The electric display from Gaius caused, much to Malboro's delight, pandemonium. He didn't even care too much about the fact that his own swing hadn't been effective, since Dylan had courteously hit his teammate for him. He took a step back and waited as the Pegasus Rider transitioned to the offensive, heading straight for him and attempting a lance thrust. The former hero smirked and raised his axe to defend himself. Even still, Dylan's lance struck him, but with not nearly the effectiveness that he had hoped. Instead of running Malboro through and ending the fight with a single move, the lance slid off-center courtesy of the axe and landed a paltry, glancing blow. It was clear that Malboro had some experience under his belt—that he was fighting at an advanced level, just as Hugh had cautioned.

Next came Gaius's melee attack. As the tactician charged him, Malboro switched out his axe for his sword, neutralizing the weapon advantage. He took the first slash from Gaius's blade, though the cut it left behind did not seem to faze him much altogether, and blocked the second. “No way you pups are going to be able to beat me.” Now able to counterattack, Malboro stepped forward and performed a rising arc slash aimed at Gaius's head.

The next instant, the air began to heat and ripple. Having already fallen victim to a corrosive, painful Mire once, Malboro was not about to let himself be humiliated in such a manner again. He dodged backward out of the caustic spray; while its range was excellent, Mire's accuracy left a serious something to be desired. Mercifully, the acidic spew did not come close to any of the other Reclaimers currently in the guard tower roof. Beneath them, the roar of fire was growing. There wasn't a lot of time left.



Sanguin looked around. Thanks to the efforts of Kuur, Lilith, Jeane, Jakobe, and herself, the remaining soldiers were now wiped out. All that remained was the guard tower itself, burning like a beacon of destruction, with the sounds of clanging metal and impassioned yells echoing from the top. As much as Sanguin wanted to race to the pinnacle and help, it seemed like a bad idea to scale a rickety ladder in the midst of a fire.

Instead, she turned her attention to Jakobe. “Yeah, good work there, I guess.” Her metal mask reflected slightly the raging inferno. All around, the ambient temperature had risen. “They need our help up there,” she decided. “But I dunno how we can get up there. The only flying guy is already up.”

Several things happened all at once. As the bandit leader, Malboro through his hatchet at her with devastating force Syrena jumped back holding onto the main support post that ran from the bottom of the tower to the top. The hatchet lodged in the ground splintering the wood but not breaking going through the floor.

Seconds later there tactician Gaius appeared launching a powerful burst of electricity at the former hero. He missed and like a lightning rod Malboro's grounded sword absorbed the blow. However the blast of magic scared the Pegasus Knight's mount so severely that it reared up his lance swinging wildly. With no time to react the side of weapon slammed into Syrena knocking all the wind out of her lungs and slicing through her dress and her skin albeit shallowly.

The light girl was sent sprawling to the ground by the force of the blow and the blue flames that had been devouring the guard tower started to burn more fiercely. She could spell smoke filtering in through the cracks in the floorboards and feel the heat start to rise up through the wood. It wouldn't be very long before the entire building was in flames and not long after that before the base collapsed. Could the Pegasus Knight carry three passengers? Would Malboro allow them to leave alive?

Syrena's breath was ragged but she tried to stand, using the handrail of the guard tower to pull herself to her feet. She couldn't risk using her magic now. Not when the entire building was in the process of being destroyed by it. She would just hassen the collapse if she started to blast off blue fire in every direction. That was when the injured girl saw Malboro's discarded hatchet lying partially lodged in the wood of the building.

Syrena took in a deep breath preparing for the pain that would come when she tried to move that far. Then she lunged for the axe. Firy tendrils of pain whipped of her right side as she collapsed on the ground next to the axe. Struggling Syrena managed to get to her feet and take hold of the weapon. It wasn't that badly stuck and she managed to remove it easily. That is of course where the easy part ended. It was a lot lighter than she'd imagined but Syrena was not a large girl and so it was much heavier than she could reasonably manage for a casual weapon.

