[A] That We May Live in Peace || {Darrin/open - Telmarine soldiers needed!}

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[Character of the Month]

Character of the Month
Prince Caspian

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Played by Cara

"Cara has managed to...create a character that is both mythical and life-like. Impulsive, moody, and yet kind and good-hearted, Caspian is just beginning to show the makings of a true leader."
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[General Glozelle]

((OOC: Any and all Telmarine soldiers are welcome to join this thread.  It will be our sort of pre-battle-with-the-Narnians thread, I think, so if anyone wants to reply, please do!))

As it had often been in the recent months, it was early in the morning and already the sun, high in the sky, was casting an unbearable dry heat upon everything in its path.  Even in the shade it was impossibly hot, and by noon, some of the men were so dehydrated that they had fainted.  It was exhausting for Glozelle to keep up with the provisions - the meager water rations Miraz had been so reluctant to give were too few to keep any of the men on their feet in normal conditions, let alone in this heat - but it was his responsibility as general (not Miraz's) to ensure that his men were well looked after.  Or perhaps just well enough to last through one battle.  Unfortunately, though the expectation was that it would only take one battle to take down the rebel prince and his band of beasts, it had been a long and unsuccessful few months.  And it was still only the beginning of the summer.

General Glozelle mopped at his brow with a handkerchief that was already soaked in his sweat.  He was normally a man of good taste and appreciated cleanliness, but such things were easily to live without when one was living in a camp with hundreds of other men.  No women were here, except for a few old ones - and one very young one - that Glozelle could not have taken less interest in.  It was difficult enough, for the moment, to come up with enough water to drink, let alone bathe in.  Even though there was a river nearby, it would sicken some of the men if it was not properly boiled and all that, and they couldn't afford to lose any men.  As much as he hated to admit it - and oh, how he hated it - Glozelle knew that he, Miraz, and nearly every other Telmarine had sorely underestimated Caspian and the boy's followers.  They were paying for it now, literally.  In his hurry to complete the ford, and afford the materials and manual labor that it would take to do so, Miraz was taxing all of his people mercilessly.  And still the war was not yet underway.  The time to attack was now.

True, there had been many quiet complaints about the civil war that they were preparing for.  It was costing the Telmarines more than just monetarily.  Nearly every man had been conscripted, leaving their wives and children at home to fend for themselves.  The whole country was on the brink of a rebellion, in the midst of a social crisis and economic downturn in a size unseen before now.  But everyone knew that, as it was said, sometimes it took war to make peace.  And if Miraz would not rest until the Narnians were defeated, that meant that no one else could, either.  Glozelle watched his soldiers gathering, armor gleaming in the hot sun, as they practiced their drills.  It wouldn't be long now, he hoped, until peace could be reached.  That was, until the war began.  Because not long after, if they did things correctly, it would be over.

[Lord Drinian]

OOC: Apparently I must have, you know, closed out of this window before hitting "post." Augh! Well, hopefully it's better the second time around. Anyhow, I'm setting this before Drinian sets off with Thal and Adelliana to go to the Narnian camp. Also before "Sounding Board."

Drinian was accustomed to the hot summers in Bernal and Beruna. He had lived here since childhood; the land had been his since early adolescence. What Drinian was not accustomed to was being restricted in his movements on his own land.

There was no where Drinian could go that was not populated by some regiment or legion; was no childhood haunt where he could seclude himself. And what was more, he could swear with this throng of men that the water was getting dirtier, the birds quieter, the trees thinner. . . even the heat was growing oppressive in these circumstances.

It would only be a short while, Drinian told himself, for he was resolved to do what he could to bring all sides to reason -- for there was, Drinian felt, error on every part and it was a fool who thought the sides to be only two. And then . . . the land would return to itself, Caspian would return to Telmar, and his supporters . . . could find a place there, too.

There were some people he did not know how to account for, however. Such as Miraz. Or his commanders. Drinian himself had just become a captain -- a thin attempt to appease, he suspected. He also suspected that there were some in this camp who were here because they were afraid. Others because they believed in Miraz and his cause. And yet others were here for themselves.

