<span class="mu-i">Sodrakron High Command- Southern Front Headquarters</span>

Comfortably far away from the mud and blood of the war, in the heart of one of the wealthiest cities in the world, a pack of officers as decorated as orchards in bloom with both fancy dress and awards that varied between meaning anything or not. The hall was scented with spice and nectar, a panoramic view of fortresses throughout the ages from the days of Nauk Imperial two thousand years past, to the times of Kaiser Alexander, advanced in a wheel to the modern days where a view of the sea revealed last generation’s battle fleet of coal-fired iron leviathans. Yet all that was another time- and none of it bore forth the confidence of the past to these men who now had to fight the war of the present.

One that was not going well at all.

“You must hasten the readiness of your Naval Infantry,” the Territorial Defense Lord huffed through a white beard and mustache- he was the least decorated of them all, a low noble at best, and in a post that was not considered prestigious for his age, but nevertheless the National Militia under his authority had been ready and able from the start of hostilities, and had taken the brunt of punishment from the Twaryians. It had given the reserves time to mobilize- but the National Militia could only delay, not hold. “At this rate they will be forced to retake Sodrakron by the time they are prepared to your desired level. The Praetor has insisted to the people that this port will not come under attack- but I fail to see how that will be accomplished without our best troops.”

The Sea Lord frowned back, clean shaven and grey haired, of much higher birth and a man whom all in the country looked up to, even if they knew naught of Vynmark’s military affairs. The disabling of the Grand Fleet’s Great Three Battleships by sabotage in the opening hours had been a humbling experience for him, and even though the Grand Fleet had managed to pounce upon a few stray Twaryian naval patrols, there had been no great victory to soothe his ego, and a cruiser had been sunk by surprise aerial attack just the other day. Now everybody had been insisting on throwing the elite Naval Infantry into the line before they were in a position to be at the peak of performance. “Our best troops will not <span class="mu-i">be</span> our best if they are flicked in piecemeal like a soft spring rain upon an oil fire. The Army and Territorials must simply fight more stubbornly. The easterners can’t possibly maintain their rate of advance. After all, I’ve heard the northern front has had pressure significantly relaxed upon it.”