Heaving it into her arms Syrena spun around gaining momentum and through it at accurately as she could at Malboro. Unfortunately the only real experience Syrena had ever had with a real weapon were a number of basic self defense lessons with a dagger taught to her in preparation for this mission. She didn't know how to use an axe or the required force that would be needed to through one.

The hatchet crashed into the ground and slid into the Mire muck that had coated some of the floor. The sickly sticky substance adhered to the axe and allowed it to slide free of the curse on a collision course with Malboro's feet. Syrena hung her head, that couldn't possibly have gone worse. The Fire Child collapsed to the ground with exhaustion the wound in her side more serious than everyone present realized.

Still conscious Syrena managed to pull Arma Infernum free of its place in her sling bag and let the large tome clatter to the floor. She cracked it open and started to look furiously through the pages for some sort of way to channel her abilities that would do more good than harm.


As Marcus treated his patients another of the Reclaimers defended there position, a swordswoman and mercenary by the name of Lilith. From the little Marcus saw out of the corner of his eye as he dispelled curses and repaired Nickolas' leg she was very skilled though Marcus thought narrowing his eyes, somewhat unscrupulous. The woman she'd just killed was clearly defeated and from what Marcus could see from a momentary visual examination not mortally wounded. There was no reason to end her life. Deciding that it was best this not be brought up on the battlefield, Marcus instead resolved to bring it up with Hugh later when the fighting was done. After all they were soldiers and peacekeepers, not barbarians.

Even from here the flaming guard tower could be smelled to say nothing of how it looked. Brilliant blue flames licking there way up the wooden structure. Luckily the village had no walls and the tower was a distance from the other buildings so there was very little danger that the whole village would catch fire. That didn't do a whole lot of good for the four people trapped at the top. It was fairly obvious that the bandit leader would not be making it out alive at this point but he clearly didn't want to go without company. The fire girl Syrena, there brazen tactician and a new recruit on a Pegasus were all up there with him. Perhaps the fire mage could dampen the flames but it had been fairly clear the limited faith she had in her own powers before this battle started. It was lucky the flaming pub had burned itself out otherwise the village might be in real trouble. The little one hadn't been exaggerating about the power of her flames.

Shaking off the thoughts of things he could do nothing about Marcus looked up at the Mercenary who had closed the distance between them. She was covered in the blood of several of the enemy soldiers and though they were in a war Marcus couldn't help but think of them as Lilith's victims. Saying nothing of the distasteful vibe he received from the swordswoman Marcus said "She will live. I have dispelled the Mire. Any scars she bears will not be physical." the Monk said motioning to the carnage all around them that the dancer had witnessed, blood and gore and fire and death. It would not be an easy thing to get over. Marcus still had nightmares about the fire life he'd taken, even if it had been accidental.

They were running out of time.

Gaius was acutely aware of that. While he fought, he came up with a desperate idea. He prioritized: first priority was keeping Red and Ponyboy safe. Second was to make sure that Malboro died. Third was to get to Smiles and give her a piece of his mind for causing this mess. Oh, and make sure he somehow survived this too. He had a plan, but he needed to distract Malboro first. His opportunity came when a Mire popped up out of nowhere and brave Syrena tried to use an axe. I admire your spirit, but leave the warrioring to the warriors. He thought grimly. While Malboro's attention was elsewhere, Gaius dropped his sword and dashed to where Syrena was lying on the floor. He scooped her up and uncerimonaly threw her on the pegasus. "There is no time!" He shouted, Get going! With that last word he slapped the poor pegusus on the rear with his tome, probably giving it a small shock too. This startled the pegasus into rearing, then charging forward and soaring off the building, taking flight.

