In the cold confines of the largest war tent lit by a single candle, the sound of ceaseless rainfall drummed overhead. There was a frigid air that stole a little bit of their souls every time they breathed. It crept under their clothes and spread an uncomfortable chill across their skin.
The colonel held an urgent report in his right hand, surrounded by his two lieutenants. Short chestnut hair sat slicked to the back of his head and his full beard was neatly trimmed. He had a colossal stature compared to his subordinates. Tattoos were engraved into his built body, each with their own story to tell.
A silent tension hung in the atmosphere after a messenger barged into their meeting with little explanation for his ill-mannered interruption. Had it not been for his resolute authority, his subordinates would have executed the messenger on the spot for any asinine reason they could think of. He had an aura that demanded absolute respect—and he received it without question.
Diana leaned back and crossed her arms over her bosom, her tailcoat carelessly brushing against the ground from the way she sat and her santorini blue hair resting under her arm. Many had mistaken her as an upper-class beauty that had no place on the battlefield from the way she dressed. They quickly realized their ignorance once she slashed their mouths wide open from ear to ear. Unlike most other officers, her uniform was a fusion of the traditional Liberis military coat and a short ballroom dress. The tailor kept Diana's pickiness in fashion in mind and was awfully pleased when Diana wore it with pride.
The time to talk about strategy was scarce with all the battles that had erupted over the course of the month. Diana tried to arrange a meeting as soon as possible, but only the colonel and lieutenant showed up. The officers that couldn't come were stationed at crucial locations strewn across the continent. And right when they were about to devise strategies that could turn both wars around, the ill-timed arrival of the messenger derailed the momentum they had.
Diana sucked her teeth in annoyance, which drew the attention of the stocky orc that sat across from her. His armor had a dark sheen and was welded together with different plates of armor taken from the spoils of war. There was a deep scar that ran over his left eye, presumably received from the heat of battle. It ran all the way to his jaw, where it claimed part of one of his hideous fangs as well.
Ghamborz met with Diana's icy gaze and gave a low, aggressive growl. Diana flipped her long braided ponytail over her shoulder in response; her reserved expression unchanged from the apparent hostility. "I wasn't aware that we had dogs in here," she quipped.
Ghamborz leaned forward and put his arm on the table, as if he was about to lurch up from his seat. The march to this camp was long and uneventful. And when he got here, he had to stomach sitting through a useless talk. It was about time to spill some blood. "Keep talkin', maggot, and I'll bash yer 'ead in and rip those gray eyes out."
Diana noticed that Ghamborz was dangerously close to his battle-axe that was lying across the table and reached for her crooked khopesh that was leaned against the table. Ghamborz seized his weapon and stood to wind up his attack. A devilish grin broke across his face. Diana swiftly got up and slashed Ghamborz's neck wide open as he was mid-swing. She smirked in triumph. Ghamborz was an idiot to challenge her unmatched speed. But Diana realized something was wrong. Although Ghamborz was half decapitated, his raw strength carried his battle-axe through and tore her asunder by the waist.
At least that's what could have happened. Diana continued her expressionless glare with Ghamborz, who was still leaned against the table. The messenger who stood by the exit tried his best to hide his quaking, unsure if he should bolt out of there from the rising tension.
