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If the title below causes you to think "You what?", then it's probably not worth pursuing. It may also indicate that you are under thirty, and/or had an active childhood, you lucky things.
The village I have just left was until recently a sleepy, peaceful place - a place where a traveller could shelter and be refreshed. Not any more - just three weeks ago, it became just one more in the list of casualties of what has become known as the War of the Solstice, which has torn Midnight apart.
I'm speaking to you from a top-secret base, which houses the military personnel currently planning the final assault which, they assure us, will deliver final victory. Operation Invigorated Boldness is a full frontal "surge" attack on Doomdark's stronghold, which royal army commander Luxor the Moonprince claims "will bring total annihilation of the enemy, and the retirn of peace and prosperity to Midnight".
Luxor, who has maintained an uneasy peace with Doomdark since the Accords of Ithril were signed eight years ago (a decision which angered many in the Fey community, and led to the daubing of obscene slogans regarding the Roya; lineage on thwe Tower of the Moon's lower slopes), is a worried man. The death of Lord Ithrorn and the Utarg of Utarg in a surprise ambush at Coomhenge has led to condemnation of the entire tactical conduct of the war - one leading member of the Wise, who chose to remain anonymous, described the situation as "shambolic".
Morale at the base is high, owever. I spoke to Lord Xajorkith, one of the furthest-travelled of the commanders assembled for the final push forward. I asked him why, with his own home citadel arguably the greatest single stronghold of the Free, he had decided to join the assault party.
"Well, I felt it's my duty, you see. I knew it was going to be tough, but some of us are called to fight, you see. And some", he paused for a moment "probably aren't".
This cryptic remark was not explained, but it became clear as I talked further about the overall strategic picture that Xajorkith was not being left undefended - in fact, the force there was at least as large as that pushing north, though somewhat differently composed.
"I probably shouldn't say this" Xajorkith continued, "But the lads down there are a bit ... well ... Third XI, if you see what I mean. Haven't quite got the cojones, you know?". After hearing a reference to "that bloody poof Mitharg", I thought it advisable not to press the point further.
"Still, at least I know Lady Xaj is making sure they don't spill mead on the tapestries. And it means someone is keeping an eye on the lad".
The lad, of course, is Morkin, the teenage heir presumptive (or, as some commentators on his thin physique have dubbed him, the Heir Consumptive), and while he has been conspicuous by his absence in official propaganda, the "Cult of Morkin" which grew up in the months leading up to the war shows no sign of abating.
"He's a nice enough lad" one of the foot-soldiers of Lord Blood, another five-star general on the campaign, informed me, "Though he's got a bit of growing up to do. There's something a bit ... you know ... fey about him". I had no time to pursue this line of questioning further, as the Lord was called upon to slice the head off a passing kulkrin - I am informed the resulting stew, while hardly cordon bleu, was a great improvement on the previous night's Ice Troll burgers.
The presence of the Fey has caused much comment in the ranks of the assault force. The common bonds between the two races being slight - and slighter still since Royal counsellor Corleth the Fey had his head bitten off by a passing dragon - there has been some suspicion about Fey motives in joining the battle, after original suggestions they might sign a pact of neutrality with both sides. References to "pointy-eared bastards" have died down in recent days however, especially after Thimrath the Fey's surprise rescue of Lord Kumar, after a botched attack on an enemy keep nearly went disastrously wrong. Whether this spirit of camaraderie will persist in the heat of battle remains to be seen...
I was not permitted to speak to Luxor himself, who was busy with planning a final assault, the details of which (like the location of the current base) naturally have to remain secret. I did, however, join the afternoojn briefing, and was given chance to speak by Moon-ring-phone to Lord Brith, who is joint commander of the forces at Xajorkith. I asked him how things were going.
"Oh ... um ... j-j-just fine. Everything's just A-OK here. No d-dramas at all. Nothing to worry about. No. No f-f-f-ear at all. We've beaten everyuthing back so f-far. I'll just ... oh, SHIT!". Our interview was cut short by the distant sound of a twig snapping, and Brith jumping out of sight. When I enquired of some of the staff if you could rejoin me, I was told he was "changing his armour". I was unable to speak to Morkin, who was "helping Lady Xajorkith choose a breastplate". I am reliably informed that the young princeling is "learning a lot".
So, with the war apparently within measurable distance of its end, and night falling, sentries move to spy out Foul battle-plans, and the Lords retire to take their rest. Whatever the outcome of the war is - and talk of "drinking the Ice Crown by Sunday" are surely over-optimistic - Midnight will never be the same again.
Lady Katherine Athoril, Midnight News, Citadel of Dreams [what?Oh, shit! Sorry...]
