The scribes gulped nervously as the table before them with its map of the Barrowdells seemed to shake. The two wooden towers with their flags, one of a solid Sellaville red the other a dull grey lurched toward, and then toppled into one another before spontaneously bursting into fire as they touched. They stood transfixed by the fiery tableau until nothing put a small pile of smouldering ash stood where they towers had been and an obvious charred circle where the map had seared away around them.
They looked at one another for a moment “Errm, do you think they failed?” quietly voiced one of
“You never know with mercenaries, but that certainly wasn’t expected,” said a second.
“We better get the Stadtus” chimed a third.
“We better get the Governor” muttered a fourth.
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