Thread: A Goddess in all Regards

Konrad was troubled. He had been quite unable to find solace in sleep, despite the warm and suitably well furnished room of the castle. To his mind it was entirely too comfortable, and his body was much better accustomed to life on campaign, camping in tents meant to accomodate It was late, and there were no advisors, generals or lieutenants bustling around him for orders, or barking challenges or complaining of how their honorless foes refused to face them on the field of battle. This war had been building for the past decade, as the southeners had taken every opportunity to slight himself and his thanes, through negotiations, trade agreements and wringing from them every copper possible, all the while flattering and bowing and scraping and speaking of 'mutual gains'. It had come too far though, and his people had demanded justice, and he had taken up the crown as every holding geared for war. A war that had not as yet been going well. Early successes had drawn their armies into the borders of their foes, and his generals overconfident in their sucess had continued despite his warnings of consolidation, only to find themselves cut off, ambushed and harrassed by forces who refused to fight on the open field. And what was worse was the constant threat of the enemies mages, from their accursed towers and academies, who inspired unnatural fear, or raised monsters or even turned the winds and weather against his armies, leaving their advance spluttering and miserable and expended, and his own authority called into question. He slammed his fist down onto the table in anger, cursing the gods that his proud and noble warriors and their families honor and work might be trampled under the connivings and witchcraft wrought by foreigners with not an honest bone amongst them. He cursed again and shucked off the heavy furs from around his broad shoulders, pacing in his breeches and tunic across the cobble stone floor as he pulled at the short beard adorning his rugged features, well aware that this war had begun just slightly to gray the temples of his thick, blonde hair. He was still a prime example of his people's strength tough the raw strength of youth was now tempered in him with a discipline born of her veterancy, and there were few who could still best him in contests of strength, though he fancied himsell not quite so agile as the callow youths and riders, who had seen the most success of any of his troops. He gritted his teeth, thankful only that his son was the chief marshall of their horsemen, and the best rider and warrior amongst them and therefore in the best position to cut at his own authority, and not some hot headed firebrand, intent on cutting a bloody swath into the southern nations, that would likely destroy any chance of victory, though sating the neccesities of honor. Still, their were other generals who might take it upon themselves to overthrow king and son alike, should his efforts not produce some fruit in the coming weeks, but with the constant threat of sorcery and ambush, he could not possibly remount the campaign as they had before, as they had for centuries. He felt trapped by the bonds of honor, of tradition of all that he had to live up to, and yet without a proper force against which to apply his strength. It was maddening, and all of it wreaked of magic, and of god's who had abandoned him and his people to their fate.