| OOC | Political Map | Geographic Map (with key) | Cities Map |Timeline |
The fate of Minilar is far from undecided. Eternal glory or prompt defeat, whether by the mailed fists of an army, the shining silver of a merchant's coin, or the gleaming steel of a hero's blade, awaits.
Nekhur
Tervain, Nekhur
For two years it had been the home of Imirian Sansterre, who some considered to be the current king of Tervain. As Mnesus made his way through the halls, he noticed that a portrait of the newest Imirian had not been placed upon the walls with his father and ancestors. More fitting perhaps, he thought, that a portrait of Mnesus should hang there instead. It was his home now after all, for the time being at least.
"Lord Mnesus" announced a guard as he entered the Great Hall through one of its side doors. The murmuring and pattering of feet stopped as he entered, and ritualised obeisance began. The Tervine nobles, crowded together and whispering in hushed tones, were quick to pay their respects and return to their scheming. Mnesus counted two fewer than last he saw them.
Imirian was naught to be found in his own hall, having been confined to his chambers a month prior after a drunken outburst the night of a feast celebrating Mnesus' arrival. The silver throne, another forgery of Darehan, had been saved from the River Palace, but not from Mnesus. It had been melted down, and replaced with a wooden stool, yet to be tarnished with the king's rear, and likely never.
Surrounding a vast wooden table adorned with a map of Northern Minilar were dozens of generals, nobles, and courtiers. Prince Khosrov of Relya, Marshal of the 4th, stood at its mid-section on the left. The younger brother of Relya's queen, he had shown a greater eagerness to aid in the campaigns against Tervain, and was someone who could be trusted so long as Mnesus knew his goal. The Imbrine throne was a prize, but was Khosrov loyal to his sister, or to his own ambitions?
Mnesus made his way to the opposite side of Khosrov. "Generals Yarim-Lim and Masniyalli were sent with ten-thousand men to siege the city of Torrel, held by the Count Alamine, but we have heard a report that they have been decisively defeated by the Duke of Durheyn. Yarim-Lim has managed to retreat in good order with the bulk of the force, while Masniyalli has been captured, and the rearguard destroyed." Khosrov stated, moving the pieces on the map accordingly.
"Yarim-Lim was not a fool, and Durheyn does not command a force capable of engaging such a force in a pitched battle." Said Amar-Sin, a bald Kisharite general from the old aristocracy, his copper skin glowing in the dim light.
Khosrov nodded, "With this defeat more of the nobility in the west have pledged themselves to Alania, and I fear our hold over the south will soon be in jeopardy."
"Then an example must be made, lest the Southrons gather a force to strike." Mnesus said in a flowery form of Kisharite, silencing the table. "The Balorenes will be let loose to ravage the country, while Khosrov will take the 4th and besiege Monroyel. Irhamuwa will move from his position at Cochant and kite Durheyn. Avoid battle if the enemy is willing to give it, until I have rooted out the rats in the cellar."
The Tervine nobles, and indeed many of the Nekhuran courtiers and generals tilted their heads in confusion. While most were learned in Kisharite, either a crash course for the former, and from a childhood education for the latter, such an archaic form was alien to their ears. For those with access to the highest education, such as Khosrov, the meaning of the words, and the meaning of the words, was clear.
"That will be all." He said in a more understandable form of Kisharite. As they dispersed, he beckoned to one of the attendants. "Bring the King, and gather the Tervine nobles, I should like to speak with them within the library."