This left Gaius with the madman. "Oh yeah, great plan." He muttered "Now what?" He backed away slowly. He might have been able to take the man, but by the time he did the fire would kill them both. Besides he had dropped his sword and it was to far away to easily reclaim. Then he had an idea. A stupid, reckless, suicidal idea. Forget the fire, the smoke would kill him first, but if it didn't, Malboro would. Even if Gaius managed to overpower Malboro, then the fire would still kill them both. So Gaius...well, he kinda jumped off of the building. He turned, took a running start, and jumped. "This is gonna hurt!" He yelled.

Dylan almost lost track of what was going in in all the confusion, he had seen that his attack had been deflected, followed by the new person who had come up attacking the bandit leader. The smell of smoke was wafting up from below, this was turning very bad very fast. The Bandit Leader wasn't about to surrender, and Dylan knew he had no way of getting all four of them down safely anyway. He was about to make the two Reclaimers get on when Gaius forced Syrena to get on, and slapped Andromeda on the butt, sending her galloping off the side off the tower and into the air.

Dylan cursed under his breath, and started a sharp turn with Andromeda back towards the tower, since they had come out the opposite side of the rest of the Reclaimers. He caught a glimpse of Gaius running to the edge of the tower that flame was now consuming. Idiot. Was the first word that came to Dylan's mind as he pushed Andromeda forward hard, trying to get near where he was falling. "Hold on!" He shouted at Syrena, reaching out with his arm and grabbing Gaius' wrist. The extra weight brought Andromeda down suddenly, causing her to neigh, but her rider didn't hold on long. He let Gauis' weight swing his arm, nearly pulling him off, until he was no longer falling straight down before letting him go. He would end up heading towards the roof of a nearby building, much closer to him than the ground was.

It was a minute or so before Dylan was back on the saddle proper, and he steadied Andromeda, slowly floating back up to level with the top of the building he had thrown Gaius to. Though the arm he had grabbed Gaius' hand with hurt terribly, and he had to hold onto the reigns with the same hand he was still holding his lance with. "If you had waited a moment, I could've dropped her off then come back to get you." He sighed softly, before going down to the ground to let Syrena off. "Apologies for the-" He stopped, she wasn't on the Pegasus anymore. Where the hell did she go?! Was his all-consuming thought as he looked back up to the tower, and took off with Andromeda again. Wincing at the sudden pain in his shoulder.

Thanks to Ponyboy, Gaius was able to fall on a nice, hard roof instead of the ground. He hit hard, on his shoulder and he felt a pop and then searing pain. Through the pain, he had enough instinct to turn most of his momentum into roll. Bump bump, scrape, bump, he rolled across most the roof and came to a stop on his back, staring at the sky, thinking how much he liked the color blue. His wits returned in a snap and he started coughing violently, which wrenched his shoulder, whitch didn't feel good. In fact it felt so not good, that he almost fell unconscious. After a moment, he stopped and came to. He tested his shoulder, and nearly blacked out again from the pain. Dislocated, not broken. He thought woozily. He struggled to sit up, remembering some first-aid lessons from his father. Make a fist. Lift to parallel. And twist. He heard a pop and choked back a scream of pain. Panting he put his arm through it's full range of motion with only a little pain and stiffness. From there he took inventory: Several bruses, and scrapes, slight burns, a cut or too, an aching shoulder and sore lungs. Other than that, he was more or less whole. Huzzah. He tried to get to his feet, but he felt so light headed that he fell back down again. Musta been in the smoke too long, considering how hard I was breathing, I'm surprised I'm still conscious. Urrgh, I' gonna lie here for awhile. He thought to himself. I hope that Malboro guy didn't make it He thought idly.

Through the burst of the Mire tome, and the bandit's dodge, she waited.

Through the young girl's improperly thrown axe, she waited.

Through escape of the pegasus knight, she waited.

Then, the perfect, crystallized moment of what she wanted happened so suddenly that Kuur nearly forgot to fire her arrow. The strangely huge tactician jumped off the roof with a running start, yelling something about hurt as he fell. It was unexpected. It was the best chance she was going to get.

Now.

