Gentyl had been there for it all. All except the very end. She had sat in Southshore in the council with Lyra and Paks when they discussed how the rescue the human girl held by the horde. Creator, the Modas, Grim Maws, they had amassed an army that would send fear into any sane man or woman. Ehlina was young, headstrong and determined. While she argued with passion for her plan. Lyra and Paks, of Sisters Of Mercy tried to temper their firebrand.
The fire burned brightly in the hearth taking he bit off the chill in the air. In the kitchen sh heard the occasional pop and sizzle of fat falling into the fire from the hog roasting on the spit. There was a pot os stewed apples cooking also, heavy with spices and dabs of he local honey that had a peculiar bite to it. Gentyl had no doubts there was also a hot of potatoes roasting with bits of bacon, onion, peppers and chopped carrots. It was a favorite dish of the tavern owner's wife. She had suffered nerve damage with their last child and was most bed ridden with pain. Her husband, in some sort of penance often cooked her favorite dishes, but Gentyl noticed she was missing from the cot he had set up for her next to the great fire. The three laughing youngsters were also absent. He had them quietly removed when the war council first walked into the tavern.
His wife abhorred drinking so he had long ago stopped serving anything alcoholic, but he kept the council supplied with forced smiles and spiced cider, coffee and tea. Gentyl almost felt sorry for him, but she knew the people of Southshore were terrified of the growing horde forced. They welcome the alliance armies, but they feared the reprisal if it fell.
Three of the local patrons slipped out the door quietly. At another time Gentyl would have worried they might be taking overheard snippets of the conference to the horde, but their faces were etched with fear.
Outside she heard the creaking wagons of residents once again moving to the hills in preparation for another battle. Inside she heard the bickering that often attended a war council. Barely. The arguments going back and forth had already been tossed around for days, in every street corner and every tavern. Every option had been explored.
The horde had a young priestess captured from heaven knew where. There were confirmed reports of seeing her with the Modas. They were willing to exchange her for a permanent prisoner. Gentyl fought vehemently against the exchange. They could send in a small, well-trained strike force and extract her. It was foolish to risk another life.
Tery, Prophyt and Dhaymon stood behind Gentyl and agreed. Dhaymon was the head of the silent guard. He had already sent his men to scout the horde and confirm where the woman was being kept. Pia was convinced we could extract the woman. We were also convinced the priestess being held was a trap of one kind or another. There were rumors the horde planned to snatch the bodies of fallen alliance soldiers in the battle and raise them as forsaken. In a way, it was a bizarre recruiting program.
The fire burned brightly in the hearth taking he bit off the chill in the air. In the kitchen sh heard the occasional pop and sizzle of fat falling into the fire from the hog roasting on the spit. There was a pot os stewed apples cooking also, heavy with spices and dabs of he local honey that had a peculiar bite to it. Gentyl had no doubts there was also a hot of potatoes roasting with bits of bacon, onion, peppers and chopped carrots. It was a favorite dish of the tavern owner's wife. She had suffered nerve damage with their last child and was most bed ridden with pain. Her husband, in some sort of penance often cooked her favorite dishes, but Gentyl noticed she was missing from the cot he had set up for her next to the great fire. The three laughing youngsters were also absent. He had them quietly removed when the war council first walked into the tavern.
His wife abhorred drinking so he had long ago stopped serving anything alcoholic, but he kept the council supplied with forced smiles and spiced cider, coffee and tea. Gentyl almost felt sorry for him, but she knew the people of Southshore were terrified of the growing horde forced. They welcome the alliance armies, but they feared the reprisal if it fell.
Three of the local patrons slipped out the door quietly. At another time Gentyl would have worried they might be taking overheard snippets of the conference to the horde, but their faces were etched with fear.
Outside she heard the creaking wagons of residents once again moving to the hills in preparation for another battle. Inside she heard the bickering that often attended a war council. Barely. The arguments going back and forth had already been tossed around for days, in every street corner and every tavern. Every option had been explored.
The horde had a young priestess captured from heaven knew where. There were confirmed reports of seeing her with the Modas. They were willing to exchange her for a permanent prisoner. Gentyl fought vehemently against the exchange. They could send in a small, well-trained strike force and extract her. It was foolish to risk another life.
Tery, Prophyt and Dhaymon stood behind Gentyl and agreed. Dhaymon was the head of the silent guard. He had already sent his men to scout the horde and confirm where the woman was being kept. Pia was convinced we could extract the woman. We were also convinced the priestess being held was a trap of one kind or another. There were rumors the horde planned to snatch the bodies of fallen alliance soldiers in the battle and raise them as forsaken. In a way, it was a bizarre recruiting program.
