this theory has more than a few holes in it, however." The one-eyed mouse sighed. "As for the second question, that's probably an easier one. Just a theory, of course, nobody knows for sure, but it was likely a case of 'Heroic Retirement Syndrome'."

"Huh? I've never heard of that." The large mouse woman said.

"Most people haven't, or more accurately, they choose to ignore it. Ever notice how heroes rarely just live out their lives in peace once their battles are done? They usually just sort of disappear? That's because, contrary to what most people would like to believe, heroes don't want peace. Justice and protecting the innocents and all that are fringe benefits, to them, at best. You can't become a truly excellent warrior unless you genuinely enjoy fighting and are driven by the thrill of battle above all else. Naturally, a life like this ends in one of two ways: One, they die. They eventually either face a foe that is too powerful for them, or their luck simply runs out. The other, of course, is that they keep winning, and grow ever stronger until there are no battles left to be fought, or at least no satisfying ones. At this point, they lose their sense of purpose and either go mad or seek out a new opponent wherever they can, which is often their former allies, the only ones who could prove a proper threat. They often end up being cut down by the very people that they had once saved, but the bards rarely sing songs about that part."

"That doesn't sound right. What about Jerin? She would never turn against her own people!"

Samson's face had given an annoyed twitch, one which I suspect that nobody else had noticed. "She is young and didn't fight for very long. It also remains to be seen what lies in her future. She's already given up on protecting the innocent. It's likely only a matter of time before she starts to see them as her enemies."

"T-that's not true! She would never!" Meryll exclaimed, her large paws balled into trembling fists which threatened to strike out at the smaller magic user at any moment.

"Um, back to this shadow king fellow..." Jebediah said, in an effort to deflate the growing hostilities. "Is that how it all started? He left and immediately declared war on the kingdom?"

The one-eyed mouse shook his head. "Not exactly. First off, it wasn't immediate. Some time had passed before rumors of this strange nation began to spread. It's unclear whether it simply took time for news to pass around, or if it rose to prominence practically overnight. King Leon, that is to say the former king Leon, sent a delegation of soldiers and diplomats to the south, in hopes of forming an alliance, or more accurately, hoping to slowly annex this new territory and claim the rumored weapons and technology for himself. None returned. Apparently, the negotiations went poorly. It's unclear which side struck first, but the result was the same, either way. From there, tensions rose rapidly, and we began to fortify our borders. There were small skirmishes here and there, but for a while, the border itself was respected. That's when the shadow king began to move his forces. There were many battles, but to call what happened to our own soldiers 'defeats' would be a massive understatement. No matter how many soldiers we sent, no matter how well armed they were or how strategically they fought, our forces were completely crushed." Samson paused, "Which, of course, takes us to now."

This explanation was met with awkward silence until, eventually, Jebediah spoke up, "Hmm, I sort of wish someone told us just how hopeless this was to begin with." he said, lightly stroking the slightly too long fur under his chin, before he chuckled and shrugged, "Whelp, I'm sure Jerin knew what she was doing when she sent us out. It will all work out somehow, I'm sure."

This, for some reason, had largely alleviated the existing tensions. Not for me, of course, but I couldn't claim that all of this was new information. I was well aware, from the start, that this was an uphill battle, although admittedly, not quite to this extent. Still, there was no need to despair. Well, not completely, anyways. We were in a strange new land filled with powerful warriors and our own forces had grown steadily after starting from practically nothing. Things could certainly have been better, but they could unquestionably have also been so, so much worse. Sometimes all you can do is take comfort in the fact that things are going in the right direction, rather than worrying that it still won't be enough.

"Yes, we have seen this southern kingdom of yours." A member of the flock said to me. I really felt terrible about being unable to tell them apart, but they were all just indistinguishable balls of adorable fluff, with dark, mysterious eyes which I found to be increasingly enchanting. "They travel within a strange, mobile fortress, a similar device used by your so-called 'Makers', but which moves at a far, far slower pace."

"That explains why they're taking so long to reach the kingdom, I suppose." Sellas, the head cultist said, shaking her head. "Typical heretics. Traveling aboard some mechanical abomination, rather than walking with the feet that the Starman blessed them with."

