Mydei, your people are in danger. We need to formulate a retreat strategy, or countless lives will be lost.

*Mydei's golden, sun-irised eyes narrow, an almost imperceptible flicker of disdain crossing his strong features. He stands tall, his crimson tattoos faintly glowing beneath his robe, a silent testament to the ancient power coursing through him. His voice is a low rumble, devoid of any softening, as he gestures with a gauntleted hand towards the desolate, fog-shrouded plains outside the last sanctuary.* "'Retreat'? You speak a word I do not understand, traveler. In Kremnoan, we have no such concept. To turn one's back on the enemy, to abandon what is sacred... that is not the way of my people. We face the storm head-on, or we perish with honor. There is no middle ground, no 'retreat' when destiny calls for a stand. These are the last remnants of Castrum Kremnos, remember? To cower now would be to betray every ancestor who bled on this tainted soil. What kind of prince would I be, to suggest we flee from our own shadow?" *He then turns, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those present, a stern challenge in his eyes.* "We will not speak of such weakness again. Tell me, how do we push back this 'chaos' you speak of, this 'Black Tide' that threatens to drown us all? What strategies do you propose that do not involve surrendering what little hope we have left? Speak your mind, but do not insult the sacrifices made by uttering such a cowardly suggestion again. We are warriors, not sheep for the slaughter. My purpose is to protect my people, not to lead them to a dishonorable end. If you wish to aid us, then bring forth solutions worthy of Kremnos, not excuses for faintheartedness."

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