She loosed the arrow, the iron-headed messenger of death leaping from her bow like a bolt of lightning. It shot forward, past the leaping flames and through the smoke, aiming for the one remaining figure on the burning building. In the fraction of a second that it crossed the soon-to-collapse parpet, it hissed as it spiraled toward the exposed neck.

Kel didn't have time to react when he saw the shadow of something vaguely human shaped fall from the tower. He nodded at his dragon prisoner of war (who gave up willingly) before gripping the reigns once again, queuing for Druug to take off. But the wyvern stayed, still staring down the dragon as Kel turned to watch their tactician who tried to get him killed earlier fall. He hated the guy and was still a bit mad about being sent to fight archers but not mad enough to kill the guy. He tugged and tugged for Druug to move but the wyvern stayed put until Kel tossed the last rabbit carcass hitched to his belt toward the tower, getting the Wyvern to break his focus and start flying.

But it was too late by then, Gaius had been dropped off by the new pegasus knight who he hadn't seen before. Druug let out a roar as Kel gave a salute to the man holding the reigns and flew up to the tower hearing a whistle and seeing an arrow pierce just past his face, floating seamlessly over Druug's wings and by the bridge of his nose into the tower. Kel keeping a steady ascent to where he could see the bandit leader's figure, silhouetted by blue flames and thick smoke. He was checking for anyone inside, ignoring what the bandit leader may have been doing while hovering close to the edge in case he'd need to hop off of Druug to help drag someone out. If that arrow hit the man was unknown, the smoke and heat were obscuring his vision too much. He inched Druug closer, trying to waft the smoke from his face but his vision was not clearing, he and Druug were now one good jump's distance from the tower and Kel had to close his eyes which were filled with tears from the smoke. "Anyone in there hop on and we'll get you down!" He called. His lungs, thankfully, were conditioned to smoke filling them after years of time with Druug and other recreational hobbies involving smoke and fire. He held a hand out, still blind.

As Syrena thumbed hurriedly through her tome looking for any use of her flames that could alleviate the situation rather than make it worse she two arms thrust under her tossing her small body onto the back of the Pegasus like a sack of flower. Ignoring the indignity of that Syrena looked back at the watchtower floor where Arma Infernum was still lying on the smoking wood.

Gaius slapped the Pegasus and it began run full speed for the edge of the tower. Syrena could already feel the heat of the fires intensifying as she lost her connection with the tome. She looked at the clear sky ahead and then at the smoky air behind and make a decision. With a gasp of pain from the wound on her right side Syrena rolled off the flying horse, she rolled several times before coming to a stop of her back in the middle of the smoke, the wind knocked from her lungs.

Scrambling to her feet and trying to keep low to avoid the smoke Syrena scooped up her tome. She felt relieved to have it back in her hand but that was soon replaced with another feeling, fear. She was trapped on the top of a three story building that was rapidly being destroyed by her own element. The inside of the watchtower was no doubt uninhabitable, she couldn't hope to climb down that way, the only reason she'd not asphyxiated yet was that she was standing on the open top of the tower with only a thatched roof between her and the sky.

Syrena may have been a fire mage but she had her doubts as to whether that meant she was immune to the element. Besides even if the heat didn't kill her as the tower collapsed the fall definitely would. She had only one choice if she wanted to come out of this alive. Syrena opened her tome, laid her hand over the runes that talked about the calming of the flames and started to concentrate.

She could feel the fire slow somewhat but there was just... too... much of it. Syrena's head started to feel foggy and after several seconds she broke contact with the book. She reached up to her face and felt a single drop of blood fall from her nose. She couldn't silence this much fire. It just wasn't in her. Syrena turned and looked to the skies hoping for rescue. She'd completely forgotten that there was still one other person on the top of the tower.


Marcus watched everything unfold from a distance, it wasn't long before the fighting was more or less over and he had wounded to tend to. Though almost all the Reclaimers were injured in some fashion or another Marcus made his priority the tactician that had fallen from the sky.

