Location: H1

The Host of Dearoth that was sent to combat the enemy Invasion fleet stood in it's drill straight and highly regimented formations. Discipline was a key component to the success and power of the dearothian military. Even in defeat they were rarely routed, Always falling back in measure pace with firmly established or even entrenched and sacrificial rearguards. It was easier to look upon the cold dead eyes of a slain Dearothian solider than see the back of his head. 

For now the host of some hundreds strong stood at attention, sorrounding a force of kneeling enemy soldiers as they were being disarmed. The commander of this Force had his hands behind his back and breathing deeply as he surveyed the destruction of the battlefield. Some of his men were already dispatched to collect and count the wounded and injured of Dearoth. They would all need to be taken back home for proper treatment and/or cremation. 

The armour of Hurrian shifted subtly with every breath he took. He could not believe how comfortably it fit on his breast. It was almost as if ti was made for him personally. It's elegantly polished sheen, Beautiful engravings and forged reliefs of Ancient runes and designs that he could only guess at the meaning of today. 

He could feel it's power coursing through his veins and pushing new ideas and talents to the forefront that he had never experienced before. He felt honoured to answer Hurrian's call. To hear the whispered voiced of the Ancient hero in his mind asking, no challenging him to take up the relic and ensure the safety of Dearoth and the Island. Though this was the only relic brought forth from the Shrines back home. It was deemed uncessary to disturb the others. Besides no one else heard the whispered calls and stepped forward to claim the relic. And he himself was only challenged to don the armour. All fo Dearoth had heard stories of false Champions claiming to have spoken to have heard Hurrians voice. Thinking no harm would come to them by simply picking up the relics, their only thought was of the status and fame they would receive simply for being picked as a champion. Rumors of Hands scorched and blistered as their flesh burned at the mearest touch. Or simply becoming heavily sick or outright killed by the Power of Hurrian. Hurrian the man who Founded Dearoth to escape the lies and corruption of power for personal benifit. He would be damned if his soul would allow any one else to attempt such a thing with his own possessions no less. 

Besides. With this many rival cities close by he doubted any of them could be trusted not to make an attempt to steal or destroy the relics. If destruction of them was even possible. Now this was safer, and more than sufficient to the task. 

“Men Of Galven!” he called out suddenly to the defeated host. “Your armies are defeated, Your commanders are slain and your navy is already retreating and leaving you behind.” He let those words sink in for a few seconds and let those few who were not already paying attention to his turn their heads. His voice was powerful and deep. It was a tone that commanded respect and demanded attention. This was the voice that sent orders to his men across the chaos of the battlefield. It was almost as if the voice was being amplified, it was just a a fair touch louder than a normal human voice should be, even one belonging to a distinguished general. And it carried beyond the Company he was addressing and reaching the ears of many other soldiers in the vicinity.

“You have fought well and with honour. I hold no ill will against you this day even for those of my men slain by your hands or those of your fellows.” He offered and let his gaze travel over the faces of these foreigners. Meeting as many of their gazes as possible. Some looked back at him fearfully, willing to do whatever he said if it meant life. Others were more defiant and strong. They would listen to him but their minds were their own and that was respectable. And some were glaring back at him defiantly. Theses men were loyal to the core and would prefer a slow death to any fate that this god may offer. 

“I will offer you this chance. One chance for each of you to choose your fate!” His tone hardened at this turn. This next part would be critical and there was no telling how they may react. “For those of you who wish it I will allow you to renounce your allegiances and follow me to Dearoth. You may have the chance to earn citizenship but to do so will require you to live and swear by the laws of Dearoth and uphold the ideal's of Hurrian. You may have the chance to live your lives as you see fit, To work, to live, to make a family if your fate wills it. You have my word as a general you will not be looked down upon for your part in this. You fought with honour and that is commendable. Any such courage can never be looked down upon by myself or my Bretheren. 

 I will also offer you the chance to follow the paths of the others gods if you are willing. For those of you that want to live in anothers realm I will not deny you or stop you. And in turn those of you willing to join Dearoth will be protected against any who seek to oppose your wish.” Now was the critical part. 

“But I see in some of your hearts the loyalty and pride of a true patriot and warrior. And I am proud to offer you this single opportunity. To draw your swords one last time. To allow yourself the dignity and pride to fall upon your own blade.” only the strongest of them would choose that path. And he was happy to offer this one final honour to them. He would not in good concious have them lined up like criminals and butchered simply for following orders. They earned this much for their efforts. 

“I will allow any Man this right. And I will give you one hour to make your decisions. Either join Myself and my people, Join another city, or face your end by your blade or mine! I will await your decisions.” The ranks of his men opened up to allow those enemy soldiers the opportunity to meet and discuss options with their fellows. “One hour!” he repeated.