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Stone and Flint
Sat Jun 10, 2006 16:27
68.11.220.50 (XFF: 192.168.1.3)

It was early, too early for sun. The glimmering rays of light given off by his small stand lamp was the only illumination in the small room. Locke was fortunate enough to have a small dwelling all to himself - it had been so since he defeated the Seanchan in pitched battle as a Soldier, nearly a year ago. His cot was unslept in; Locke rarely slept. The patched plaster walls were unadorned and starkly kept - most rooms this size would seem dingy - not Locke's. It was imperiously neat, minimalist, nearly artificial. The only off-set of the tidiness was the oil in the stand lamp - it was beginning to go rancid. It smelled faintly of fat; this bothered him just a little, at the beginning of each lighting. However, after but a few minutes, Locke grew accustomed to it, forgetting it entirely. Lysander has been M'Hael since the day of his Raising - nigh seventeen. Quite a breath of fresh air. However, one would do well to assign more Captains from the well of recruits that one knows to be entirely loyal not to M'Hael, but to the Dragon... since age can cause fragmentation in even the sternest of fealty. Locke's pen winked secretively at the end of this sentence, his angular cursive sending a secret joke to its recipients within the Asha'man ahead of him in the Army. Locke was only nineteen - the irony was not lost to him.

In addition, I would recommend myself as staff advisor to most of the newer recruits coming from the sworn nations in the South - most of them are hardened by experience, and they'll not yield their lives to the Dragon's Army thusly to such a young man without being so inclined - I experienced such difficulties during my first campaign, and I can address it with speed and efficiency, as such. Locke paused. He didn't like tooting his own horn, but if you wanted something to get done right, you had to do it yourself. But to do it yourself, people in charge had to be given reason to believe it was a decent idea. In particular, I would advise if not me, then Rianyll is a good choice. He was wounded lately, but I believe it was last month that he received the Healer's go-ahead to resume all his usual activities. Take precautions against the seventh unit, they're recently drafted and seem to - A sharp knock on his door resonated dully in his small apartment.

"Come."

It opened with a squeak, admitting a Soldier who looked quite the worse for wear. "Light, you're up at this hour? I mean, aye, Major, Sir..."

"What is it, Captain?"

"We're all summoned, well, you and some of the others, all of the others, I think, to Asha'man Aric's chambers. I was dispatched to inform all in this bloc." He was nervous and blond-headed, ancy, seemingly writhing out of his own skin, the little ticks and twitches of uncertainty and fear crippling his stature. A Soldier. A soldier.

"Very well." Locke laid his pen lengthwise across a small strip of fabric, nudging the tip into it at a gentle angle, removing the ink. "On your way out, take this report with you to Asha'man Greer - he'll know who it's from and why I wrote it." Locke furrowed his brow, channeling the wrinkles in his lapel away with a weak weave of Fire and Air. "Also, mention that the word I didn't finish on the end of the last page is "Farfanugen."

"Farfanugen?"

"Farfanugen."

_______________________________________________________


Locke leaned up against the wall, silent, gray eyes studiously examining everyone around him with a detachment that resounded of murderous intent, or scholarly classification. In this particular case, it was the latter. So the Seanchan Juggernaught stirs again. The black-haired youth was unsurprised. It was only a matter of time... but the question is, how will Illian respond? How will we supplement their defenses, or rather, how will they supplement us?

"Good luck to all of you."

Luck. Hah. Locke pushed himself off the wall with the arch in his back; he moved with the group quietly, markedly less talkative, markedly less excited, markedly less...everything, save focused. By foot, I wager, is the best bet - I am a capable general, but I am certainly no admiral. It is east to say that the main force will be set into tiered camps moving in timely intervals - a twelve-thousand man progressive overwatch, as it were. Though, if rousted completely, the supplementary force will rouse speedily, probably to provide reinforcements, unless the day is totally lost, in which case... they would retreat. So my strategy is simple. I am the stone, my men are the flink, and the Seanchan will provide the dry tinder.

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    • Stone and Flint — Major Locke Lemain, Dedicated, Sat Jun 10 16:27
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