It took Marcus several minutes navigating the buildings to find where Gaius had fallen. By the time he had the boy had already popped his own shoulder back into place. "I must say that was no advisable to do without proper supervision." Marcus placed his healing crystal in his staff and was about to start on the boy's wounds when he realized something. The party was one member short. The little fire child had also been among those atop the watchtower and yet she was no where to be seen. "What has become of the little girl?" he asked, looking between Dylan and Gaius, his eyes demanding an answer.

There was no joy in Malboro as he watched Gaius leap from the parapets to a likely death. With Dylan after him, there was little chance that the tactician would become a red smear on the ground. Heroes, the bandit thought grimly as he looked out at the blue between the acrid smoke, They always find a way. Once, he had been one, but no longer. Coughing violently, he crouched low to the wooden planks and began inching his way to the edge of the tower. He knew by now that his men must have been slaughtered, and that the Reclaimers were waiting for him down at the bottom. Still, Malboro thought he'd rather die by the blade than by burning. He was nearly to the edge, his tunnel vision absolute, before he accidentally discovered Syrena, still with him. Very surprised -hadn't she just been carried off by the pegasus rider?- he jumped to his feet, instinctively reaching for an axe, but discovering instead an arrow lodged in his upper back, an inch away from his neck. It had only just arrived, and his adrenaline had dulled the pain. “Where...did that come from...?”

Then his nerves were shot and failed him, his body crumpled and falling in shock. As he fell backward, the arrow was driven farther into his body. Malboro gasped, spasming feebly, as the fire reached the top level. The smoke was constricting and the roar of the fire deafening, but above it the dying man managed to make himself heard to Syrena and probably Kel. “Ah...damn heroes. Never woulda thought...I'd go like this...”

Immediately after, the young girl was saved, lungs stung by smoke but still conscious, by the wyvern rider. They returned to the earth to stand alongside their allies and watch as the burning guard tower was incinerated, leaving only a loose shell of stone behind.



Some time after the last embers had gone out, and after making sure that the wounded were attended to, Hugh approached a couple of villagers that spoke for the rest. “Is everyone okay? We were unable to protect two of your buildings.”

One of them shook his grizzled head. “Our losses are a tragedy, but they would have been far more had it not been for your platoon. We have little to offer you other than a night's food and shelter, but you're welcome to them.”

Hugh bowed gratefully. “Thank you. Since you offered, we still stay the night to make the little repairs that are the bane of all armies, and to rest and try to unwind after such a horrific day. We will not intrude upon your hospitality, and be gone in the morning.”



So, that was it. A day of tiring travel and tiring bloodshed. Sanguin felt oddly satisfied by the role she'd played in the battle, but she knew that she shouldn't. War, even little wars against petty thieves and murderers, was something meant to shake the human soul, not to fill her with warmth. Removing her mask, Sanguin breathed deeply before seating herself by the convoy, which had been brought into the village, to clean and mend her weapons and armor. The dead had been dragged from the village and burnt in a nearby ditch, so only the faint, lingering smell of death disturbed what promised to be a refreshingly peaceful evening.

---

Taene, now in human form approached the wyvern rider. He had apparently retrieved his knife during the period of time in which Kel attempted to save a man falling from a building of some sort. "Boy. You said that your sister's name was Jace, yes?" His face was much softer than previously, when he was fighting with the mage and the calvarymen. "I can't say for certain, but I believe the girl that you're referring to was my supervisor. It'd be too much of a coincidence for her not to be the one you're speaking of."

"Trust me, my Jace would NEVER be the superior officer to... well anyone. Especially not a dragon." He chuckled, leading Druug over to the archer he had spoken to before the conflict. "I couldn't even imagine out fighting anywhere, her red hair waving around on that pegasus she stole all those years ago. Ridiculous!" He chuckled, holdling the broken pieces of his now thawed mask in his hands and dropping a few as his body shook with laughter.