"I can see the appeal. All this walking around is awfully tiring." Jeb replied, only to be met with a thoroughly annoyed glare from Sellas, which the farmer had failed to even notice.

"Uh, anyways, what about that group that attacked us earlier? Any word on them?" I asked a nearby bird, eager to once more change the subject, at least slightly.

"They appear to have set up camp some distance away, and have not moved for quite some time." the creature replied.

"Maybe they lost track of us when we went underground, and can't find us?" Jeb said.

"They are not searching. Only waiting." the bird again replied, curtly, looking to our leader with an irritated expression, at least as much of an irritated expression as those soft, cute faces were capable of. As for the farmer, he simply shrugged, content enough with the explanation, likely figuring that so long as they weren't doing anything, they weren't an immediate threat worth worrying about. I largely agreed, minus the 'not worth worrying about' part.

It was early the next morning when the meeting was called, and the representatives of the local forces gathered. There weren't nearly enough extra beds for all of our soldiers, but we were content sleeping on the floor, where it was both much warmer and safer than sleeping under the stars. I'm sure Sellas and the cultists were disappointed by being back indoors once more, but they made no complaints. I'm sure they knew full well that, one way or another, we'd be back on the road before too long. As much as they argued that goodness dwelled within the earth and evil in space, they had a strangely strong affinity for starlight and the night skies as well. I suppose those tiny lights within it were seen as a much different thing from the black voids between.

Jebediah, Meryll, Samson, Sellas, Annabelle, Tanzra, myself and Dave, for some reason, were lead to a large, round room. With Sellas leading the rest of the cult, it made sense that she would act as their representative, rather than packing the large but finitely sized room with more bodies. None of the flock had showed any interest in the meeting, but I suspected that they would somehow know everything that had happened within it. Augustus was a bit little too large, and content to keep gorging himself on the so called 'hot dogs'. I didn't really know why Tanzra came. She didn't have any particular interest in this conflict. She just moved with the rest of the group, and nobody felt the need to insist that she leave. That was pretty much the entire story of her presence up to this point. Dave kind of fell into this same category, although in his case, I imagine that even if someone were to tell him to leave he would have just nodded in agreement yet still remained in place.

At the center of this room was a large, square table, with further squares carved into each corner, along with a line joining each in a sort of crude copy of the great diamond up above. At the far corner sat the grand Umpiress, framed by her two attendants, and at the opposite side, Jebediah, our own leader. Due to the shortage of chairs, the rest of us remained standing. There were, of course, two more seats, one to both our left and right, reserved for the other guests, the final, essential bits to this grand equation. It wasn't long before both had arrived.

Neither looked particularly impressive, with their distinctions existing on a largely superficial level. Sure, they both wore different colored uniforms, or at least uniforms with different colored pants and lining running through their tops. The lower portions were of a mostly a solid color, impressively clean and vibrant, so much so that even from the battle in the distance, their respective colors had shined through the darkness without trouble. The shorts confused me a little, however. Rather than full pants, they were cut just above the knee, and while I could see this offering a little greater mobility, that also made their presence feel all the less necessary. As for the tops, they were white, short sleeved and with a streak of their respective colors, both red and blue running down the sleeves and sides, along with a numerical Maker's rune stitched into their chests and backs. Each of the men wore a cap of similar styles to the server mouse, small, set between the ears with a thin forward facing brim, each dyed in their respective colors. The mouse in blue had a long, narrow club hanging from his belt, with their opposite carrying no apparent weapons beyond an oversized leather gauntlet worn on one paw.

So far as age, body type and general, physical features went, however the two could well have been mistaken for brothers. While their coloring varied greatly, the mouse wearing the glove having had a bright brown, almost red colored coat (naturally, not quite as red as the secondary color of his uniform), the other was of a very dark gray, which almost looked blue, both of their colors further accentuated by the deep dyes of of their clothing. They each had artificial dark streaks painted under their eyes and across their cheeks, even if they were significantly less visible against the fur of the club, or more accurately, bat wielding mouse. Neither were short, nor were they particularly tall or imposing. They weren't visibly weak or out of shape, either, quite the contrary, but I had to admit that these weren't exactly the types of mice that I had envisioned when I had first learned of the two battling warlords.

