Reflections

In the forests to the east of his keep I review the armies of elves and centaurs Dolphus has assembled for his campaign. I look about, seeking the stout Treefolk that I had been told to expect, but I discover that Jerrimax’ sorcery has returned them to their deep woods and their deep slumber. An ill omen, this; Jerrimax has struck the first blow, one we can do naught but answer.

Though they do not think I notice, I see the commanders of the armies I lead look aside after I pass: they know of my status and whisper the legends, or know not and fear the reputation of the warlord. This form was an ill choice by Dolphus, possibly the only one he had to use, but bound as I am to Dolphus’ service I cannot question it.

Which is as it should be.