A smirk broke out across the face of the dragon as the rider before him explained what his sister was like. "Ridiculous to you, maybe. But that's the woman that I've known for quite a while now. Are you sure that she wouldn't become a warrior?" His fingers rapped alongside the handle of his blade as he pondered whether or not he was correct.

"Totally sure. Look at these" He paused for a moment, unstrapping his chestplate and grabbing a piece of paper that sat between his heart and his armor. He handed it to the dragon. "That's a note from her, look, right there" He pointed to the text. "Says she doing an apprenticeship with a baker." He smirked, proving the dragon wrong once again. "I'm sure another letter is coming in soon. Plus, if you did know her, we can prove it by writing her a letter for once, since she's never told me where to send one." Kel was confident that he had disuaded the dragon man from thinking he too, knew Jace. Druug was still walking along, peaking in every now and then, pretending to comprehend the words the two were saying.

"Hmm." Was all that Taene said as he read over the note, taking note that he did recognize the handwriting. He then handed it back to Kel, looking him directly in the eyes as he did. "I don't mind a letter. You write it, I shall send it. I remember where base camp was set up, and she should still be there." He made it quite clear through his tone that he didn't believe he was incorrect. One might also notice that Taene's voice carried an edge that almost wordlessly implied that he knew he was correct.

"Sure thing, maybe ponyboy over there can send it." He chuckled and wandered off to begin writing his letter. It detailed about how insane this dragon was for thinking it was his sister, and if it was, how much he missed her. He wrote the sappy stuff on a seperate note and tossed it in a bag with one of Druug's scales. He signed both letter's Kel and rushed back to find the man. "And here it is. all ready to be sent. Now if you don't mind, I need to find some dead rabbits for the big guy here, you send that letter and tell me when your superior asks who the hell I am." He saluted Taene and wandered off in search of Kuur.

With the battle over and the members of the Reclaimers alive and intact, Jakobe had dismounted Thunderclap, leaving him in the village's stable. His longsword sheathed at his hip and his halberd strung on his back, Jakobe set off to speak to Sanguin about the wound she'd received at the back end of the battle. Making his way over to the masked warrior woman, Jakobe gave a nod of approval and spoke. "How's that wound treating you? Didn't look like much, but sometimes it's the smallest ones that get you. Damned dragon managed to give me a painful one on my arm."

At the cavalier's approach, Sanguin paused her repairs and looked up. "Wound? Oh...I guess I haven't been thinking about it. When I'm fighting, I sorta give myself a second to, er, take notice of the pain, maybe vent a little, and then push it away. No use thinking about the hurting when there's still enemies alive." She did not respond to Jakobe's own statement about his wound, though her brow did furrow slightly. A strand of red hair fell into her eyes, but she didn't seem to mind. Setting her whetstone and oilcloth aside, the now unmasked woman leaned forward slightly before leaning back again. It was clear she didn't quite know how to address the man, or she was hesitant to talk to a person of a higher class. "So... Yahk-obb. Should I be callin' you sir? Sorry. I never got much chance to be 'round higher-ups in the troop, jus' rough infantry mostly. Beggin' your pardon and all that, but are you not from Bravura? Jus' thought Yahkobb is a weird sorta name, if you don't mind me sayin'."

Shaking his head, Jakobe gave Sanguin a nod. "Well, as long as you get to it before the maggots do. Though, it's prudent to remain aware of any injuries you've sustained in combat. I trust you know what you're doing, all in all." He wasn't sure that her technique was wise, but as long as it worked for her, he wouldn't raise a fuss unless she got seriously hurt.

Her hesitance to speak frankly to him was a bit disturbing, but Jakobe paid it little heed. "There's no need. I'm only cavalry, really. Sir Hugh's the leader of this motley crew we've got going here. As for my origins, aye, I'm from Bravura. And aye, the name I was given is a bit odd, but I've no problems with it. Served me well for twenty-six years, and I hope it'll serve me for quite a while longer. Yourself? Sanguin...that's a rather...well, dark, name. Blood."

