The ambassador to Neversummer growled under his breath and stormed off from yet another unproductive meeting with the city's duke. Leaning up against the wall of the corridor leading to the duke's chamber, he calmed himself. Slow breaths, slow breaths. "Maybe the Sanctum Arcanum can get him to change his mind," he thought, somewhat half-heartedly. Staring off into space, he slowly shook his head: "Probably not. These people want blood."
For what seemed like the hundredth time since he awoke, the duke glanced up at the mirror on his desk and adjusted his tunic. Thinking over what the ambassador from the Ancient Ones had just proposed moments earlier, he smiled. It was the smile of a man who knew he had the upper hand. "An alliance – with the lizards! What a joke, they must be desperate to end this conflict. We'll end it soon enough, though – by beating them all back into their holes. Perhaps it's not exactly what they were looking for, but you live in this world long enough, you get used to disappointment."
The duke's aid looked up and smiled. The duke would lead them to victory. He was sure of it – there was simply no way they could lose. Even now, with the city running short on grain because of a territory dispute with the Ancient Ones, with the faction as a whole running dangerously low on smiths and supplies, there was no doubt or fear in his mind. If what the mages were saying was true, they would make short work of the Ancient Ones and all of the other so called "factions" – very, very soon.
Inside the barracks, a squire adjusted the chain mail he had just received from supply. Once again cinching up his belt, he tried to get it to settle right – without much result. It was just too damn big. Looking down at the weapon issued to him, a halberd, he shook his head. Too big for close-in work, too heavy for long marches. Not to mention the head was loose and one of the rivets was missing. He sighed, "And I'm supposed to fight a dragon with this gear?"