The only problem was, Drinian was having a hard time telling who was who these days.

As he roamed the camp looking for a moment's peace, he stumbled across one of these enigmatic men: Glozelle. Having been spied by the man, he could not leave without at least a greeting and so, as he walked forward, Drinian muttered a "General. How goes the progress on the bridge?"

Bridges were, of course, safe talk.

OOC: Definitely not better the second time around. Sorry for that!

[General Glozelle]

((OOC: No worries.  It's always hard to start.  And I can't say this is anything worth reading, so... :/))

"Captain Drinian," Glozelle greeted him in a rather failed attempt at a silken purr.  "What a pleasure it is to see you."  Glozelle truly loathed this idle talk.  In truth, he was awful at it.  Glozelle did not have the way with words that Sopespian did, nor was he a charmer or very persuasive.  But, seeing as how he had been approached, he supposed he couldn't just back out of a conversation.  He was, after all, in charge of the bridge's progress, and no good Telmarine man would turn down a chance to boast of his accomplishments.  Glozelle liked to think he was a good man, even if not by some standards of Telmarine society.  For example, he did not have a wife, which was somewhat odd in the first place (having a wife and then having an affair was perfectly all right, as long as you had someone to cook and clean for you at home), and if he did, he doubted he would treat her as most Telmarine men treated their wives.  But that was another point altogether. 

It was stupid of him to have gotten distracted, even for the briefest of moments.  Stupid, and dangerous.  He did not know this Drinian character well, other than his name.  He had a talent for matching a face with its title, though he usually didn't bother getting to know them beyond that.  He simply had no interest in it.  But beyond that, friends were rare in times of trouble.  It was too risky getting involved with someone who he didn't know well.  Trying to make it seem as though he had been lost in thoughts about the bridge, he glanced over at it - ugly, incomplete thing that it was, though it was his, he could say that much, however happily Miraz took credit for it - before answering the other man.

"It goes well indeed," he said, his quiet voice thankfully able to conceal the thin lie.  Men were dropping left and right with this blasted heat, and there was no way to replace them.  Their oh-so-wise king seemed to have the inability to decide whether he wanted his men to be soldiers or construction workers, so they served as both, and ended up unable to do neither because they collapsed of exhaustion or rebelled because of lack of decent pay.  Glozelle had no idea where all this money was going, because Miraz had more than enough of it.  But the people were taxed mercilessly, paid nearly nothing for all of their hard work, and forced to give up most of their meager earnings that they had left over when the tax collections were over to pay for not their own food, but the soldiers'.  The soldiers, who were fighting against an enemy that they still were not sure existed.  A forced smile shaping his cracked lips, he repeated, "Yes.  Everything is splendid."

Miraz honestly couldn't expect that, should they win this war, he would be able to keep his people themselves from beginning a war against him.  But then, the pompous king couldn't even see his nose (and it was quite a fat one), unless he was looking down it at somebody (he managed to do this, though he was pitifully short, by sitting in his throne nearly all of the time.  Instead of attending his troops like a good king would).  It should be a sure thing to defeat these little forest rats.  After all, what kind of organization did they have?  And then, like he was being walloped with a tree branch, the realization came to him: Caspian.  Grave, quiet Caspian, who worked studiously and had good manners and never showed any sign of rebellion.  Caspian, who had escaped without any previous instances of such behavior and was now leading the army against them, as far as they knew.  Caspian, who showed a resemblance to Glozelle in too many ways.  Caspian, who, like Glozelle, had gone from living (what seemed) happily in subjugation, to the second most powerful Telmarine there was.  They were using the same tactics, both to defeat their own people.  And Glozelle realized that there really was no winning in war.  But all he cared about was, no matter who did it, taking out Miraz.

[Lord Drinian]

Splendid. Not a word Drinian had ever thought tacked on to a war effort. It sounded gangly. Drinian, for one, was not convinced. He managed a grim sort of a smile and nodded. "I am glad to hear it. It will be a valuable asset to our troops."

This empty exchange could soon be brought to a close, but Drinian could not simply arrive, share six words discourse with the man, then leave. It mattered little that he did not care particularly for this man. Few things like that mattered in a war. Which reminded him of something.

