Beneath the Dragoneye Moons

Thirty five years after the events at the Phoenix Peaks.

I was in a bad mood, putting it lightly. A number of elves had decided to ‘go get some levels’, and their way of doing so involved flying into Exterreri, murdering a bunch of farmers and villagers, then fucking off before news arrived at the Sixth, and we were able to muster a response. My foul countenance was echoed six hundred times, the entire cohort darkly looking over the burnt fields and bodies nailed to the wall.

[Centurion] Nix spat and asked what we were all thinking.

“Why, by all the gods, are we letting them do this? Why aren’t we retaliating? We should be burning their fucking forests to the ground!”

They grew up so fast.

The sentiment was met with much agreement, and in spite of my [Oath], a part of me tugged in agreement. I wanted revenge, plain and simple.

I knew why we weren’t, the higher level analysis that went on behind the scenes. I kept it to myself, knowing it wouldn’t make me any friends.

We’d lose.

We’d lose hard, and not only would Tympestshard overrun us, but the Golden Courts would join in, and the rest of our neighbors would jump on the opportunity. We might spark off the next Immortal war, but Arachne and the rest believed that everyone else would simply see a chance to eliminate a competitor before the ‘real’ fighting started. The end-game dictated that some treachery and backstabbing would probably kick off the ‘true’ war before Sanguino was sacked - it was almost as far away from the borders as possible - but most of Exterreri would be burned and dead by then.