You can't stand the idea of forcibly taking women, having been one in your former life, but the more you stare at the distorted reflection of Gorvind's face in a metal shield in the corner of your tent, the more you realize that this body is now your own, horrible instincts and all. What is the point of fighting it? You're determined not to be a rapist, that's for certain, but you are a male now, with an obvious attraction for women, at least physically. Eventually you will have to come to terms with it if you intend to stay in this world. At any rate, Gorvind is the one who knows this world, not you. You will have to rely on his memories and instincts in order to survive, and keeping his body satisfied should work in your favor.
You're not certain how long you sit on the edge of the cot in your pensive trance, but you are roused from your reverie by a hail from outside your tent.
"My Lord Gorvind!" a soldier's voice calls. "The commanders await your presence, my lord."
For a second, you are tempted to growl at the soldier to leave you alone, but before you do, you have second thoughts. Gorvind is obviously a commander, and from his actions and instincts, loves war and combat. Perhaps you will understand him better if you act as he would. Standing up, you gird yourself with Gorvind's sword, toss a cape over your shoulders, and step out of the tent. You blink a bit as your eyes adjust to the dim firelight, but you also surprised a bit by the size of the army before you. You knew Gorvind was a general, but a major offensive must be underway to require this many soldiers. You begin to wonder who the enemy might be, but something in you, probably a remnant of Gorvind, sneeringly wonders why that would matter. War is war, and to Gorvind, fighting is the best part about it, no matter who the opposing force may be.
You are aware of one of the guards surreptitiously looking askance at you, probably wondering the reason for your sudden thoughtfulness. It occurs to you that Gorvind was likely not the contemplative type, and to emulate him might take more effort than you first believed. Turning back to the two waiting guards, you follow them as they clear a path for you through the army camp towards what you assume is the tent housing the other commanders, who await your presence in order to plan strategy. When they finally halt, it is before a relatively large tent, surrounded by what you assume are the attendants of each of the commanders within. Most of the coteries appear to have at least five or six soldiers, if not more. However, you note that the only soldiers that have accompanied you are the two that led you here. For a second, you wonder curiously why that might be, but you have an odd suspicion that Gorvind would not suffer more than the minimum flunkies required. Truthfully, you should probably have been more surprised that he would even let two soldiers accompany him. You sigh, then draw a deep breath before stepping into the tent.
The sight that greets you is that of a relatively large table, surrounded by a varied group of armored individuals, each having different styles, customized to the preferences of the wearer. No mere footsoldiers were these. There were persons of every type: male, female, short, tall, muscular, wiry, ruddy, pale. At the head of the table is an imposing chair, and you finally realize that is where Gorvind would normally sit. You make your way around the edge of the room and take your place, the commanders all looking at you with a range of expressions. While some seem satisfied and eager, others scowl and glower at you in ways that you are amazed that Gorvind has tolerated. In fact, you feel a strange satisfaction at the angrier expressions, and it at long last registers that Gorvind tolerates them because it means he has dominated those individuals who hate him to the point that they defer to him; in other words, it was a show of power. After the prior event in your tent, you finally begin to get a sense of who Gorvind really is.
Upon you taking your seat, the strategy meeting begins, the subordinate commanders discussing possible actions. You try to follow the conversation as best you can, although it seems obvious they don't expect your input at this time. You try to remember names and faces, although there is only one that rings a bell. A certain female commander, strong and stern, you recall is named Avur, and something in Gorvind's memories of her causes a quickening in your loins. She doesn't seem the type to be easily dominated, even by Gorvind, so you wonder at the nature of their relationship. However, you do not have time to be lost in thought, since at that moment, the commanders turn to you for your decision.
While you are still a bit hazy as to the circumstances of the war, you are aware that your...well, Gorvind's...army has been advancing, defeating the enemy. Gorvind, of course, has been in the center of every heated battle, completely overcoming his adversaries on the field. However, the most dangerous time of any war was now approaching. The enemy was being driven into a corner, and it would soon become a battle of desperation for them. The goal of this meeting was to decide the best way to proceed, considering the layout of the remainder of the enemy army and the state of your forces. You know you have to make a decision, but this time Gorvind's instincts aren't really helping you. You have the feeling that Gorvind would simply attack head-on, since battering his enemy into submission seemed to be his style. However, you are not Gorvind, and you want an assured victory, if only to cement your position as commander of the army. Steeling yourself, you announce that you intend to...