"My father, near thirty years ago began the makings of a bridge to cross the Ford and allow for easier transport between Beruna and Bernal," he mused. "You can find the ruins of the scaffold -- it never got very far -- downstream, perhaps two miles. But he and the then Duke of Beruna quarreled over some matter. I was never quite sure what. The efforts were halted until such a time passed it became clear the Dukes would never reconcile." He looked morosely at the ford. "I'm glad to see the effort has been renewed. Perhaps it will mean renewed relations between Beruna and Bernal though," here his smile grew almost boyish, his eyes brighter, his smile reluctant, "I almost liked it the way it was."

The pensive, dreamy tone was lost in an instant as he, in much more the tone of a captain -- or what, to Drinian's mind, a captain ought to sound like -- said, "That is the nature of war. It brings together people you might not expect."

[General Glozelle]

Glozelle gazed blankly at the man as he babbled on.  Surely he had something better to do than stand her talking about the past.  Nothing of the past was interesting, it was filled with fools and other things in which Glozelle was not at all interested.  But apparently, this Drinian character was interested in it very much, for reasons that Glozelle would not understand.  Why someone would study history - and then waste their time going on and on about it as if it was actually worth talking about - was quite beyond him.  But apparently Miraz would make just about anyone a captain.  Old fool.

Not that they were desperate for officers, or anything.  They had plenty of men.  It was only that the men were stretched so thin between all of the different jobs that Miraz was having them do, that they hardly had the energy to get into the grand armor that they were required to wear on occasion so that they would look imposing.  It was horrid.  Glozelle held no great respect for any of the men out here, really.  Though he was hypocritical, for he often used idle chat as a means to charm someone (which, as was pointed out before, he was good at neither), this dribble bored him to no end.

For one thing, the man could talk.  He talked and talked and talked.  Surely someone who had so much to say had a very small amount of thoughts.  Didn't this fool know that a loose tongue could be no better than pointing a crossbow at his own heart?  And also, all of this nonsense about a father.  He spoke in such a... a reverent tone.  It was sickening, really.  Fathers were to be respected as a child, and, when you were of age, outdone.  Not babbled on uselessly and used as a tool to mercilessly bother and distract a higher officer from doing his job.

Odd, dreamy babbler.  At his words that war brought together different people, Glozelle would have laughed if the situation had any real humor to it.  No, it was simply ironic, how true his words were and he did not even seem to realize it.  Stiffly, he managed to grind out, "It would seem so, Captain."  How demeaning it was to refer to this man by any sort of title.  He certainly didn't deserve it.

Perhaps, at another time, the two men could have gotten along.  After all, in the distant past, though he would never admit to it, Favino Glozelle had been a good boy.  A sweet one, with dreams and ambitions just like this young man seemed to have.  However, the main difference was that Glozelle had absolutely hated his father, and the feeling seemed to be quite mutual.  Still, deep in his heart, Glozelle was probably good.  But in this, at least, Drinian was right.  War changed things.  And it had made Favino Glozelle a bitter, jealous, and hardened man.

[Captain Daemon Cole]

[Telmarine soldier here - Hope you don't mind me joining!]

Further across the other side of the Telmarine camp, Captain Daemon Cole emerged from the armourer’s tent, sheath in hand. It was a simple thing, leather, with a double-lined top, where his sword slipped in. The weapon also was plain and unimaginative, although it was good for the sole purpose of its being, and Cole could say no fairer than that. A sword was a sword, and a kill was a kill, whether the blade that had made the strike and drawn the blood was a weapon used regularly or a brand new one. The talent was in the man himself.

Drawing the blade from the sheath with a satisfying whump, he held it in his hand, testing the weight distribution. It was perfect. And that was just as well, because he didn’t know from where his next attacker was coming. War was the single most important thing that left all men on their guard. The vast majority of the soldiers here were conscripted, but not Cole. He had practically been brought up with blood on his sword, and he could remember nothing more of his childhood than endlessly long, hot summers spent sparring with his elder brother, back at home. He was sure that Azariel was caught up in this war as well – Cole’s elder brought certainly had a talent for fighting. Where else could soldierdom lead, other than here? Cole wasn’t willing to find out. He knew where he belonged, and where he didn’t belong and with armour on his back and sword and shield in hand, death merely seemed frail and old. He wasn’t scared to fall; he wasn’t scared to die.

