It was a military excersise. Never leave the mind wander, never leave it blank. The mind should always be active, always be alert. If you faltered in that respect, the enemy could always strike you in state of mental weakness. It is said that there are warriors who believe exactly the opposite- that one can better hone his abilities through intense meditation and relaxation techniques. The very idea! Of course, these were the same folk who believed in fighting with bare fists, like a savage monster. Woe to the fistflinger who ever crossed the opposite side of Ridley's blade.

If you were to willingly put your mind into a state of rest (as most folks are likely to do a few hours each night), you'd better have a trustworthy ally looking over you for the duration of that time. Even that precaution wasn't foolproof, Ridley was convinced. Anyone could be an enemy, at any time. There was always a price someone was willing to pay, always an offer that can't be refused. In times like these, Ridley could not afford to lower his guard. Indeed, he was going out on the limb already, as he was funding an patchwork militia.

General Wizen was a rock; a cold, calculating rock. That's why he was so well-respected by his allies and so terribly feared by his enemies. How many people throughout Jowston knew him? And of those who knew him, who would dare defy him? Why intice the dreaded wrath of the kobold general when you could avoid him?

What would the masses think if they knew precisely how powerless Ridley was in all actuality? As it was now, he was overstepping the laws and regulations of Two River. The humanfolk of the city payed their yearly taxes, which went into the city funding, which in turn benefited Two River's core militia. General Wizen had never reported to Mayor Makai that the better part of this year's budget was being spent on a wooden fort led by two only half-trustworthy men. If the people of Two River ever found out that Ridley was allied with a man from North Window (who got what they deserved when the vampire attacked) and a hero from the Scarlet Moon Empire (the thrice damned snobs), military funding would be drastically cut and supervised. It may even go to the point where Ridley himself would have to answer a superior on all areas of military and political protocall. Ridley knew what was going on in Makai's twisted mind. Why help the kobolds? Keep them poor. Keep them helpless. Keep them underneath us.

The people of Jowton secretly admire and envy Two River's democratic system and their impressive three-part parliament. But it's all a joke. Ridley has no power, and neither does the elder winger. In his entire time in his position of leadership of the kobold area, the human mayor had veto'd every single one of Ridley's proposals, no matter how beneficial to the cities. Even something as simple as a kobold education program, which would fund twenty-five young kobolds a year to take several classes in Greenhill and thus promote educational growth throughout the city. Why educate the kobolds? Keep them stupid. Keep them dirty. Keep them underneath us.

Ridley was self-educated. He and a handful of his officials had risen above the rank of their earthy kin, some even becoming scholars and intelectuals like Desmond, the collector of stories. Ridley always found a way to promote cultural advancement, despite the constant prejudiced pounding from above. Out of his own pocket he had sponsored a small medical unit composed entirely of kobolds whose job it was to tend only to kobolds. Only one of these medics were spared to Flik and Viktor, however, though it was likely they could fend for themselves better than most young kobold women or children. Ridley was the one who bought four thousand short swords without authorization of the mayor to arm his troops; a maneuver that was justified with the arguement that Tinto steel was a more practical material than Two River oak. Why arm the kobolds? Keep them unarmed. Keep them defenseless. Keep them underneath us.

Nevertheless, Ridley carried with him a fine blade of amazingly durable steel alloy. It was a longsword forged in Harmonian tradition, as Ridley shunned the poorly made swords of Jowston. Even the weapons forged by master smiths of Tinto were clumsy twigs compared to the masterpieces of the Harmonians. It was a blade that had cost Ridley the winnings of three years' part time adventuring- an amount of money nearly unfathomable to the average Jowston working man. It was equally difficult to find a Harmonian smith willing to risk his place in his country's rigid caste system in the process of forging an enemy's weapon. It only served to reinforce the apparant fact that a man, even an honorable Harmonian, will do anything if the benefit to him is great enough.

The payoff was worth it, however. Ridley's sword was perhaps the finest piece of weaponry in Two River- such a piece of art that would last a lifetime. As such, Ridley dubbed his blade Shenu- eternity- and kept it always by his side.

Ridley stood hard against the midnight breeze, pondering the ways of things, trying to form order of the chaos of human politics. Politics. It was the foundation of today's society, and a sad thing indeed. Makai was a weakling, mayor in title only. He cared nothing for his people. He cared only about the almighty. The unfaltering. The indistinguishable. He worshipped it as a god, bowed to it, betrayed his city for it. Potch, oh the mighty god Potch. We, the humanfolk of Two River, bow before thee and thine infinite greatness.

In the equation of life, potch was the equivalent of poison. It served only to kill, it served only to discriminate, it served only for the purpose of malice. Or rather, humans served it.

"General?" barked a raspy voice from behind Ridley. "General, you wanted to speak to Gengen?"

