Alpheo looked down at the long, heavy table of on the centre of the room , its surface entirely hidden beneath a wide campaign map.
Inked rivers snaked across faded parchment, mountains were sketched in sharp strokes of black, and three small banners were planted like miniature conquests on three cities: Shom, Artalerita, and Freusen.
The last of the three was not yet entirely in his grasp, but Alpheo considered its fall inevitable. A matter of time. The inaccuracy didn't bother him; in his mind, it was already counted among his victories.
He turned from the table, his gaze sweeping over those assembled. Around the table, the lords shared a certain ease in their posture.
They were in a good mood.
And why not? The campaign was going well. Three...well, two for now, cities had been taken. The path forward split into multiple promising directions. Morale was high, the supply lines secure, and the plunder already outweighed the campaign's cost.
