Midian called forth his generals.
One short an eye, one-armed and one going on a limb.
‘Mord,Sodd and Grey, I have need of thy knowledge. How do you propose we win?’
Mord came forth.
‘We have to liberate the golden quarry.’
‘Let’s do that in a hurry for an army needs to be rewarded.’
‘And the farms, because the soldier needs to be fed.’ Sodd said.
‘For your highness, we have yet a small army, within grasp but it shall not suffice. Unless we chop of the snake’s head.’
‘Very well, execute your resolve,’ Midian waved a manicured hand that hasn’t seen a day of honest labour.