вЂњIs that an attempt at a threat, Muller? Where did you find a backbone all of a sudden? Was it beneath the rubble in this deity-forsaken pile of refuse that was once your home?вЂќ вЂњMy lords-вЂќ said Baron Overmeir, but Skean simply spoke over him. IвЂ™m a member of the war council, and the Badlands are mine. вЂњYour place is no higher at OnyxвЂ™s table than mine. вЂњHold your tongue, Skean,вЂќ said Muller, straight back at the Crane, turning upon the general. Can you not see your betters are talking?вЂќ вЂњKeep whatever passes for a beak on your withered face out of this.

вЂњOba and Leon need to speak, human,вЂќ sneered Skean.

Should we leave them be while we stare at our navels, hoping the Catlords can come to a compromise?вЂќ вЂњWe have the remaining forces of the Bearlords on the run, hiding within the Badlands and the Whitepeaks. вЂњWhat would you propose we do, then, Skean?вЂќ chimed in Muller, right on cue. вЂњYouвЂ™ll have heard the rumors, no doubt? Oba isnвЂ™t the only high lord whoвЂ™s sailed north: LeonвЂ™s here in Lyssia.вЂќ вЂњI simply feel there should be a touch more consultation, Gorgo,вЂќ said the Crane, irritated as ever by the HippoвЂ™s demeanor. That the self-proclaimed Lord of the Badlands had been spat into the world in this miserable spot came as no surprise to Skean. The Cranelord disliked the man, who was always seeking positions above his station. The pile of rocks where they had assembled had once been the childhood home of Sheriff Muller, the only human member of OnyxвЂ™s council. Skean was proud of the armyвЂ™s handiwork, the war in the north all but won. In the distance, the lights of the Bastian war camp lit up the Badlands, the settlement more sprawling than ever as it had spread into the foothills of the Whitepeaks. вЂњBut if you want to challenge OnyxвЂ™s command, donвЂ™t let me stop you.вЂќ вЂњIf the Beast of Bast says weвЂ™re to meet him here, then we meet him here,вЂќ said General Gorgo from where he leaned against one of the crumbling walls. Other generals and noblemen were elsewhere in Lyssia, carrying out the WerepantherвЂ™s orders. The groupвЂ™s number fluctuated, having originally stood at a dozen before the ravages of war had whittled down their members. Baron Overmeir, the Buffalo of the Blasted Plains, stood behind him, fingering the dreadlocks of his thick-maned beard. There were six members of OnyxвЂ™s war council present, huddled within the ruined farmhouse. General Skean looked for support from his companions but received nothing in return. вЂњDOES NOBODY ELSE think this unorthodox?вЂќ

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