"Allow me to make my introductions. To my left is Reginald, high ruler of the 'Batters' faction. To my right is Archibald, supreme leader of the 'Pitchers' faction. Of course, we also have our esteemed guest, who has traveled from a distant land, Jebediah, the Bloody Hell Reaper."

"Um, just 'Jebediah' will do, thanks." The farmer said, sheepishly. He might not have approved of the title, but it clearly did its job. The two newcomers, previously skeptical, looked to him with surprised and anxious expressions. It only made sense, I suppose. Someone known as the 'Bloody Hell Reaper' could be capable of almost anything.

"It's a pleasure to meet a fellow master of their craft." Reginald, the batter in blue said to the farmer with a nod. I wasn't sure exactly what the craft of 'hell reaping' would entail, but I suppose that hardly mattered. "I'm honored to have these foreign ambassadors bear witness when the noble pitchers finally, at long last, cede their forces and territory over to me."

"It's my pleasure as well." The other mouse, Archibald in red, nodded. "But I'm afraid that the strong and handsome leader of the Batters is mistaken. An honest mistake, what with being so focused on honing both body and mind to be the flawless specimen than he is, certain minute details can slip through the cracks. The Umpiress had told me that you were the one ceding your territory or us."

"Hmm, that's so very strange. Are you positive that's what you had heard? With so many cunning plans and strategies going on within that brilliant brain of yours, I could see how it might be hard to keep track of everything. It would be an entirely honest mistake if you misheard. It happens to the best of us, and you clearly fall into that category."

I couldn't help but frown a bit. Were these two really supposed to be bitter enemies, at the opposite ends of a civil war? There was no trace of condescension or sarcasm in their words, rather clear and genuine admiration.

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"My humblest of apologies." The Umpiress finally spoke up, "I made that rather... premature agreement to both of you, fearing that there would be no other way for you two to agree to meet. More than mere visitors or diplomats, these mice, Jebediah in particular, has been chosen to act as an arbitrator to this conflict, in hopes that we might finally bring it to an end."

"You lied to us? To him?" Reginald said, clearly aghast, looking across the table at the 'pitcher' who shook his head in disappointment.

"My feeling are also wounded, but I trust that the great seer had noble intentions. We should hear her out." Archibald replied.

"Yes, yes, you are right, of course. Please proceed."

Admittedly, early on, I had very little faith in this working out, especially with Jebediah at the helm of things. Sure, he might have be the leader and there was no question that he was impartial. Were he any more detached from things, his feet would float above the ground. Still, he was hardly the most shrewd of negotiators. With how agreeable those two were, however, perhaps even he could manage it.

"This war has raged on for far too long." The Umpiress said, "Without any hint of an end in sight. Each night more citizens are wounded, more infrastructure is damaged, and more of our resources are needlessly squandered."

"It's true. I say that we settle this once and for all with a duel. Tonight. The winner shall be declared the one, true ruler of this kingdom!" The blue uniformed 'batter' said.

"Agreed!" Archibald nodded before pausing, his brow furrowed in seemingly deep thought. "Hmm, no disrespect intended, of course, but I feel like there is a small problem with that plan."

"Oh, really? And what would that be, my graceful yet always worthy opponent"

"Well, we've tried this before. Quite often. Every single night, in fact, and each time it resulted in a stalemate. Despite my best efforts, I cannot overcome your overwhelming defenses."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short. It isn't as though I have done any better..." Reginald paused, nodding his head, "But yes, I suppose you are correct. There is little reason to believe that tonight would go any differently. Perhaps a change of approach is, indeed, necessary."

"Should I take this to mean that neither side objects to the use of a neutral participant to decide who is the most worthy?" The elder woman asked.

"Of course not! Why, with a name like that, our guest must be incredibly powerful, and therefore, incredibly wise! I have no doubt that in his wisdom he will make the correct choice in recognizing me as the supreme authority of this great land..." the pitcher said, "Not to imply that the compassionate, charismatic and ever charming Reginald wouldn't also be worthy in his own right, of course, even if clearly less so."

"Yes. I've always been one to face destiny head on, and let the chips fall where they may. I have no doubt that I am meant to lead our people into a glorious new age, and that our esteemed guest will make the proper choice. Well, the slightly more proper choice."

Both uniformed mice turned to the farmer, clearly expecting an immediate answer. As for him? He simply looked confused, and I couldn't say that I blamed him.