Gengen is a good soldier, Ridley told himself. He is a trustworthy soldier, an will serve this purpose well. "Yes, Gengen. I summoned you. I am considering sending you to assist in bolstering the border defenses in the east."

Gengen looked puzzled. "General," he retorted, "but you already sent many soldiers to the border. Why send Gengen too?"

Ridley turned to face his respected underling. "You are a more talented and ambitious fighter than the troops I have already deployed." The general placed his right forepaw behind his back, donning Shenu in his left. He slowly turned as he continued: "Our friend Blue Lightning is undoubtedly having trouble controlling the stubborn kobolds entrusted to him. A fine warrior such as yourself is needed to organize and lead their kobold regiment into battle."

"Lead!?" shrieked Gengen, nearly stumbling over backwards. "But General, is Gengen really ready to lead a whole bunch of troops?"

"That is what we shall determine here tonight, Gengen. Don your weapon."

Gengen drew his blade reluctantly; a duel with General Ridley was indeed a prestegious honor, but to win such a duel teetered on the brink of impossibility. "But Gengen don't wanna fight you General. Gengen don't wanna die!"

Had the occasion been less serious, that remark may have found itself humorous. "This is the final test in your the training you have so vigorously persued in the past few years, Gengen. It is a test that even my son Boris has taken. Have you not the advantage over me? Have you not the advantage of youth? I have taken my blade to my weak hand so the outcome of this battle may be more favorable to the both of us. A ritual duel to first blood. Are you prepared, Gengen?"

Gengen breathed deeply, mentally preparing himself for the fight of his life. He growled deeply, answering his general's question afirmatively.

"En guarde!" Ridley shot forward, Shenu blaring ahead of him in a horizontal strike which Gengen was not able to sidestep without a deep slash through his clothing.

Gengen lost no time. He lunged himself from a state of half-balance towards his general, clumsily jabbing the air in front of him with his short sword. Unfortunately for the hapless soldier, no part of General Ridley was occupying that air at the moment. Ridley sneered as Shenu shot upward, launching Gengen's frail blade out of his paw.

Gengen's eyes followed his blade as it fell into a nearby collection of bush. He scrambled forward in a vain attempt to reclaim it, but the second he found his footing he was forced to drop down again to avoid a wicked death at Shenu's sharp metal.

If Gengen is going to win this fight, he's going to do it unarmed, Ridley had decided, maneuvering between his underling and the discarded blade. He read the look on Gengen's face. He isn't frightened. He's thinking about something. Planning. Scheming.

Ridley took the offensive once more, aiming for the exposed brown fur underneath Gengen's gashed uniform. The agile kobold soldier, however, had already planned out the way the attack would play itself. He leapt to the side, successfully dodging the blade. As Ridley overshot his target, the young soldier took his opportunity to grab his general's ankle and send him reeling to the ground with a quick tug.

By the time Ridley regained his composure and spun towards the bush where Gengen's blade had fallen, the teenaged soldier was already charging forward again, bearing his teeth, growling.

Ridley set himself to parry the straightforward attack and send Gengen's metal twig reeling into the night once again, but a straightforward attack is not what the furied kobold had in mind. He dove into the air, landing in a lopsided crouch just under Ridley's defensive slice. Gengen lifted his blade high into the air, growling upwards at his general.

Clever, but not altogether brilliant, Ridley decided. I can merely throw the blade from his hands as he downswipes, and claim victory as he scrambles for his weapon.

Ridley flicked Shenu into action as Gengen brought his blade down. As expected, the flimsy shortsword once again went tumbling through the midnight air.

Ridley looked at the sneer playing across Gengen's lips in the split second he realized his err- he had lost sight of Gengen's other hand.

Ridley Wizen howled in pain as he stumbled backwards, a small knife lodged in his left boot. Gengen had placed it there as the reknowned general was busy flinging his sword off into oblivion. He sat on the ground, breathing heavily, and removed the knife from his wounded foot.

It's tip drizzled slick with blood.

"First blood!" squealed Gengen, his ears standing straight up on his head and his tail swooshing insanely behind him. "Gengen wins, General!"

Ridley smiled politely. "But it is only the first of many battles for you. You shall make a fine leader."

The general stood, placing his weight on his left foot, and shook Gengen's hand. "You will leave tomorrow morning. No doubt you have much to do. Congratulations Gengen."

"Thank you General!"

Gengen bowed low to his master and took his leave from the training grounds. Ridley's words stopped him at the entrance, however, an almost sorrowful tone of voice replacing his usual proud air. "I must apologize, however, for misleading you, Gengen."

Gengen stopped and half-turned to face his master, not quite understanding what he meant. "You mean... Gengen not really going to borderlands?"

Ridley shook his head. "No, you shall definately lead our men into battle in the borderlands, Gengen. What I meant was..."