He had been, when he was a young child – Scared of not knowing what was around the corner, of being unaware of how the day was going to end. He was nothing like as concerned any longer, his heart having hardened to the ways and unpredictability of this word. And it had become even more unpredictable, as this war had begun. Talking beasts, creatures that were half man and half horse roamed the woods, and more than once, Cole had passed a fireside to hear hushed and whispered talks of the great Lion Aslan being more than just the bedtime story of little children.

Cole’s allegiance was not necessarily to the king – Or Lord Protector – Or whatever it was that Miraz was calling himself now. It was to any enemy of Caspian X and his hopeless little band of woodland creatures. He hated the Narnians, and wanted them extinct for good this time, rather than it be merely suspected that they had died out. No... They had been breeding like rabbits, filthy things that they were. He detested them, and their so-called ‘leader’. These – He took a glance at the men of the camp as they sharpened their blades and polished their shields and the disfiguring, unanimous mask of their armour – Were the soldiers who would win. The invulnerable army of tens of thousands of men, stepping into the line of fire. These soldiers, the Telmarine civilization as it stood, with the knowledge, expertise, training and weaponry so much more advanced that Caspian and his rebellion, would triumph.

[Sir Darrin Basilar [Inactive]]

Darrin was of no great importance here, at least, not by way of titles or positions. He was neither general nor lieutenant nor captain, though his father was a Lord in Miraz’s court and he himself carried the formal title of “Sir”. He would one day join the ranks of nobility, upper nobility, among Miraz’s court too. But for now he was paying his dues as a soldier on a horse, a man trained to be a benefit, not a detriment, to the assembling army. For several years, even before this silly uprising, Darrin had been amongst the army. He was far from the point of bumbling soldier though he certainly lacked the motivation to strive to be one of the fellows who actually gave orders. He was content enough to simply follow directions, for now at least. However the heat was getting to him, and the incompetence of the new recruits was tiring. He’d been told to help instruct a little, to attempt to lessen the load on those training their new soldiers. Darrin obliged, though he was not so pleased to do so.

Why was he here anyway? He didn’t care for Miraz, but of course no one else could know that. He definitely saw himself as a superior man to Miraz, who had to resort to trickery and deception and manipulation to get what he wanted. No, a real king would simply take what he want and not dump the blame on some unfortunate subject. Miraz had no real power, except intimidation. And what better was there for them anyway? Miraz was the lesser of two evils. Caspian was utterly incompetent. Darrin had decided that he would never get himself to the throne, but he would marry, eventually, and perhaps he would be lucky enough to have a daughter who could, in time, marry Miraz’s new son. Things would have to be worked with extreme caution, but Darrin had always been able to talk himself into just about anything.

But that was going to involve doing some brunt work. He had to show Miraz he would follow him, wherever him and his stupid army went. Even if Darrin couldn’t stand the ignorant “king”. Honestly, Darrin would serve any king they might have, regardless of how he felt about the man, so long as it would prove a benefit to himself.

There were some men gathered a little ways away. Darrin wiped his forehead, wishing rations weren’t so sparse. At least when this was all over, he had his great estate to go home to. Most of the men here didn’t. But that wasn’t Darrin’s problem.

General Glozelle was just over there, talking with Captain Drinian. Darrin rolled his eyes as he glanced away. Drinian, a friend of the runaway prince... until now, of course. At least, he hoped that the stupid prince’s abandonment had severed that friendship. It wouldn’t go well for Drinian otherwise, Darrin was sure. He glanced around briefly, wishing the company was a little more tolerable. Where were those ladies who had been by with bread, earlier? Surely anything would be better than this. He sheathed his sword and ran his fingers through his hair. He was tired of sparring and of practice. He was tired of walking around as though there was actually a reason to be here. Why weren’t they off to fight yet?