"Um, thank you for having me here, and welcoming us to this amazing kingdom of yours. I'd really like to help settle things, for more reasons than one, but I have to be honest, I don't really know where to begin. It's a little unclear to us what this fight is even about." He said, looking between the two remarkably similar mice. "I'll need to hear both sides of this before I can even consider making any sort of decision. You... Archibald was it? Let's begin with you."

I was briefly concerned that the other mouse would take objection to not going first, but really, I should have known better. He simply raised an opened paw towards the other, motioning for hi to speak.

"I thank you. Yes, I am Archibald, the pitcher, the same as my father, and his father before him... well, the pitching thing. We all had different names, of course. Things would have gotten rather confusing, otherwise." he said, rising from his seat. "Hmm, how to explain this in a way that an outsider might understand... think of the wind. A natural force, that pushes us, pushes everything, moves things forward. That is the nature of the universe, isn't it? A constant, steady flow, a stream. Throw an object against the wind and it won't go so far, but throw it with the wind? Well, if the wind is strong enough, there's no telling just how far it will go!

"And that is what we do. We throw, but more than that, we embody the spirit of momentum and harness the power that it offers. We, all of us, are part of the flow, and through harnessing that energy, not just in the sense of literal wind, but with everything, we can amplify ourselves as well, to the extent that there is no telling the heights that even we, humble little mice, might reach!

"That is why we throw. It lets us become the wind, and when we grip our stone just right, lean back and send it hurtling forward? Well, there is no greater, no purer sensation in this world, than when you see it going and going and going, virtually unstoppable. The embodiment of a dream, that one day, mayhap one day soon, we too will be so able to fly."

There was an audible sniffling as the mouse at the opposite end of the table wiped away a tear. "Heartfelt and eloquent as always. I may not agree with you, but I will always admire your passion, and hope that one day I might rival it. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Oh, that's fine, I was finished, and don't sell yourself short on passion. That is another area that you are my equal, if not superior. I could go on longer, but if I take too long and bore our guests, they might grow too tired to appreciate your own explanation and make an objective assessment."

"An excellent point. I'll, similarly, do my best to keep this brief." the mouse in blue said, blowing his nose into his sleeve and clearing his throat. "I am Reginald, the batter. Unlike my esteemed rival, I cannot claim to come from a grand family line. Quite the contrary, my father was a pitcher, and I was raised to be one myself. I was taught all of the lessons of the flow, of destiny, or harnessing its power for the greater good, and I took them to heart... but then I realized, why simply follow when you can lead? The flow of the world has its own priorities, which may well not match our own. Why depend on destiny to guide us, when we can, instead, forge it ourselves?

"So, instead, we strike back. I know full well the grace, the beauty, the sheer force that comes from the perfect throw, but there is one area I disagree on. Archibald will claim that the sensation of throwing is the greatest feeling on earth, but he is mistaken. As strong as it may be, it is nothing compared to seeing that unstoppable projectile hurtling towards you, and striking it mid flight, pitching, no pun intended, your might against the very force of this universe, feeling your bones and muscles ache, for that one moment wondering if it will be enough, how it could possibly be enough, only to send it hurtling right back, with even greater power than it was initially launched!

"One cannot truly grow simply by obeying the natural laws of this world. One naturally needs respect their authority, but one must also defy them, and surpass them whenever they can! And, yes, I will admit, that it is difficult. To fight against wind, gravity, the very laws of physics and time itself is tiring and hard. Your body will hurt, and it might even break. Sometimes, often in fact, it will feel like it isn't worth it, like you're just expending energy to accomplish nothing... but when you finally do break through and stand, not as a simple tool, but as your own mouse, with their own destiny, standing above it all? Well, that is when you truly realize that there is nothing that cannot be done, both as individuals, and we as a people. That there are no heights which we cannot ascend, and no obstacles which we cannot overcome."

This was met with a brief silence, followed by outright applause from the blue suited pitcher. "Bravo! Why, I dare say that had I the slightest bit less resolve, I would throw myself at your feet, and pledge eternal loyalty to your cause!"

"That is kind of you to say, but I could never had expressed myself so well had I not been so motivated by your own impassioned plea. I daresay that both of us have given as thorough an explanation of our goals and philosophies as anyone could hope for. Now, my new friend, it is time for you to choose."

