"Fight"

"I don't intend to start a fight now."  Ieh'son muttered, more to himself than to anyone else in the room.  Most of the occupants had long since stopped listening to anything that but the prospect of War with the nation of Delim Tarilith, and he did not care for that outcome.  His eyes scanned the long table of nobles and war advisers, each shouting over another with their ideas of absolute victory.  Ieh'son spotted Saishi, looking very tired indeed, at the head of the table.  Ieh'son sat five chairs down, between a haggard looking nobleman and a high ranking member of the Merchant class of the once great Bedune nation.  Even though some that he had known well were dead, others still craved for death by boasting of war.  Ieh'son shook his head sadly, and the nobleman shot a venomous glare towards him.



"Coward! You-" was all the noble could manage before a fist slammed into his face.  The sickening sound of flesh recoiling from force, combined with the loud crunch of breaking bone brought an instant silence to the room.  Many stood with swords drawn as the man doubled over in pain, searching for the perpetrator, but were stunned to standing there, mouth agape, looking at the strange, blue-haired Monk with a building rage coursing through his stark blue eyes.  Servants quickly came and led the sobbing and thrashing man from the room.

"I've lost everything," Ieh'son said with a strained voice through clenched teeth.  Some of those who sat near him recoiled as if they were the next targets of the Monk's fury, "People I've loved, the country I held dear, the Monastery that sheltered me, and the Master who taught me his ways.  Do not mistake my unwillingness to go to War with weakness."

"What is your council then, Monk?"  Ieh'son turned to Retarel, a war time adviser to Saishi.  The High Lord sat next to the old military veteran, silent and seemingly lost in thought.  Ieh'son knew that Urael and Saishi were once friends, and perhaps still were.

"High Lord, you have felt the pain of loss as sharply as I have," Ieh'son began, then slowly stood.  Although his youth was still upon him, his legs and knees felt suddenly as if they were holding up a thousand pounds of grief and responsibility, "However, if we charge blindly into the fray, we cannot hope to win.  With what I have seen from Cre'dalin's treachery, Delim Tarilith is a powerful nation capable of extreme violence.  We must learn more of their army, gather forces and allies of our own, and strike as a unified sword."  Saishi nodded solemnly, then pointed to some a tattered piece of parchment on the table in front of him. Saishi's voice cracked quietly as he spoke, and Ieh'son could tell it was challenging for the High Lord to keep his tone level.

"Find the Kurotan that are in this city," Saishi said, his eyes now locked directly on Ieh'son, "and recruit them.  They will stand tall with you."

"With us," The table turned to find Baen Ti'ren, the Master Mage, standing in the doorway leading to the Great Hall.  A look of of combined confidence and desperation on his face, Baen strode over to Ieh'son and extended his hand, "We will fight together."  Ieh'son nodded then clasped the Mage's forearm.

"Let us hope it is enough to end this fight." The blue-haired Monk whispered.  Although quiet, that hushed sentence was heard and felt throughout the chamber.  Only Saishi spoke, his voice barely above a hushed whisper,

"Pray that it is enough to start."