Alpheo sank back into his chair, fingers drumming idly against the worn armrest, his mind already leagues away, across the salt-bitten waves, to lands not yet carved properly into the map.
This war — this reckless, bloody festival of betrayal and broken swords — had taught him many things, but perhaps none as valuable as this: the power of auxiliary communities.
The Voghondai had proven it beyond doubt; with their strange tongues, they had shown themselves worth ten times their number in native levies, not that it was that hard considering also the fact that their equipment was far better than their counterparts.
Still , their performance had been nothing short of splendid, proving that an alien arm, one whose fate was tied to your fortune alone, was even better.
Of course, their performance did not rely on discipline and cohesion like it was the case for the Black Stripes, but instead on fast and quick brutality and ferocity, that would break the fighting will of their enemies.
