The weather took a turn for the worse, as the season draws to a close. It is with bitter resignation that the Baron of Medoere stood outside the opening of his tent, looking at the squared shape of the Caer Brosien before him. Long from the rolling meadows of Medoere, Kaven Enlien contemplated on the choices that led him here.
Responding to a call-to-arms from his Liege Lord, he had led a big portion of troops out from Medoere to join up with Roesonean, Ilineese and Diemean contingent. A lot of those Medoereans would not be returning home again now, it seems.
The first part of the march had seen the Baron of Roesone, whom he had found to be an honourable man and astute strategist, peel of, to take control of the situation in Coere.
Then there had been the hill... with the Archduke ill he had taken it upon himself to devise a strategy to assault that precarious position, opting for an oblique attack at dawn and pressing on, to avoid fighting against Brandon, whom he still dreaded the arrival off.
A meek smile formed on Kavens lips, though it was a smile filled with little mirth. He had pressed for the need for this attack, sacrificing men who could have been alive, had other venues been taken. He had pressed, because he wanted to end it quickly, rather than face Brandon Boer.
... Brandon Boer. The Bloodseeker. The self-proclaimed king of the west. A man, who had won engagements through use of innovative means and a grasp of tactics that left lesser men stranded behind. The Baron sighed slightly. Brandon had the type of leadership he would have prized himself lucky to serve under, had they both served in the Knights of Haelyn.
Brandon Boer... A man who Kaven both revered and despised. The tales of how Brandon had murdered captives in cold blod to recieve parts of their divinity, still sent shivers down Kaven's spine. How any man could choose to do something like that and still believe himself to be a leader of men, was beyond the Paladin-Baron.
Kaven sighed again. Of the Medoereans there where surprisingly few, why even the Diemeans where outnumbered by soldiers of Avanil. Yet here he was, the Baron of a land miles away, vassal to the ally of Avanil, and still the Field Marshal of this ragged army.
He had hoped to lure the enemy to attack him, yet now it seemed that the foe was content with waiting, and he could not help but wonder on what. They held on to hostile soil and had an advantage on that, that much was true... but of the lands belonging to Boeruinean forces just weeks before, more than half had now been liberated, the militia had been mustered, and all in all the Avaneese forces stood rather strong.
They would be better of, though, if not for that blasted castle in enemy hands...
For a long time Kaven stood, willing the walls to crumble to dust, or the defenders to walk out unarmed, but nothing happened.
