If it weren't for the four battalions of different Kingdoms surrounding it, the red and yellow striped tent could have been confused for a circus tent. It stood about thirty feet high, as according to Truce Regulations, and was exactly one hundred and three feet on each side. The origin of such precise measurements being needed is unclear after so long, but any failure to follow them was met by outbursts among the self-proclaimed Truce-ers that set up these meetings among generals before a true declaration of war could be made.
Within, there were only ten people. Two represented each of the four armies, while the ninth person was the Truce-er Negotiator assigned to the war. The final one didn't belong to any of the sides so much as to one of those that did.
The first of the four Generals was a short man with quite the large girth. He looked more like a merchant than anything else, dressed in red and gold finery. He came from the Vrissan Empire, a Napoleonic Era kingdom of rank and file musket-men and cannon. It was only a medium sized planar empire, covering a mere three worlds.
The second was a tall priestess in white robes. She was the First Quadrant of Arithma, God of Purity and Mathematics. As silly as it sounded, the followers of Arithma were powerful people. They could call down their divine Math-a-majicks to warp reality into ways that suited them. Their technology level was little better than the Vrissan's, but they controlled a greater territory of four worlds won through math and blood.
The third could barely be described as living. He seemed to be more machine than man and stood at nearly seven feet tall. All but the right half of his face seemed to be either clockwork or circuit board, and he carried a powerful steam cannon upon his shoulder. The Half-Clock was part of the Cog Syndicate, a vast organization that "sheltered" seven worlds as near as anyone could tell, but there were estimates that it could be twice as many. They were a secretive type, making it hard to get true numbers on them. Even the Arithmaticks had a difficult time with them.
Finally, the fourth general was a young man, barely in his 20s, dressed in mail and a dark green tabbard that bore a black skull outline. He was the appointed Commander of the Verdant Crusaders. They were a small group, massing only one world and with few numbers, but their bravery was second to none, and while they lacked much magic, their blades seemed to shear through most materials with ease.
Currently, the four were in a heated debate over a complicated map of the worlds and the "bridge points" to each, trying to lay out terms for surrender to each other. Sadly, with four of them, it was getting rather messy, even with the Negotiator involved.
The four Champions that had been appointed to the armies had grown quite bored with the arguments and had went off to the side to enjoy the tea and treats set aside for the occasion.
"So you're the new Champion of Purity?" Vrask asked a rather large demon who was currently eating one of the delicate pastries that adorned the table. Vrask was a tall and rapier thin man, and anyone who didn't know better would assume he was a pushover. In reality, he was an expert tactician and the Champion of War, serving the Vrissan side for the moment. Few people were his peers, and if he actually cared about the Vrissan's drive for profits and resources, he could have easily replaced the blubbering idiot who was the general at the moment.
The demon, named Atticus, gave a small sigh. He was tall, taller than the Cog General, and broader of chest and shoulder. His red wings were tucked behind his back for the moment to keep from knocking into things. "Freshly appointed. It's a long story." He admits before smiling wryly. "And if you or I were shocked, imagine how the Arithmaticks were when they summoned me to serve their cause. I had never seen so many people screaming heresies before." He says with a chuckle before he slips his arm around a third Champion. "But thanks to Joff, I've gotten used to things." He says with an affectionate squeeze around the Champion of Justice.
Joff chuckles and sets his glass of wine aside as he slips his own arm around Atticus with a more than friendly squeeze. Joff was a dark skinned man with a thick beard and a turban, but he was clothed in a suit of steam-powered armor, etched with stars and crescents. The pair were obvious lovers, but that didn't bother any of those presence. Even Trisha. "How about you, Hate? What's happened? You look...happier." Joff asks with a tilt of his head, smiling beneath his mustache.
Trisha was wearing her armor and sword, but unlike the last time she had met any of them, she seemed to have a slight smile to her lips as she shook her head. "Nothing much." She says with a strength to her voice that betrays her to the others, causing Joff to gasp in shock. "You met someone, haven't you?!?" He theorizes with a grin. "Who's the lucky lad?" He asks.
Vrask rolls his eyes at the question when Trisha actually blushes. "Leave the poor lass alone, Joff. Can't you see she's not ready to tell us?" At that, Joff sighs. "Pleeeeease?" He asks the Champion of Hate, causing Atticus to sigh this time.
"Now you're acting like a chi-"
"It's not a lad." Trisha mutters quietly, interrupting Atticus and trying to hide her face by looking down.
The others look at her with some shock before sharing a look. After a moment, the Steam-knight chuckles and hugs Trisha tight. "Congratulations. Your Master would have been proud." Joff tells her right before a loud shout comes from the generals as they renew their arguments.
Vrask sighs deeply at that and sets a hand on Trisha's shoulder. "Return to your Fey lover, dear. This is going to be a while..." He suggests, causing Trisha to nod and do just as suggested, heading towards the corner of the tent where Michicora awaited. Trisha couldn't help but smile and sit down next to the elf, slipping an arm around her waist as they waited it out.