A familiar group of men gather around a table to drink, though two of their members are missing. The short merchant shakes his head. “Bastards the lot of them,” he bitterly curses as he takes a swig of his beer.

“What do you expect out of nobles?” A spectacled man drily said as he wiped his spectacles clean.

The commanding officer slams his mug against the table. “We should have known. We should have gotten the general out while we still could,” he angrily hissed.

“There, there,” the spectacled man said as he reached over and patted his commanding officer on the shoulders, before firmly adding, “Maybe, you’re right. But all we can do now is ensure the General’s wishes are fulfilled.”

The short merchant snorts but raises his mug into the air as the other two do the same. “To the General. May she continue to give them hell in the next life,” the merchant fiercely said.

The other two say, “To the General,” before taking a long drink from their mugs. The room grows silent except for the thud of their mugs against the table as each is lost in their own thought.