The throne room of Lorridian was alive with activity as orders were barked and messengers scurried in and out with reports and requisitions. King Erend Lorridian sat at the center of the chaos, his expression cold and resolute as he addressed his advisors.
“We have no time for hesitation,” the king declared, his voice cutting through the noise. “The rebellion grows bolder with each passing day. The deserters of the 7th Brigade and their so-called rebellion must be crushed without mercy.”
Lord Varnis Hale stepped forward, a scroll in hand. “Your Majesty, the provinces are responding to the levies. Supplies are being prepared, and conscripts are being gathered. However, the scale of this campaign will require a leader with unmatched skill and authority.”
The king’s gaze swept across the room before settling on a tall, battle-hardened figure standing at the edge of the court. His armor, though modest compared to the nobles’, bore the scars of countless battles.
“General Roderic Thane,” the king said, his voice commanding. “You will lead this campaign as the supreme general, representing the crown’s interests. I trust your reputation as one of Lorridian’s finest strategists will not fail me.”
Thane stepped forward, bowing deeply. “It is an honor, Your Majesty. I will ensure the traitors pay for their defiance, and the rebellion is extinguished.”
The king’s lips curled into a thin smile. “See that you do. This kingdom cannot tolerate failure.”
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The clang of hammers striking steel echoed through the air, a relentless rhythm that filled the royal armory. Sparks flew as blacksmiths worked over glowing forges, their hands moving with practiced precision. Rows of freshly forged swords and spears lined the walls, gleaming under the flickering light.
General Roderic Thane strode through the bustling space, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Armorers tightened straps and inspected rivets, ensuring every piece was ready for the soldiers who would soon march into battle. The smell of heated metal and sweat permeated the air, a tangible reminder of the urgency of their mission.
Pausing near a stack of shields, Thane picked one up, testing its weight and balance. “Make sure every piece is inspected,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I won’t have soldiers fighting with faulty equipment.”
“Yes, General,” a young officer replied, saluting crisply before hurrying to relay the order.
Thane’s gaze shifted to a row of blades laid out for final inspection. He picked up a sword, running his thumb along its edge. The blade was sharp, its weight solid but manageable—good work, but he expected nothing less. “This will do,” he muttered before setting it down.
Stolen story; please report.
The general moved on, weaving through the chaos with a commanding presence. He knew the price of rushing preparations. One weak link—a poorly forged blade, an ill-fitted breastplate—could mean disaster on the battlefield. Failure was not an option, not with the king’s expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders.
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The courtyard of Lorridian’s palace was alive with movement. Soldiers stood in precise ranks, their armor polished to a gleaming finish. Banners of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Brigades were prominently displayed, their vibrant colors marking them as the elite forces directly loyal to the king. Behind them stood rows of levied troops, men and women called from the provinces, their armor less refined and their nerves evident. New recruits, some still adjusting the straps of their freshly issued armor, filled out the rear, flanked by wagons laden with weapons, supplies, and provisions.
Thane paused before the rows of recruits, his expression unreadable as he observed their nervous fidgeting. He ascended a raised platform at the center of the courtyard, and with a single motion of his hand, the bustling noise faded to silence.
“Soldiers of Lorridian,” Thane began, his voice firm and clear, carrying over the assembled troops. “Today, we march under the king’s banner to restore order and justice to the kingdom. The deserters of the 7th Brigade and their allies have turned their backs on their oaths, seeking to spread discord and rebellion. We will show them the price of defiance.”
He gestured toward the brigades, their lines straight and their weapons at the ready. “The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Brigades will lead this campaign. You are Lorridian’s sword and shield, the finest of our forces. With you at the front, there is no enemy we cannot overcome.”
Thane’s gaze shifted to the levied troops and conscripts, his tone hardening. “To those newly called to serve, this is your moment. You march alongside seasoned soldiers. Learn from them, trust in your commanders, and prove yourselves worthy of this kingdom’s legacy.”
A murmur rippled through the ranks, the recruits straightening under his gaze. Thane’s voice grew colder. “This will not be an easy march. You will face hardship, but I demand discipline and unity from every one of you. The king expects victory, and I will accept nothing less.”
The troops erupted into a resounding cheer, their voices echoing through the courtyard. Thane descended the platform, walking the lines as he inspected the soldiers one last time. He paused briefly to exchange words with officers, his sharp presence a steadying force amidst the tension.
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Just beyond the gates of Lorridian, hidden in the shadows of a crumbling archway, the exiled noble watched the army’s departure. His one remaining hand gripped the cold stone, his gaze fixed on the banners of the brigades as they passed. The rhythmic march of thousands echoed through the streets, a symbol of everything he had lost.
“Five thousand strong,” he muttered, his voice sharp with disdain. “And yet, I am cast aside. Stripped of my name, my honor, for failures not my own.”
His jaw tightened as his eyes followed the soldiers. “They think me broken. Forgotten. But I will not accept this disgrace. I will not be remembered as a failure.”
Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a small, glowing orb. The violet light pulsed faintly, casting eerie shadows across his face. The air around him seemed to darken, heavy with an unnatural energy.
“And with this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with resolve, “I will have the might to receive justice.”
He stared at the orb for a moment longer before tucking it back into his cloak. Without another word, he turned and melted into the shadows, the sound of the marching army fading into the distance.