A grim expression rested on Viktor's porcelain face. The time for war was upon him, and there was no time for joking around. His army stood at attention outside the gates, as he could see through the eyes of Stamrad, his most loyal and trusted minion. The army was terrifying, even in it's small numbers. Each armed with wickedly barbed weapons of steel, their flesh hard and calloused. Inscribed upon their heads, arms and chests was an emblem, painted in wicked red, probably blood. The symbol was a fist, raised in defiance of those who would dare stand in their way.

Viktor mentally reached out to the Steel General, a steady stream of orders flowing forth. As the words made their way into the mind of the general, he began shouting to the army. He yelled, voice confident. Some of the skeletons cheered, raising their spears, while the more primal beasts just stared. Stamrad put his hands to his face, rubbing the metal helmet. That got all of the creatures cheering, whooping and shouting, as they began charging, at least going the right way, with some direction from Stamrad. Viktor might have cracked a smile at the bloodlust of his army, but not at a time like this. No distractions. No slip ups. Just the blood of a thousand fools.

He then focused his attention on The Patchwork Man. The success of his mission would be crucial to victory. Having left hours earlier, he had almost reached the gates of Altearx. Cloaked in heavy wool and cloth, it was nigh impossible to tell him from any other hungry old beggar. One at each side, he was escorted by skeletons. Tough similarly disguised, they would have a much harder time passing for human, and were simply for protection on the trip over. As they approached the gates, the two clattering sacks of bone split off, Turing back to walk away. The Patchwork Man called back to them, having them wait for a moment. They spoke behind a rocky outcropping. As soon as they came out from behind, the people of Altearx would see them, and it would be very difficult to get through those gates without looking suspicious. So, after a moment of hushed whispering, they put their plan into effect.

With a swift stab of the spear, the Patchwork Mans arm was crippled, bleeding heavily. Making sure to keep his arm out and obvious, he began running towards the gates, hobbling as he did so. The more weak and pathetic he could make himself look, the better. Then, out came the skeletons. Having ditched their disguises, they ran out in full terrifying form, spears raised. One threw the wicked barb of steel, planting it just behind the running figure. As the patchwork man ran, he stumbled to the ground. Quickly recovering, he resumed running, now with a rock in his hands. In a show of fear,mand to prove he wasn't with the monsters, The Patchwork Man flung the stone backwards. There was a loud ringing as the skeleton clutched his helmet, reeling back. 

This pursuit carried on for about a minute more, before they were within range of an intervention. The air hissed, and both skeletons fell to the ground, bones shattering into a pathetic pile. In the center of each, a massive arrow stuck out. The Patchwork man, slowed his pace, looking at the aftermath. So far, so good. When the cloaked man reached the gates, they began rolling up. Instead of a seemingly warm welcome, as hoped for, soldiers spilled out, armed with their various weapons. A man with gilded armor stepped forward, shining like the sun did, once. He looked at the man briefly, before turning his gaze to the dead monsters far behind before speaking.

"Men. Lower your goddamned weapons." He said, sheathing his sword. The men begrudgingly obeyed, and there was a prolonged sound of cloaking metal as weapons were stowed away. "I humbly apologize for the hostility, sir. You've clearly been through a lot. If you would follow us, we can find you a nice place to get some rest, put some warm food in your belly. Then, when you're ready, we can speak, and I'll get you back on your way." He said, smiling broadly. The dozen men turned in unison, and began marching out into the city, past a thousand more armed men. More likely than not, the military outnumbered the actual citizens in the city.

[i]'Perfect...'[/i] Thought the Patchwork Man, following the soldiers, hunched over. [i]'Now, if I can just get a map...'[/i] The plans ran through his mind. Get a map. Find the barracks. Cripple the military. Of course, he wouldn't be able to get them all at once, many would be on duty, but he could wait until day. Kill off the night shift, which would be substantially larger. Smaller raids, orchestrated by Stamrad in the dark of night had made sure of that. 

As they walked, they neared a group of large statues, dominating the area. The Patchwork man didn't even need to ask of the statues. The man in gilded armor fell back, and began speaking. "These are The Champions. A group of legendary fighters, who saved the land from sure destruction. After a good nights rest, you will be told the full story, should you like it. But now, I can tell that you've been through a lot. Behind the statues was a large building. Only two stories tall, but wide enough to house thousands of men. Just before the door was another statue. No- not a statue. A massive skull, lizard-like. Sticking out from the forehead was a sword, much larger than a normal man could heft. 

