Baalshillek, like his father before him, and his father before him, was a soldier – a man of war and battle, of conquest and victory. Unlike his father and grandfather, Baalshillek was also a citizen, a citizen of the great kingdom of Carthage. His ancestors had been wanderers, mercenaries, and raiders for countless generations, serving as leaders of a coterie of likewise rootless martial families. Baalshillek was the first of them to decide to settle down and become citizen-soldiers instead of soldiers of fortune, and with a track record of clean victories and a perfectly timed marriage to a native Punic heiress, he had managed to integrate himself quite well into the kingdom's aristocracy.

If the official tales were to be believed, Baalshillek's kin and kith came over the seas from a once great empire on some great northern – or was it eastern, the tales weren't really consistent – continent, although Baalshillek was quite sure that no such continent actually existed. It didn't exist on any maps he had seen, at least, and Baalshillek had seen quite a lot of maps over the years; he was something of a collector, and various maps adorned the walls and shelves of his office.

Right. His office. Baalshillek snapped out of his reverie to look over the numerous reports, maps, and diagrams covering the full surface of his desk. The papers were dark and shadowy in the dim and flickering lights; Baalshillek made a mental note to have his servants refill the oil lamps tomorrow morning. When he decided to run for shophet after his brilliant, and even more brilliantly well publicized – Baalshillek made another mental note to give his propagandist a nice bonus – victory over the most recent band of Berber raiders, he hadn't expected there to be quite so much paperwork involved.

The current set of paperwork, which Baalshillek was reviewing one last time before tomorrow's session of the council, regarded a plan to rapidly expand the Carthaginian state, to secure several strategic locations throughout the continent. With the Berber raids increasing in frequency and ferocity, and diplomats from strange new lands pouring into the city at an unprecedented pace, the mood of the Carthaginian elite had swung strongly towards expansionism and what Baalshillek's counsel had euphemistically termed "pre-emptive self-defence".

Baalshillek cracked a slight smile as he finished double checking the last table of organization and equipment. This "pre-emptive self-defence" business was something he could get behind, and something that would play to his particular blend of talents; as long as he could ensure that the plans passed muster at tomorrow's council meeting, that is. With a yawn, Baalshillek slowly stood up from his chair, and sauntered out the door and towards his sleeping quarters. He planned on being well rested for tomorrow's council meeting.