[Lord Drinian]

There was no mistaking the terse finality of Glozelle's sparse statement. And while Drinian was enticed to be civil and make new acquaintances for the betterment of his position, it was hardly desireable to be in the company of a person who so clearly thought present company a fool. It was clear the man did not take to his meaning or, if so, wanted none of it: that, perhaps, they might come to understand each other better, that his knowledge of the area could surely complement Glozelle's presence here.

The most natural impulse, of course, contrary to his benevolence in appearing here, would be to resent the man who had most prominently stationed his men at the ford so that they might cross over upon his land of Bernal and infest it there. The offer, he had thought, had been in good-will, particularly after his confession that he would rather have been left alone.

At the perceived rejection, Drinian straightened and his countenance stiffened, looking out about them as he spoke. "Of course, General, you and I, different as we are, both know the dangerous ambiguity of 'seems'. Much better to say that it is so or have done with it." There was an uncharacteristic impatience in the reply and, hoping to soften it, Drinian furthered, eyes lingering upon two approaching figures, "But here I see both Captain Cole and Sir Darrin approach." Let them have the surly general, he thought to himself. But what could have brought them together?

He suspected he was being watched by Miraz. He suspected, in their way, they were all being watched, but he with particular pointedness owing to his friendship. With the chance encounter becoming more and more of a significant event -- for who wandered these parts haphazardly? -- Drinian could not help but suspect he was being put to some sort of test. His gaze returned to the General with a pointedness and a hint of irony in the word. "It seems a fortuitous coincidence, this congregation."

Both men were now within a comfortable, conversational distance and Drinian acknowledged both by name, setting his jaw and steeled himself, of a resolve to be nothing short of laconic.

"The General and I were just discussing the progress of his bridge," he said succinctly.

[General Glozelle]

Glozelle gave the two approaching soldiers a wary glance out of the corner of his eye.  He quite loathed talking with his soldiers.  True, he knew the importance of knowing where their loyalties lay, but if the men were stupid, they would all be for Miraz, and if they were wise, they would be for themselves.  Either case did not prove profitable for Glozelle, and when they really ought to be preparing for war, he did not want to waste time listening to lies.  Or stories about bridges, for that matter.  For a moment, as he heard Drinian's strangely impassioned words, Glozelle's eyes flashed.  How dare a subordinate speak thusly?  But at the not-so-subtle sarcasm in the man's next statement, the slightest touch of a fleeting smile brushed across the general's pressed-together lips.  There was rebellion and ferocity in Drinian's heart, qualities that Glozelle knew all too well were necessary simply to survive in a time like this.  If Drinian had survived this long with those qualities in not one but two opposing camps, then he might be useful.  And he seemed no stranger to going against Miraz.  Glozelle eyed Drinian curiously, considering all these things.  Perhaps he had underestimated the man.  Fortuitous, indeed.

For a moment, he pursed his lips before saying, very quietly, "I must agree that we both know danger, Lord Drinian."  His eyes narrowed imperceptibly as they looked out towards the horizon, as if trying to detect an answer shimmering in the sun.  "And I do not mean from any war."  Because, of course, there was currently no war at all - Miraz had made sure of that, by sending all of his best men out on a folly to build a bridge.  If he had not been out of countence for doing so, Glozelle was quite certain he would have spoken such.  But he said nothing more on the subject - at least for now - as the two men drew into hearing range, the possibility of someone who was not meant to hear Glozelle's words hearing those words increased with each languid stride they took towards him.  Maintaining his level of formality, he turned to the men, face expressionless, back poker straight as always.  He greeted the men simply - "Captain, Sir." - by their title; as impersonally as possible.  If there was any hope of speaking to them about what he wished he might, he would have to move into things slowly; appearing to be more open than he usually was (which was not open at all) would likely arouse suspicion, something he could not afford to do.