"These are our main barracks. The smaller four buildings around that you saw were the other barracks. Though we have plenty of men in the others, we have almost twice as many in here." Almost immediately after he said it, he was hit on the back of the head by another of the soldiers. Though not as high up as the man in golden armor, he was certainly higher than the rest. The new man politely smiled at The Patchwork Man.

"Please excuse us for a moment, sir." He said, before pulling away his most valuable source of information. "Tulo. You're too trusting of these outsiders. Hospitality, I can understand that. But you- you just told him what he needs to take out our whole bloody army!" He said, loudly and forcefully enough to be heard by anyone nearby. 

"This is why the Chamber of Incintricity kicked you out. You're not trusting enough. After the Century of Isolation, we decided to open up our hearth to those in need. Not to assume every man we meet is an enemy. Please. This one time, let me open up to this man, and prove to you- to everyone, that we can have some blind trust." Tulo said, placing a hand on the other mans shoulder. "Not for me, Chavro. For all of us. If we open up to the world, then we can only expand." Chavro looked at Tulo, staring angrily. He shrugged off the hand, before lowering his head in resignation.

"Fine. He's all yours. We'll greet him with open arms. But if and when your little project turns on us, and our people. That's on your shoulders. One slip up, and you'll be down in the coal mines, where you belong." Chavro said, violently waving his finger in Tulo's face, before stalking away, very chuffed. Tulo stared as the man walked away, shaking his head. The troops followed Chavro away, going to a more extravagant building far behind the main barracks. The grimace on Tulo's face melted away, replaced with a grin.

"Alright. Well, you won't be staying here in the main barracks, but because we're having some problems with housing, we're going to have to put you in 'The Guardians Barracks'." Tulo said, pointing to the nearest barracks, just to the right of the Main Barracks entrance. Taking the Patchwork Man by the shoulder, he was guided to a small room. Cozy, with a fine looking bed, and a beautiful mural on the wall. It appeared to depict a battle, between five unnamed heroes, and a terrifying beast. The Patchwork man smiled, glad his plan had come to such fruition. Laying down on the bed, he drifted off, ignoring the piping hot bowl of porridge next to him.

[center]--=--[/center]

Meanwhile, Viktor's army approached the city, led by the monstrous Wall of Flesh. Stamrad laughed, as the walls of the fortress appeared on the horizon. As long as the army kept a tight formation, and moved quickly, they could take cover behind a large plateau of rock. It was a strategically foolish move on the part of Altearx to have not removed the cover long ago. But as they approached closer, Stamrad panicked, having the forces turn their tail, and run away.

Atop the plateau was a watchtower, that, by some miracle, hadn't seen them yet. There was no hope to hide now. They were too far from any cover. In a furious charge, Stamrad ran to the tower, moving as swiftly as he could. It took him far too long to reach the tower, and every second he took, prayed to Viktor that he would make it in time. 

He couldn't clearly see any steps or ladders up to the tower, and Stamrad knew that no time could be wasted finding them. So, Stamrad disregarded his sense, and pulled out his sword as he got closer. He let his sword arm drag behind as he ran, dirt flying up from his feet. In a moment of pure adrenaline and clarity, Stamrad swung his arm hard, releasing the sword. It was at that moment that both Viktor and the guard saw him. The guard stared down, confused. The armor was that of his own people, but it seemed ancient. When he saw it throw a sword at him, he was too dumbfounded to move.

Viktor growled. The thinking was quick, and the plan was solid. Up until the part where he threw the sword. Though Viktor was incapable of entering the battlefield of his own devices, he had a strong enough connection to his army to still lend a hand. Focusing his power, he channeled magic into Starmad, improving his aim, strength, agility- anything to make this gambit turn out in his own favor.

The shot was one in a million. All of the odds stacked against Stamrad in this one moment. He saw the event in a slowed view, his magical heart pounding. The guard reached for his warning horn- but it was futile. By some miracle, somehow, it happened. Spinning wildly through the air, the blade sunk deep into... The wooden wall of the guard tower. Though not the expected result, the guard fainted, fear in his eyes as he crumpled to the ground. Stamrad shrugged, now taking his sweet time to climb up the tower.

Upon reaching the top, Stamrad saw that the man was still out cold. Rather casually, he stepped over the man, his foot crushing the mans windpipe. Stamrad sighed, slumping down into a chair set up in the tower. Groaning, he pulled his sword from the wall, the blade now dented slightly. This is where he would wait until Viktor gave him the signal, when he could charge the fortress.