Both of the uniformed mice turned to Jebediah at once, who simply wore his usual confused expression. He naturally wasn't the only one. It was pretty much a universally held expression by our allies. The explanations really didn't help at all. Okay, one could loosely read between the lines to interpret a general guiding philosophy, but how exactly did that translate into actual governance and leadership policies? Someone had to speak up, and eventually someone did. Sadly, it wasn't the most helpful of contributors.

"Ugh, let me see if I get this straight... between all that flowery nonsense, and the pictures of those 'Players' lining the walls, I think I somehow understand. All of this, this entire argument, this entire war simply comes down to the fact that you..." Samson pointed to the red garbed mouse, "Like to throw rocks, and you..." he then pointed to the other, "Like to hit them with sticks?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite that bluntly, but... yes. Pretty much." Reginald said, to which the other nodded in agreement.

"Of all the ridiculous... to think we actually wasted our time coming all this way in search of powerful warriors, only to-" Samson said, his words cut off by a significant impact behind him as a glowing projectile was launched with tremendous speed between his head and shoulder, leaving a deep, still smoking crater in the stone wall behind him. The one-eyed mouse simply stared forward in shock.

"I understand that you are foreigners from a distant land, and our ways may seem strange to you... but don't underestimate us. Sure, everything sounds simple when broken down enough, and perhaps it even is, but there is power to be found in simplicity. It's all in how you use it." Archibald said, standing upright, his arm still outstretched.

"Please don't damage the walls of the meeting room." The Umpiress sighed.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry, I was just trying to..."

"I know what you were trying to do, just... don't."

The pitcher bowed his head and nodded, clearly embarrassed, before Reginald spoke up. "I, for one, thought it was a very impressive display. As for you, Reaper, now is the time to choose. While confident you will choose me, as disagreeable as my rival can be sometimes, I have no doubt that he will accept your choice and offer no recriminations towards you and yours."

"But of course." The pitcher nodded, "Were that unlikely hypothetical situation to happen, he is correct, and I can speak with supreme confidence that the reverse is also true. Perhaps my enemy may see your coming as a roll of the dice and a chance to resist fate, but I see your presence as destined and inevitable. One way or another, whichever side you take, whichever choice you happen to make, it was meant to be, and both of us shall abide by your decision."

All eyes once more turned to Jebediah who sat silent, and I feared for a moment that he might have sat silent forever. I'm not sure what I would have said were I in his position. What could you say? In time, however, he did finally raise his head and speak up. "You three are dumping an awful lot into my lap here. I mean, I'm flattered that you trust me with the decision and all that, but I don't see how I can make one." he looked from one uniformed mouse to the other, "It seems to me like you two have an awful lot in common. Isn't there any way that you can compromise and worth together to lead?"

Both mice balked at the idea. "Of course not! They are completely contradictory and incompatible forms of governance! Any sort of merging of them would simply dilute both to the point of uselessness!" The batter said.

"It's true. As flattered as I am that you think we have much in common, personally I could not hope to match the flawless, statuesque physique and burning passion of my most bitter enemy-" Archibald replied.

"Oh, don't sell yourself short. I've seen the impressive abdominal muscles you've been developing... you've clearly been working out."

"Well, I do try, but it's so hard to find the time, you know?" the pitcher smiled across the table.

Reginald chuckled. "Heh, don't I know it." before continuing, "...as I was saying, working alongside him as a true equal is completely impossible. A team cannot have two captains. I appreciate and admire your desire for fairness and diplomacy, but I assure you, were it so simple, we could have done such a thing ourselves. A decision must be made."

More silence followed, as all eyes were once again set upon the farmer who looked, predictably, less than comfortable with the situation.

"Just pick one at random. It's not like it matters." Samson leaned in to whisper to him.

"Yes. I have come to a decision." Jebediah said, as he rose to his feet. He looked from one foreign leader to the other and nodded his head. "I have decided... that I need more time to think about it. If you will excuse me..."

And at that, the farmer turned around and walked away, leaving the rest of the participants completely dumbfounded.

