War on the continent

Gorm kicked back in his chair, the crudely nailed together structure creaking under his weight.

“What you thinkin’ ’bout?” growled Fido, the creatures dark brown, black-spotted fur, combined with his deep gravelly voice made him intimidating at first. But Gorm had known him since he was a pup… had mistaken them for dogs, in fact, had Gorm’s soldiers known what they were, they would’ve been long dead.

“Gorm opened his eyes and looked over to the six-foot-tall creature, a hulking mass of fur and muscle, a dog that could walk in the manner of a man, though his loyalty was absolute.

“Just thinking that after a hundred years of fighting for others, I want something of my own,” he replied drowsily, lifting his once mousey brown beard and finding the first strands of grey within it.

“Why not return to the hold?” suggested Martin, a young man who’d served under him for nearly a decade now… though, by human terms, the man was practically middle-aged.

“Because then I’d simply be fighting for a new master…” he spat, letting the chair rock back into place as he put down his feet.

His company’s temporary barracks was as rowdy as ever and Gorm would be hard-pressed to deny them this after their last battle. Back in his peoples’ hold, he had been taught that money was all, that gold was status. Since then he had lived amongst the humans, and at some point he had begun to care about those around him, taking their lives into account, no longer seeing them like numbers in a deadly game of chess.

“Why not take some land?” Martin chimed back in again, lifting up the visor of his helm to stuff more chicken into his mouth. “I’m sure all of us would join you.”

The captain of his Ironguard gestured around the crowded room, several of the men and Fido’s siblings noticed the motion and turned their heads to watch him. Grom knew what was about to happen, and sure enough, they began to bang their mugs, cutlery or weapons upon the table, the chant of ‘speech’ ringing out.

Gorm stood up slowly, adjusting his belt as he thought of what to say.

“Your pants falling down?” came the familiar, high pitched imitation of his voice. “Don’t want everyone to see your nuts!”

A poorly crafted, raggedy puppet reached around his shoulder to great roars of laughter. Gorm hid his sly smile, glad he could now avoid the speech. He caught hold of the slim arm, pulling its owner from behind him to great cheers.

“I would appreciate you only using magic upon the battlefield,” he remonstrated the elf.

Shi’ah was the epitome of beauty, slender and tall with the characteristic blonde hair of her race. She seemed to wear a permanent look of glee, that had unnerved him for some time. Now that he knew her of course, Gorm had come to appreciate her unique talents, a near peerless mage that was utterly insane.

“Where to next?” she asked whimsically, bowing a little to whisper in his ear. “I see… conquest.”

“Conquest?” he whispered back, looking deep into the elf’s clear blue eyes.

“Conquest,” she whispered before springing up onto the wooden table and spinning around shouting “Conquest!”

The cry was soon taken up by the rest of the men as the elf twirled around, her bright blue dress rising just enough to excite them, yet showing nothing.

“Where will we be conquering?” Martin asked, rising from his stupor.

“My cousin is a builder in the city, I’m sure we can hire ships with what I have. We’ll be heading west, into the uncharted lands,” Martin had already passed out and the roaring noise had drowned out his words.

‘I will be a king’ he decided, raising a drink with his men.