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Message: <blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4371169" data-attributes="member: 61094">This Glorious CampaignTHE PARTY SEES the smoke of Lynar rising from behind a low range of coastal hills many hours before turning the last bend in the river and seeing the great city itself. Sprawled along the north bank of the Florin, the capital of Senallin is an expansive tangle of towering wood and brick houses connected to each other by rickety bridges above narrow, muddy streets and cobblestone squares. Ash, Carwyn, Darren, Kyla, and Nina are struck by the size of the place: fifty Rim Squares could easily by swallowed up by Lynar. On a hill to the northeast stands the Palace of the Patriarchs, five ancient castles that have melded together over the centuries into a single sprawling, ever-growing edifice. As the army of Wildengard reaches the outskirts of the city, they are met by cheering, festive throngs. Women are dancing, men are tossing ale at the soldiers and each other, minstrels are singing the chorus of the hour:  To tame the horse and till the plain, And teach them all the fear of Ain! The armies march to Arawai, huzzah! Kyla has to dodge hurled fruit and the occasional rock. During another popular ditty – “One last drink, my lads, before you ride away/ One last hoisting of the skirts before you join the fray” – a group of whooping young men in the crowd try to hike up girls’ skirts, including Carwyn’s. She rounds on the offender, a scruffy-looking young Lynarman with black hair and a shameless grin, and punches him full in the face. He tumbles back into the crowd, while other revelers roar with laughter and cheer Carwyn on. At the end of the long procession, the army arrives at the hilltop Patriarchs’ Palace. From the gate, the party sees the fields to the north blanketed with the multi-colored banners and tents of soldiers from all corners of the Dominion. Chardion, the knight who took Atrix as squire, nods down at the great camp with pleasure. “It’s been years in the planning, lad, but finally the Families are marching as one.” WHILE THE ARMY descends to join the camp on the plain, the knights of Wildengard and their squires ride in to present themselves to the Patriarchs, accompanied by the priests. Outside the grand audience hall, they meet Chamberlain Gall, a thin man who wrings his hands and sweats copiously while fretting over finding room in the palace for yet another group of knights. Then Chancellor Eliduc d’Orbis arrives, the high priest to the Five Families. Eliduc’s long brown hair is streaked with gray and he exudes a sense of serene power. He welcomes the newcomers graciously, and beams when his eyes fall on Ontaya. “Welcome back, daughter. Your strength and courage have been much missed in these last few months.” General Marcor leads his delegation into the grand hall and receive the formal greetings of the five Patriarchs. The white-haired, eloquent Patriarch Athagon d’Aramant descends from his dais and welcomes the d’Syrnon commander. “Brother Marcor, you and our own cousin, Mercon d’Aramant, will be the field commanders of Senallin’s great force. You will answer to the two High Generals: Sarquin d’Loriad and Athriam d’Aramant.” “Wait – the d’Aramants get two generals?” whispers Atrix, outraged. “If I remember rightly, Mercon leads the northern branch of the d’Aramant family,” Ontaya breathes back. “And Athriam is from the southern one. Both have a good reputation in the field, though Athriam is known to be boastful and brash.” “Neither could hold a candle to Uncle Sarquin,” Atrix grumbles. He catches the eye of his raven-haired uncle, whose military exploits against Aradur and the barbarians are legend. Sarquin recognizes him and breaks into a knowing grin; Atrix warily decides he doesn’t like the look of it. “This war is not just Senallin’s war,” Patriarch Athagon continues. “All the civilized realms are joining in this glorious campaign: Velnar and Caragon, Aradur and Kedris. The armies of five great nations will join us at the fortress of Guardwatch and move in to the plains, to defeat the horse clans and colonize their lands. This war will transform the face of the world. Villages will grow out of the dust of Arawai, spreading south into the unknown reaches of the plains. Senallin will no longer trail along the southern edge of the civilized world. We will be at its heart!” The squires try to absorb the idea that the sprawling army encamped below Lynar is only a small part, perhaps a quarter, of the army that will be mustered against the Arawai. No one knows exactly how many Arawai tribesmen there are, but it is all but impossible to imagine the divided horse clans withstanding a force of such terrific scale – especially when the Arawai religion bans steel as a Northern abomination. A nation armed with flint arrows and spears can scarcely hope to stand against the colonizing might of the civilized North. THE AUDIENCE ADJOURNS, and the knights dismiss their squires to their quarters. As Atrix leaves the grand hall, he spots two of his many d’Loriad cousins (Adgar and… “that quiet one, good lad, damned if I can remember his name…”). Adgar clasps his hand with a broad but oddly rueful grin. “Welcome back, ‘Trix. We’ve got orders from your father. He wants to see you immediately.”</blockquote>

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