Intermediate I -- The Throne Room
Two men occupied the throne room of Campbell’s castle. It was not a large throne room, simple and just large enough to comfortably fit the throne, a few courtiers, and whoever else holding an audience with the castle’s owner. Tapestries displaying past battles hung along the walls, and on the wall behind the throne hung the blue and red standard of the Campbell house. Torchlight chased shadows around the stone chamber, the sun having set some time ago.
One of the men in the room was, indeed, Lord Campbell himself. He was a lean man, dressed in a tunic of colors that matched the standard behind the throne. His blond brows furrowed over his muddy brown eyes as he paced back and forth at an even pace in front of the dais holding the throne. He’d dismissed the servants some time ago, as he usually did when he spoke for an extended amount of time with Lord Ross.
“Your forces better know what they’re doing, Ross.” Campbell cast a glance towards his companion. “Even in defeat, those rebels can still strike a bitter blow.”
Lord Ross himself possessed jet black hair, beard, and brows, all as thick as his broad build. He waved, dismissive of Campbell’s comment. “They will not be able to strike for some time, and by then my secondary army will have arrived and they will be as ants beneath our boots.”
To this, Campbell stopped pacing, and arched his eyebrows. “Like your glorious victory last time? If not for my help, you wouldn’t even have one of their order captured. And what happened to the one you did manage to capture? Oh, that’s right. He escaped.”
Ross snarled at the mockery in Campbell’s tone. “That was the point of the plan.”
A trumpet blasted, drowning Campbell’s rebuttal.