Other than his short statement of summary to the newcomers, Drinian was silent, which Glozelle supposed (though he did not really know the man well enough to do so) was more characteristic.  At least, when he was not trying to impress a higher officer, which he may or may not have been trying to do a moment ago.  It was not necessarily a bad thing, trying to appeal to others so that one might get ahead, but it became annoying when such flattery was done without a purpose.  Glozelle could tolerate, and perhaps even encourage, the sort of behavior that helped someone get ahead in life; in fact, he had hardly been above the same when he was young, supporting Miraz so that he might benefit.  Thankfully, now that Glozelle's feelings had gone from admiration to distrust to outright hatred, it was less necessary for him to pledge his loyalty to Miraz on a daily basis now that they both had some of the power that they wanted.  Eventually, of course, Glozelle would have all the power he wanted, while Miraz...  Well, if things went as planned, Miraz would not be wanting anything, for he would not be feeling anything, nor breathing anymore either.

But Glozelle said none of this aloud.  He had to make sure that none of these men, who had now gathered into his presence, were in their hearts devoted to Miraz.  There would only be trouble, grave trouble, for him then, and all would be lost.  Every oppressed Telmarine would be once more without a voice.  No, he had to have the utmost caution.  He had one chance to strike, and he must do it so that Miraz would not be able to strike back.  Glozelle knew this well.  This may be his army, but it was not so in name, and it was quite possible that many of the fools wandering around in this camp truly had no idea what they were fighting for.  Or perhaps who.  But Glozelle did.  How wonderfully ironic it would be, that while they thought they were fighting for Miraz they would really be fighting against him, amongst the secretive forces that had arisen with the man's own forces to dethrone him!  Glozelle was in the process of beginning a civil war; he was going to turn Telmarine Narnia inside out.  It would not be such a great task, for already Caspian had unwittingly started everything into motion with his escape stunt.  If you wanted to, you could say it was Miraz's fault, as all misfortune was.  Yes, this plan would work quite nicely.  These people had been fooled into trouble; now Glozelle would fool them out of it.  "Of what did you wish to speak?"

[Captain Daemon Cole]

The progress of the bridge. Of course, that was the best thing to discuss. That which they all knew of, and all – Probably – Wished to see through until completion. However, from the sharp and blunt tones that practically echoed through Cole’s mind, it might seem that there were others who knew more than complete fixation with King Miraz. Surely there had to be strife amongst the people of the camp, all of whom were soldiers whose thoughts were firmly planted on their enemy, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood that clouded the air when the blade hissed down. Spars were regular among the men, although then there was always the case when something went awry, and there was a moment of misdemeanour, and fighting broke out properly. After all, it was only so long that these highly strung soldiers could hold their nerve about them, when poised for a war that seemed never to commence. Cole himself was all too blindingly aware of the atmosphere of battle. He was also aware that he had not tasted the tangy liquid for some time. The heating fervour of battle was locked in his veins, raring for release and screaming for some sense of freedom as it dreamed from his skin in a spirited wave of aptitude and fire.

The thought was lost in a flurry of sparks as he was dragged back to the harshness of the situation that was reality. He did not particularly wish to engage in a conversation with either Glozelle or Drinian, although his thoughts on the matter seemed to be particularly worthless now, seeing as he had approached them without meaning, nor command. He could not walk away from the men, as both of them were his better. There was a certain amount of Cole’s superiors who purposely made it their time of day to ensure that he knew his place below them. He did hope that they were having a day off.

“General Glozelle, Lord Drinian...”

Cole greeted them with the smallest of smiles, although it was clearly forced, as though it was the right thing to do, but no one had informed him it was meant to mean something. To all intents and purposes, it was merely for the rationale of acknowledging their presence.

“The bridge was something after which I was intending to enquire-”

Cole began, in a smooth tone that implied he clearly knew what he was talking about, and had a specific purpose for approaching the two men as they spoke. In all reality, he did not, and was merely improvising his way through a conversation that would hopefully not make him appear as a simple foreigner.

“-And when we would have use of it. That appears to be the men’s concern at this present moment, and I fear that tensions certainly are high when it comes to being cooped up in this camp for any length of time. Intentions for the future have not been made clear, as of yet, to the rest of us. Do you fine gentlemen know anything more than myself?”