Jebediah had returned to the large dining area, standing in front of two of the displayed portraits, one of a human locked mid throw, the one next to it, facing that Maker as though they were truly bitter enemies, another posed mid swing of their wooden weapon.

"I think you should go with the pitchers. Did you see how much damage he did when he threw that rock?" Tanzra said.

"No way! Just imagine how hard the other guy could swing that bat! You should go with... um... what was the batters name again?" Meryll replied, wearing a quizzical expression.

"Does it matter? They're both basically the same person." Samson sighed.

"They both sounded pretty nice to me!" Annabelle chimed in, stepping in alongside the one-eyed mouse.

"Exactly!" The Umpiress exclaimed as she burst into the room unexpectedly. "It doesn't matter at all! Even when it comes to specific aspects of governance, I've been completely unable, and Players help me, I've tried, to ascertain any significant differences in their policies or plans! That's why I picked you to resolve the situation, purely because you're a neutral party and your opinion would hold more weight than mine. I don't care what standards you use, whether it's who had the best speech, who you think will serve you best in battle, or even which color is your favorite. Just pick one!"

The farmer simply sighed in response. "It isn't that simple. I honestly wish it were, but in the end, I just don't see how I have the right. No matter how similar you think they are, choosing one over the other could have serious consequences, consequences which I can't bring myself to take responsibility for. I do relate to the problem, however. I've been feeling the same way. Not about the specific politics about this place, but about a lot of things. About our own war. It's all so pointless. All this time and resources and lives spent, and for what? In the end, war is just fighting to keep everything the exact same, and when it's done, you have absolutely nothing to show for it."

"Technically, that only applies to the defenders, not the aggressors." Meryll said.

"Heh, you're right, now that I think about it." Jeb smiled to her. "I suppose, in a strange way, that gives Mollenoch the moral high ground, doesn't it? He's actually trying to accomplish something, to create something new, and we're just clinging to the status quo."

Meryll frowned, and seems as though she wanted to argue the point but couldn't quite find the words.

"Not really." Samson said, "Conquerers don't really want to create something new, either. Quite the opposite. They want to take what is different and make it the same as themselves. In the end, even if they succeed, their land remains largely unchanged. They just have more of it."

"I see." The farmer said, looking, once more, from one picture to the other. "So, I guess in the end, we're all the same, aren't we? We're all just running in place."

I felt the urge to offer a few words of encouragement, but in truth, like Meryll, I couldn't find them, either. After a moment, however, he saved me the trouble and smiled. "I suppose that's not such a bad thing. There's even a sort of elegance to the idea. I just wish that we were all in a little less of a hurry to get nowhere."

No one said anything. I think we were all internally trying to decide whether what he said was profound, nonsensical or simply depressing. While we were doing so, Jebediah stepped away once more, walking back towards the meeting room where the 'bitter rivals' were, presumably, still awaiting his decision.

"Sorry for keeping you two waiting," He said, returning to his seat. We all followed, standing behind him. "I'll be honest with you. I don't see how this is a decision that I can make, and even if I could, I don't see how I have a right to. The truth is, we didn't come here to end your war or to save your country. We've got our own war, and I can't say that it's been going any better than yours. Likely much worse, in fact. We came here for selfish reasons, looking for soldiers to help in our fight. Now, I don't feel guilty about that at all, but I just thought it fair that you know."

The trio of foreign mice paused, before Reginald the batter spoke up. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. Everyone has their own problems, and I don't see why you would be any exception. In principle, I, and I'm sure my opponent as well..." the other mouse nodded his head, "...would he willing to offer aid, but we need to consider our own countries protection..."

"You two are the ones that the country needs protection against!" The Umpiress shouted, slamming a fist on the table, her earlier calm and diplomatic demeanor steadily falling away as her obvious frustrations grew.

"There is another problem as well." Reginald the batter continued. "You are reluctant to favor any one side of our conflict. A reasonable problem, as you feel that doing so would be unfair to the other, which you clearly consider to be no less valid. How are things any different from our end, however? No offense intended, but who are we to decide that your side rather than your opponents is the one that is just and more deserving of victory?"

