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<span class="mu-i">"Let's say they do try the passes come spring, assuming they haven't all starved and eaten one another having run out of Wasteland settlers, they're going to be shitting steel when the Banner is called and we put our lances to 'em."</span> The speaker, Sir Johan of Esslingen, was some years younger and had apparently misread Sir Rabe's dour mood as an invitation to voice his political opinion. <span class="mu-i">"Aid from Aubres will be slow in coming, if it comes at all."</span>
<span class="mu-i">"Because the King would refuse to help..."</span> Sir Sigurd Manheim took his time with his words, scratching the missing socket under his old eyepatch. <span class="mu-i">"...or because our Duke is too stubborn to ask?"</span>
<span class="mu-i">"Careful, old timer."</span>
<span class="mu-i">"Listen here, pup-"</span>
Sir Rabe eyed the two scowling men with bored disdain. Another thing he hated was the politics. The Esslingens, the Manheims, the Heilbronn. All talk, talk, talk. Even the Alderague had sent a courtier, if only to snub the Duke directly rather than with their absence. The Norwache were noticably absent from collection or arse kissers at the Duke's Court, although the Rabes had some inkling it had to do with the Langlish Free Company they had recently engaged. Perhaps Lord Norwache was had been taking this Prime Serpent threat much more seriously and much more earlier than anyone else by bolstering their household troops, but there could also be less flattering reasons. Lord Rabe had assured his son they would be leaning on their few friends at Court and see if there was some advantage to be had or threat to be avoided. It seemed even his family was playing the game.
This is why Sir Rabe preferred the battlefield to banquet table. He was just about to say as much, in terms likely to even further diminish his House's standing, when he noticed the hush that had settled over the room. The three armoured men that had entered the room in single file had made no noise and spoken no word, and yet somehow their presence made this wing of the Torwatcher Gate feel suffocatingly small and confining. Sir Karlaus Rabe had never seen these men before in his life, but he knew exactly who they were. By their heraldry alone, he knew their stories. By the wing emblems on their shoulders he knew their worth. knew each of them by the heraldry of their coat-of-arms, and the sigil of wings on their shoulders.
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