News of the fall of Lys's inner city reached the Archon of Tyrosh's flagship on a sultry afternoon.
His face smeared with blood and flushed with excitement, the messenger knelt on one knee in the lavishly carpeted captain's cabin, his voice rising to a shrill pitch:
"Archon! The inner walls have been breached! Those stubborn defenders have fallen back to the Main Building of the Governor's Palace. They're still resisting, but their destruction is at hand!"
A chorus of barely restrained exclamations broke out in the captain's cabin, filled with the joy of imminent victory.
The Archon of Tyrosh stroked his carefully trimmed dark-green beard, a smug smile spreading across his rugged face.
"Very good."
He nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping over the generals and nobles gathered around the table.
"Tell the vanguard there's no need to storm it. The Main Building is sturdy. A frontal assault would cost too many lives."
"Surround them and starve them out. Without food or water, we'll see how many days those stubborn bastards can last."
"As for that self-proclaimed Dragonlord..."
He scoffed, picked up his wine cup, and took a sip.
"We haven't seen so much as his shadow this entire time. It seems he really is a cowardly fraud. Or... he's already abandoned his city and fled, taking his dreams with him."
"Your wisdom is unmatched, Archon!" a noble immediately flattered him.
"He must have heard of your fleet's fearsome reputation and been scared out of his wits. Who knows which brothel or rat hole he's hiding in!"
"Once we capture those diehards, we must interrogate them thoroughly and find out where that silver-haired fraud went!"
"Perhaps he's dressed as a woman, trying to slip away among the refugees! Hahaha!"
Arrogant laughter echoed through the captain's cabin, brimming with the conquerors' pride