"FOR TOMORROW! FOR TOMORROW!"
The horde chanted as General Tymain reassembled the formation. The Waymal people were humble, blunt, and usually pacifists. Tradition over fortune. A common phrase amongst the people.
Unfortunately, this made them common victims to extortion and taxation, for they never rebelled, never argued. Do what you have to for the sake of tradition. Anything to keep their culture and way of life.
Thats where the raids come into play. Do not be fooled, while pacifists, the Waymal people surely were anything but pushovers. One angry Waymalian could take on ten empire trained soldiers with ease. But this strength was reserved for labor around the villages. Emotional control was a appealing trait in the culture.
But when the pillaging attempts and burglaries came, one only took the words of one Waymal lumberjack to rouse everyone's feelings. "WE HAVE WAITED LONG ENOUGH!", proclaimed Tymain the woodcutter, or Tymain the Imperial Chopper as he would become to be known.
"They can take our money, our crops, they can even take our generiousity and spit on it. Tradition over fortune. We know this, but why lose both? Why can't we have both? The Emperor certainly thinks they can take it from us! Why?, Because his chair is prettier then mine? No! Just because his forefathers were great men does not mean he gets to live off of their legacy! Do not fight for me, do not fight for tradition! Fight for tomorrow, so our children will have a kingdom to admire, not fear!"
The Tymain Motto rung through the minds of every single Waymal soldier that marched towards the capital for one final push. They had taken over half the kingdom already in an honorable fashion. No destruction, not a single drop of innocent blood. This was well calculated.
Then they saw him.
A man in his early twenties, leaning with one leg up on a directional post. His hat cover his eyes, and all you saw was smoke coming from his cigarette and a gold piece he was rolling on his fingers.
"Howdy", said the man with a strong twang.
Tymain and his following stopped in their tracks. The man was not menacing, nor intimidating, but rather... calm. "Who are you, stranger?" asked Tymain.
"Hmm..." The man rubbed his chin with his other hand. in the hand was a small bottle of mead. "Tell ya the truth... I don't think I've answer that myself yet. But then again, who has?" he takes a swig of his mead, never stopping the rolling of the gold piece.
"HES IN OUR WAY!!!!" shouted one of the Waymal soldier as he charged the man. His eyes red with rage.
Plink
No one saw what happened. All they saw was the aftermath. A soldier with his head sprayed all over the road. And the man with one arm outstretched. The coin, red with blood, rested at Tymain's feet.
"Sorry, I don't take blind anger too kindly. I'm a scholar myself, self proclaimed of course."
Tymain stared at the body, not in grief or anger, but in disappointment. "Is this what we have become?" he muttered to himself. He had to try so hard on his path to keep tradition in war, watching his soldiers, constantly pulling them away once the enemy began to retreat. Why? Why did he have to do this? He ordered his forces to turn around, much to their chagrin.
As he turned around he looked over his shoulder and said, "Thank you".
Then man tipped his hat, "Anytime"