Admiral Flaertes stood on the forward deck of his ship, watching the sunrise over Febril as his small flotilla prepared to dock. The dust of the hinterlands let the sunlight bathe the roofs of the city in brilliant red and orange hues. It was almost as the city was on fire.
It was almost complete. The fleet was gathering in the south, drilling and practicing for the battles to come. No longer would his mighty fleet be wasted on hunting down pirates for the benefit of the godless, ungrateful, money-grabbing merchants of the Furnace Coast. Now they would finally be able to meet the unbelievers, meet those who refused the wisdom of St. Cuthbert, in open battle, and smite them in his glorious name. Flaertes shuddered, he could feel the will of St. Cuthbert work through him. All that stood between the church and this glory, was the High Patriarch and Commander Therion.
The High Patriarch could be convinced. Therion, on the other hand, might prove more difficult to deal with…
The message from Krakataos regarding the useful idiots he had dispatched on the fool’s errand, had been unnerving, but it should not matter. The plan was already coming together.
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1 comment:
We won't just be able to hand Lejon and Belit over will we?
:(
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