The Silent Foe (W’adrhun) vs. Campaign: Albion (Hundred Kingdoms)
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Pre-Battle Narrative.
“Artur, my sixth sense has been ringing alarms for a while. It’s getting really strong now – can I suggest we just head for the hills and fight another day?”
The prince of Albion continues looking at the leather village tents not too far away from the strategic mound his scouts had suggested he view the W’adrhun from. They reported seeing them harvest cinnamon bark, saltpeter, and even ivory from the various random bounties of this Theos-forsaken Wasteland. An industrious folk, to be sure, though strangely silent.
Perhaps they’re keeping a tradition where they mourn in silence for their dead matriarch? The Prince admittedly has almost no experiences with the savages, but even he knows they’re uncharacteristically quiet for a musically-blessed people. Still, he hasn’t seen signs of the prodigious female anywhere.
Artur lowers his spyglass and turns to the Shield Templar beside him. He keeps his face stoic, but his tone firm. “Time is of the essence, Gilead. Albion’s already invested a small fortune to sanction this expedition with the Mint, and I’ve cashed in many favors so we can pass through the Russ and the Orders. We’ve got to come back with something to show for it. We have to.”
He walks down the hill, the light desert clothing billowing from a cool, north wind. He passes by his warriors who are resting by the shade of a few craggy bluffs, dreading the hour when the sun hits its zenith and comes down in force. They look miserable – sweating, bored, and anxious for action to distract them from the heat.
The Prince squints in the distance, spotting another mound. Wasn’t this the only hill in the area? Where did that come from?
“Gravin, I need your spyglass,” Artur urges the Armsmaster of his personal retainers, the Drakengard, a force loyal only to the Drakequill House.
Receiving the object in question, the Prince glances through the tube only to put it down ten seconds after.
“Rally, men!”