Captain of the West Port Jerican Gaurd

I spoke my dinner lines quietly to myself as a short man finished up my last bit of tailoring. I felt adrenaline pulse through my frame as I imagined myself in front of all of those delegates. It was a silly thing, they will all be dead come nightfall so why am I so stressed? Its ironic that I am more worried about the shallow opinion of these people than their actual lives.

The tailor moved me to a row of mirrors and asked if I approved of his fitting. I thought it looked… posh and gave him my approval. I have a small envy of great wealth, but I really care very little for the fashion that comes with it. I enjoy my uniform and my frank street ware. It would be difficult wearing these tights and frothy cuffs all the day, not to mention the lack of space for a gutter or two. I felt very posh, indeed, with this pathetic rapier hanging loosely from my belt.

I left the dressing room and returned shortly with my Jerican style scimitar, but its rough leather sheath contrasted far too much with my attire and I soon threw it back in my pile of office dress.

I put on some fanciful shoes and hobbled uncomfortably to the main hall where the very first of the guest were being permitted to enter. I was greeted by one of my lieutenants, who seemed to be more stressed than I. (Franklin I believe was his name… No… Yeah, Franklin. Very good Lad, very dependable.) “I hate early people. Don’t you Frank?” I jested to him.

He stared at me for a moment and then realized I was trying to make a merry joke. “Oh… Yes sir, Very… annoying.”

“Well put. What’s the word from outside the eggshell?”

He chewed on the eggshell question for a moment and then answered. “The egg… Ah, right sir. Fleet Admiral Tornallis is beginning to close the harbor as we speak. Any ships trying to get in will be seized and any ships trying to get out will be burnt.”

“Sound good, and the force east of the walls?” (If I may just add that I have an odd sort of personality and the dear lieutenant is a very text bookish individual, and often has a hard time stepping out of his very structured conversational habits. He is in no way unintelligent, just stiff)

“They should arrive on time. The, umm… mobile fortresses or Land Dragons as General Talinoss continues to emphasis…”

“…And he does emphasis it, doesn’t he? Don’t you think that is a little childish Lieutenant? LAND DRAGONS!! What sort of a name is that for a weapon of war? Anyway continue.”

“Umm… right. One of the Land Dragons, unfortunately, has broken down in transit and so only four will arrive with the main force.”

I chewed on the information and figured it wouldn’t be a major change in plan. “That will be fine. Will all of our agents be ready for the dinner surprise?”

“Yes Sir.”

I thought for a moment more and then looked at my Lieutenant, who seemed like a perfectly capable, handsome, and intelligent fellow. “Excellent Franklin, I just have one slight change in plan.”

“What is that, Sir?” He held up a piece of parchment, I assumed he was taking notes on.

A huge smile came over my face and I placed a hand on his shoulder. “You, my good man, are giving my dinner speech.”