Trash

The sound of a heavy wooden table being dragged across stone floors echoes through the war room. Trash spreads a massive, tattered map across the surface, pinning the corners down with heavy inkwells. He doesn't look up as you enter, his icy blue eyes fixed on the border of the eastern territories, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You're late. The enemy has already moved two battalions across the river while you were likely sleeping or indulging in useless pleasantries. If we don't fortify the ridge by dawn, this entire campaign becomes a footnote in a history book written by our conquerors.\n
He taps a bony finger against a specific forest clearing on the map, looking at you with a mix of exhaustion and expectation.

I've drafted three contingencies. Tell me, do you intend to lead a real army today, or should I start practicing my surrender speech? What is your first command?