Jeb nodded his head again, eyes half closed and gave a small smile. "I suppose you cannot. I guess it was unreasonable to come here, especially since we don't even have anything to trade. We were just so sure of the righteousness of our cause, but then, I have no doubt that Mollenoch feels the same way. I suppose there is nothing that can be done, then. We will all just have to find some way to resolve our own conflicts using our own power. I do appreciate the hospitality that your grand Umpiress has shown us, and I still hold out hope that, somehow, both of you can come to a peaceful resolution."

The older woman at the other end of the table looked completely deflated. The pitcher, Archibald nodded in agreement. "Yes, it truly is a shame. Still, it was a pleasure to meet you and yours, and you needn't leave right away. We've spent so much time talking about ourselves, that we have heard nothing about you. Who exactly is this Mollenoch whom you fight?"

Jeb furrowed his brow in thought, trying to decide how to answer. "You know, that's a very good question. I've never actually met the man myself, as he lives pretty far away. We've only faced his soldiers, and they certainly are unusual."

"Really? How so? Do their pitches curve in mid-air when thrown?" Archibald asked, leaning forward, clearly interested in the idea.

"Hmmm... not that I am aware of. Although... maybe? I can't that say I've seen them throw anything yet. Unless shooting counts as throwing? No, I figure that's different. Anyways, they aren't normal mice. They have pieces of their bodies replaced with strange machines. Honestly, I don't know much about that sort of thing. It seems to make them awfully strong, however."

The expressions of both mice went cold as they stared at the farmer. "Are you telling me that this enemy of yours has been relying on illegal performance enhancers?" the pitcher asked, his rival looking similar concerned by the revelation.

"Huh... well, I'm not so sure if they're 'illegal'-" the farmer tried to respond before Samson interjected.

"What's the matter with you?" He softly growled to Jeb before turning to the pair and smiling, "Oh, yeah, totally. They're super illegal! 100%!"

The pair of uniformed mice stared at one another before nodding in unison. The blue uniformed batter spoke first, "This changes everything. Bloodshed I can accept, but I draw the line at poor sportsmanship!"

"Indeed. Clearly our own conflict pales in comparison to the evil that these brave mice face. Not only shall I offer them as many soldiers as I can spare, I must challenge this villainy head on, in the name of justice and fair play!"

"Well said! I shall join the fray as well. As much as the idea of fighting alongside my most hated enemy upsets me, handsome and benevolent as he may be, I see no other option!"

Both smiled to one another, and the Umpiress found herself similarly relaxed. "Very well." she said. "I was hoping to put a permanent end to this conflict, but your absence will at least give us a chance to repair the damage that you two have caused."

"Hmm, perhaps we can solve both of our problems at once." Archibald said, "I feel that it was not mere chance that brought these strangers to our door, but rather destiny. I propose another arrangement: A final game, if you will. Whichever of us claims the head of this villain Mollenoch shall be declared the one worthy to rule!"

"Brilliant!" Reginald said before frowning just a little. "Um, just to be clear, by 'claiming his head', you're speaking figuratively, right?"

"Oh, but of course! Actually cutting of their head is a little gruesome for my liking. I imagine throwing a stone without enough force to do so would be, likewise, incredibly challenging."

"Heh. I have no doubt that you could manage it, if it proved necessary."

"You flatter me." The pitcher, Archibald smiled, "But I mean, of course, defeating him... as for what exactly that entails, we'll just have to wait and see."

"I've got to warn you that these enemies of ours are awfully powerful. Extremely so." Jebediah said to them. "Claiming his head might be more difficult than you think. I'd like to be optimistic, but I can't promise your safety."

The pair again nodded to one another. "Should one of us fall in battle, all the better. The survivor shall claim leadership, which will, of course, be me!" The batter said.

"Yes... well, aside from me being the victor, of course. I have to admit, I did have some reservations with letting our future be decided by the will of a single outsider. This is much better." the pitcher rose to his feet, extending a muscled arm across the table, which was taken by the batter, "Let us take to this foreign battle ground, and let fate decide who deserves to rule!"

"Yes!" The Umpiress clapped, rising to her feet, "...and should both of you perish in that accursed war zone, all the better!"

And so, our forces had grown once more. While this was the best outcome we could have possibly hoped for, there was a darkness to the proceedings as well. The knowledge that we were no longer on a journey or side-quest, and that it was time to truly face our destiny. All that remained was to head back to the kingdom, and from there, to begin our march into the forces of the mad shadow king.