What do you mean, too much time on my hands?
The village I have just left was until recently a sleepy, peaceful place - a place where a traveller could shelter and be refreshed. Not any more - just three weeks ago, it became just one more in the list of casualties of what has become known as the War of the Solstice, which has torn Midnight apart.
I'm speaking to you from a top-secret base, which houses the military personnel currently planning the final assault which, they assure us, will deliver final victory. Operation Invigorated Boldness is a full frontal "surge" attack on Doomdark's stronghold, which royal army commander Luxor the Moonprince claims "will bring total annihilation of the enemy, and the retirn of peace and prosperity to Midnight".
Luxor, who has maintained an uneasy peace with Doomdark since the Accords of Ithril were signed eight years ago (a decision which angered many in the Fey community, and led to the daubing of obscene slogans regarding the Roya; lineage on thwe Tower of the Moon's lower slopes), is a worried man. The death of Lord Ithrorn and the Utarg of Utarg in a surprise ambush at Coomhenge has led to condemnation of the entire tactical conduct of the war - one leading member of the Wise, who chose to remain anonymous, described the situation as "shambolic".
Morale at the base is high, owever. I spoke to Lord Xajorkith, one of the furthest-travelled of the commanders assembled for the final push forward. I asked him why, with his own home citadel arguably the greatest single stronghold of the Free, he had decided to join the assault party.
"Well, I felt it's my duty, you see. I knew it was going to be tough, but some of us are called to fight, you see. And some", he paused for a moment "probably aren't".
This cryptic remark was not explained, but it became clear as I talked further about the overall strategic picture that Xajorkith was not being left undefended - in fact, the force there was at least as large as that pushing north, though somewhat differently composed.
"I probably shouldn't say this" Xajorkith continued, "But the lads down there are a bit ... well ... Third XI, if you see what I mean. Haven't quite got the cojones, you know?". After hearing a reference to "that bloody poof Mitharg", I thought it advisable not to press the point further.
"Still, at least I know Lady Xaj is making sure they don't spill mead on the tapestries. And it means someone is keeping an eye on the lad".
The lad, of course, is Morkin, the teenage heir presumptive (or, as some commentators on his thin physique have dubbed him, the Heir Consumptive), and while he has been conspicuous by his absence in official propaganda, the "Cult of Morkin" which grew up in the months leading up to the war shows no sign of abating.
"He's a nice enough lad" one of the foot-soldiers of Lord Blood, another five-star general on the campaign, informed me, "Though he's got a bit of growing up to do. There's something a bit ... you know ... fey about him". I had no time to pursue this line of questioning further, as the Lord was called upon to slice the head off a passing kulkrin - I am informed the resulting stew, while hardly cordon bleu, was a great improvement on the previous night's Ice Troll burgers.
The presence of the Fey has caused much comment in the ranks of the assault force. The common bonds between the two races being slight - and slighter still since Royal counsellor Corleth the Fey had his head bitten off by a passing dragon - there has been some suspicion about Fey motives in joining the battle, after original suggestions they might sign a pact of neutrality with both sides. References to "pointy-eared bastards" have died down in recent days however, especially after Thimrath the Fey's surprise rescue of Lord Kumar, after a botched attack on an enemy keep nearly went disastrously wrong. Whether this spirit of camaraderie will persist in the heat of battle remains to be seen...
I was not permitted to speak to Luxor himself, who was busy with planning a final assault, the details of which (like the location of the current base) naturally have to remain secret. I did, however, join the afternoojn briefing, and was given chance to speak by Moon-ring-phone to Lord Brith, who is joint commander of the forces at Xajorkith. I asked him how things were going.
"Oh ... um ... j-j-just fine. Everything's just A-OK here. No d-dramas at all. Nothing to worry about. No. No f-f-f-ear at all. We've beaten everyuthing back so f-far. I'll just ... oh, SHIT!". Our interview was cut short by the distant sound of a twig snapping, and Brith jumping out of sight. When I enquired of some of the staff if you could rejoin me, I was told he was "changing his armour". I was unable to speak to Morkin, who was "helping Lady Xajorkith choose a breastplate". I am reliably informed that the young princeling is "learning a lot".
So, with the war apparently within measurable distance of its end, and night falling, sentries move to spy out Foul battle-plans, and the Lords retire to take their rest. Whatever the outcome of the war is - and talk of "drinking the Ice Crown by Sunday" are surely over-optimistic - Midnight will never be the same again.
Lady Katherine Athoril, Midnight News, Citadel of Dreams [what?Oh, shit! Sorry...]
What do you mean, too much time on my hands?