The initial campaign goes against us. The warlord within me howls in frustration: the troops respond slowly, and their advance is blocked by the endless ocean or by the walls of sorcerous might Jerrimax has erected around his keep at the tip of Cape Dread, while the troops of Jerrimax fly above us over Dolphus’ walls, oblivious to our armies and attacking at will. The other forms within me that I or any other doppelgänger have ever been or ever will be quarrel and quibble over tactics and strategy, arguing ceaselessly in the back of my mind. I ignore them all.
I also sense the sorcerous might in direct conflict in the air about us: my master holds his own in that battle, but he and his foe are too evenly matched: his ill-considered war against Jerrimax will be decided by force of arms rather than force of magic.
Which is at it should be.
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