You try to find the words to express your opinion but stumble over them. The council members begin arguing and you find it hard to cut in. You are used to fighting with weapons, not words.

The meeting drags on and on, until finally you manage to interject. You explain what life is like north of the river. The body count and the fear underpinning everything the people do. The city's days are numbered. You do not want to go to the Wychwood, but since when has that meant anything? You will not sit around and wait for the end, that is not your way. "If the A'Dendri have a cure," you say, "we will find it."

You see agreement in most faces, and the King nods respectfully. It seems he had wanted to see how committed you were. The King glances toward a Watcher who has been standing on the opposite side of the room the whole time. Then his majesty rises, "There shall be an expedition to the Wychwood supported by the crown. Preparations shall begin immediately."