[Sir Darrin Basilar [Inactive]]

Darrin approached warily, feeling quite out of place in the gathering. A general, a captain, and a lord – and him. Sure, he wasn’t some commoner, but he was as of yet rather untitled. His father was Lord Basilar, and for the time being, Darrin wasn’t much of anything other than a skilled soldier who, unlike most of the other soldiers at the camp, knew what he was doing. At least that had to give him something. Nevertheless, he did not allow his uncertainty to show upon his face as he approached, giving each man present a faint nod of greeting. He would first get a feel for what exactly was going on before he attempted to voice an opinion of anything. Amongst his equals, Darrin was loud and immensely opinionated. Amongst his superiors? He was far more careful – something he’d learned from being sent away to the middle of nowhere in his youth.

“ Aye, I meant to enquire about the bridge as well,” he said slowly, as though thoughtful, pensive. “It is turning out to be a rather fine thing, but when might we have the ability of making use of it?” In his head, this whole “war”, if it could even be called that, had dragged on far too long already. Why weren’t they fighting Caspian and his band of “fairytale” creatures by now? How much longer could this truly drag on for? When would they actually be able to go to battle? It was getting to be too much. Granted, plenty of the soldiers could never hold themselves in an actual battle so maybe they were better off to wait. Who could know?

He wondered if they’d really been talking about the bridge or if that was just a cover. Not that he really cared. “Hopefully we’ll be able to head off and end this thing soon enough.” He was tired of living in a tent and getting the bare minimum when it came to rations. He really wasn’t accustomed to living like this. “After all, it isn’t as though it’ll be a long fight, once it starts. They’ll never beat us.” No thanks to Miraz, of course, who was content to sit pretty on his throne and boss everyone around. He probably didn’t have a clue what was going on with his soldiers, he was probably completely oblivious. Again, Darrin didn’t care, he was just in this to further himself as best as he could.

((Ooc: Sorry it sucks. My Darrin muse kinda died. lol))

[General Glozelle]

((ooc. This sucks, and is out of order, I know, but this thread has been dead for a while, and I needed to get in a post for the Activity Check but I’m too lazy to make a new thread… Dx))

Glozelle was, though of course he would not admit it, a bit taken aback by the pretty words which his soldiers spoke.  He was quite used to hearing them from higher lords, who wanted to convince him of something or wished to curry favor with him for whatever reason, but those men were much more wise (or so they liked to think, anyway) than the men who stood before Glozelle at the moment.  Perhaps he ought to have a bit more faith in his men.  After all, they were a good deal more faithful to the cause of the Telmarine army – and thus to its general – than their king ever would be.  If he could manage to get them onto his side, then he would have the backing of nearly the entirety of Telmar on his side, also, for it seemed that Miraz had thrown every able male into the cause of building a bridge and fighting a war against an as-of-yet-invisible enemy.  And while Glozelle knew it was best not to underestimate an enemy, he also did not think that Miraz should underestimate his men.  They were not as stupid as had been originally thought.  Perhaps, like Glozelle, they had been putting up a façade, while they made their own plots all along.

With this possibility now entered into his head, he gazed at the two young soldiers standing before him in something of a new light – not as subordinates who would annoy him with stupid questions, but rather, perhaps, as people who would aid him in his quest, and receive the rewards of his victories as their own.  For Glozelle would, surely, be victorious.  That, or he would be dead.  There seemed to be no other option, for there was no turning back now.  Once Miraz had found out about his plan, either Miraz would be dead, or Glozelle would be.  Thus far, no one else knew that Glozelle was secretly plotting to kill the king and take the crown for himself, so that once again the Telmarines would be ruled by one of their own, a man of the people instead of a distant, foolish, and selfish usurper.  The only man to whom Glozelle had even hinted of the possibility of rebellion was Sopespian.  Whether this had been a mistake or a good choice remained to be seen, and it seemed that Glozelle would soon have the same decision to make with other men, should he wish to take them into confidence.

