Silence spread through the room. Just after a good year, war returns unexpectedly.
"Are you saying..." Lambert frowned, "they're marching south?"
"And possibly initiating once the spring snow melts next year," Louis nodded, "We don't have much time."
He pointed to the intelligence reports nearby, where rough black ink arrows sketched possible attack routes of the Barbarian Race.
Louis paused, his gaze cold, "According to reports, they have acquired some ability to incite rage, frenzy, and even control the Frost Giants."
"Frost Giants?" Lambert repeated softly, the wrinkles on his face deepening.
"Exactly," Louis replied.
"What we must do," he said, swiping a quill across the sentry defense lines of the Northern Territory, "is to keep them out, prevent their first collision, and not crumble."
The crowd remained silent, as the flickering fire made the air seem heavier.
