>>6189197“You’re a Marine.”
“Thirty-five years in the service. Koltamathas parata sant.” Service without equal.
“Na sur Satrasam Kovarini koltamathóno?” you ask in Corinthian. Did you serve in the Kovaran War?
“The whole three years. Terrible business, that.”
“Were you at the Siege of Sorovi?” Soren asks.
“Fortunately no,” Lukas replies. “I spent the whole campaign at sea or on the coasts.”
When the provinces of Taira and Kovara broke away from their long-time Anadari overlords fifteen years ago, the larger and wealthier Taira claimed ownership of both regions owing to their shared language and history, but the Kovari in their mountain fastnesses refused their rule. Less than four years after independence the Tairans invaded to force the issue, and the fighting soon devolved into widespread massacres and brutal protracted sieges.
Corinthia, as the two countries’ southern neighbour on the Ossean mainland, eventually chose to intervene, and used their navy to raid and blockade the Tairan coastline and eventually up their major rivers. But the Tairans persisted, and in short order the regional dispute became a proxy battlefield for all the great powers; it wasn’t until Corellia, the greatest power of them all, brought their might to bear that the war was finally decided.
The conflict had shocked the civilised world. Not necessarily for its excesses, but for its visibility. No previous war had ever featured such extensive newspaper dispatches from the front, nor the use of widespread photo-graphia. Even in the isles of Cuva halfway around the world the latest developments were an item of daily conversation.
“I believe I know your reasons for being here, Soren Avenatus, but I suppose I should ask all the same,” you say.
“High Cleric Anya NicNivara is something of a legend among the faithful of the Dawnfather. My own master told me all about her when I was young. Fighting beside the High Cleric is an honour.”
“I see. Who was your master? Perhaps I knew him, if he knew Anya.”
“Theo Callus was his name.”
“Theo-” you sputter. “Was your master Theodorus Callus Marcinus?”
“The very same. Finest paladin I’ve ever known.”
“That rake became a *paladin?*” The man you knew was a charming and shameless skirt-chaser. Granted, his charm worked, and in the end he did prove every inch as good as he promised, but still.
Soren’s face turns defensive. “Theo Callus was an honourable man.”
“Oh, I’m sure he was by the time you met him. All I knew was the young mercenary. Still, a champion of the Dawnfather… When did he pass, may I ask? I met him more than eighty years ago - even for an Aasimar he must have been quite old.”
“Fourteen years ago now.”
“My condolences, late though they are.”
“My thanks.”