To the first man, Glozelle glanced with a hint of annoyance, in spite of his thoughts about how these men might be of use to him.  It was not as if he would be able to tell them what they wanted to know about the progress of the bridge, but in order to save face, he should probably pretend that he knew at least something.  Though he didn’t want them to think of Miraz highly enough to expect he actually had any real plan for the bridge, he also didn’t want to undermine his own authority by admitting he knew little to nothing about the plans for the army which he was supposed to be leading.  And so he was caught in a bitter stalemate with his own self.  The thing that irritated Glozelle was that these men seemed to know as much about the bridge as he did, which, seeing as he was a general and he was in charge of them, was simply unacceptable.  It was all too familiar from the bumbling Miraz, however.  He disliked that the soldier, the Captain, had taken it upon himself to tell Glozelle how his men were feeling about things.  Really, did he think that Miraz would actually care how his soldiers were feeling?  Sometimes Glozelle forgot that these men were not as close to the king as he was.  How fortunate for them.

The flattery the men provided for Glozelle and his work, though altogether pointless, was surely appreciated, and showed in Glozelle’s reaction quite clearly.  They knew their way well around the world.  Yes, indeed, they would be useful to him… “Our esteemed king has not seen fit to reveal to me anymore than he has to you,” Glozelle replied shortly, his tone blander than it might have been otherwise.  With his typical lack of elaboration, he paused for a moment, and it seemed as though he was going to say no more.  But after a brief hesitation, he continued somewhat cryptically, “I believe we all wish to go to war.”

[Lord Drinian]

It seemed there was little to be said or reported on the bridge. And while there seemed to be much to say about the war, no one seemed truly willing to discuss it or breach the topic.

"King Miraz is to send a delegation to the enemy camp to negotiate; to see if the band might be subdued," Drinian said, raising his chin as he spoke. He was the youngest here and, no doubt, the least popular. This comment would make him no less popular, he knew. But it was hardly a secret, his stance on the war. Or the delegation.

"We all wish victory for Telmar," he added sincerely. And this much was true. Drinian himself would be the first to admit that if he felt Caspian to be acting against Telmar's best interest, Drinian's loyalty would remain with Telmar. However, Drinian also believed that a Telmar under Caspian's reign was preferable to one under Miraz's. "With their forces weakened and disorganised, it should not be hard to overpower them." Also true. Though not what he hoped for.

OOC: Also sub-par and quite short. But you know, Drinian's forthrightness always leads to awkward situations, so maybe there's a bit more to work with now.

[General Glozelle]

Glozelle was rightfully irked by the fact that Drinian seemed to know so much more than he did about the war.  It was bad enough that he knew so little about the bridge, but on the subject of war, in which he was actually interested (and rightfully so, being the general!), Miraz had revealed to him almost nothing – while Drinian, who was of a lower station than Glozelle, and much less interested or involved in the army itself, had learned much.  Had Miraz not disclosed to Glozelle that he distrusted the other man, and that Glozelle would be the one to take charge of keeping him in line?  And yet it would seem that the king did not trust his own general enough to tell him of his plans for war!  It was insulting, really, and within his thick, emotionless exterior, the general was fuming.  Perhaps the king was right not to trust him, but he hadn’t expected this fact to be known, and if Miraz was really as suspicious as he ought to have been, then it was all over for him and for his developing plans.

His gaze shot warily to Drinian with more haste than was probably considered respectable, and he quickly calmed himself.  Restraint would be necessary to exercise if he wished for his plans to continue on, for if anyone discovered them (already he feared that Miraz had), then he was as good as dead.  He knew that he could not trust Drinian, especially since he had his suspicion that Miraz had had quite the long discussion with the man who was the son of his old relation.  If he had been allowed freer speech, Glozelle was quite certain that he would have scoffed audibly at the statement that Drinian wanted victory of Telmarine.  Ah, even he wanted that, but not under its current ruler.  As he was unsure of Drinian’s thoughts on this subject, or those of the other men who surrounded him, he remained cautious. “I was aware that their army was in disarray,” he noted, the only indication of his irritation that Drinian seemed intent on showing him up with knowledge that he did not possess. “If I were to be allowed to lead the men over to their camp, I should say it would not be difficult at all.”  That was his only mention of dissent or anger at Miraz, and though his eyes continued to flash dangerously at Drinian, he made no mention of his resentment of him, either.