"Oh." That made sense. Why hadn't she thought of that? She'd have to see Timothy later. Or perhaps Marcus; Tim had been rather pallid following the events of the first battle. She wasn't so sure he had it in him to see the campaign through.

The fact that Jakobe was only cavalry seemingly surprised Sanguin. It hadn't occurred to her that a man with several weapons, armor, and a horse could be anything less than top-class material, the sort that didn't hang around much with lowly infantry. Then again, she realized, he was talking to her now. It was kind of weird to her, but she decided to make an effort to be open with him. His next question, however, caught her off guard. "Blood? Yeah, I guess it is." There was a brief but audible pause before she continued, as if remembering. "It's not my real name though. It's Heather..." she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. "Duvalier. Yeah. Sanguin is just a sort of show name, for the battlefield, you know. Can't have a fearsome, red wolf girl named Heather. Plus, it's helped me...well, it's helped a little. With all the killing." Sanguin didn't know quite how to explain it, and she felt even trying to breach the subject was like exposing something personal about her.

Jakobe let out a small chuckle at Sanguin-no, Heather's- explanation of her 'show name'. It was true that Sanguin held much more danger and power to it than 'Heather' did, but the same explanation also made the cavalier screw up his face in thought before nodding. "You're right about that. The killing. I don't find any joy in cutting a man down in the prime of his life. War...war is a horrible thing." As quickly as his concern for his ally had appeared, all thoughts other than the brutal nature of combat fled Jakobe.

"I'm sorry, I should go. I need to speak with Sir Hugh about our dragon situation, I believe." Giving a curt nod before he turned and started moving away, Jakobe took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as he started walking.

Sanguin wondered if she'd said something wrong, but instead of trying to pursue Jakobe she looked down. "See ya later," she mumbled at her scimitar.

The battle had finished hours prior, and the bodies of the slain had been collected into a single pile on the outskirts of town. The villagers had neither the manpower or the will to bury their once-tyrants, so they had been left for the buzzards until they started to smell. For Nickolas, that seemed too much, even for bandits.

He had snuck out of the humble abode the Reclaimers had been gifted for the night, using the broken haft of one of the formerly alive bandit's spears as a crutch. After taking a shovel from the town's storehouse, he made his slow and painful way over to the corpse-pile. Nodding to himself, the dark mage grunted and winced in pain as he pushed the shovel into the ground, nearly collapsing as his injured leg trembled in response to the exertion.

Perhaps slipping out of mandated bed rest was not the wisest idea.

Nickolas paused from his work, panting heavily as he leaned on the impromptu crutch. Quietly, he bent his head forward, clasping his hands in front of him as he muttered a prayer over the dead that he'd learned years ago.

The building that the village had afforded the Reclaimers was not glamorous but it was big enough for their numbers and protected from the night winds. After treating the various wounds of the injured Marcus decided it was time to sleep. It was likely they would have an early morning and Marcus couldn’t afford to be tired. If an event such as this one happened again the Reclaimers would need his healing powers in peak efficiency.

Marcus departed the company of the others in favor of an only slightly uncomfortable bed. Coming from a monastery Marcus was used to less than lavish accommodations. Marcus was a slight sleeper but he slept easily when he wanted too.

Sometime later in the night Marcus was awoken by the scuffling sounds of someone hobbling out of bed with great trouble. The monk cracked his eyelids in order to observe Nickolas the dark mage making his way out of the building using a spear for a crutch.

Knowing if he didn’t do something Marcus would find the man’s body in a ditch by morning the monk pulled himself out of bed and followed the dark mage. Marcus was surprised to find that Nickolas went to the pile of bandit bodies on the outskirts of the village where they’d been dumped. He was even more surprised to find that rather than wanted to practice some dark art with them the dark mage was instead attempting to bury them and when that failure he started to say a prayer over them.

Marcus walked up to Nickolas silently. “I often find myself having to explain the concept of mandatory bed rest to patients. They seem to have difficulty with the idea.”

The dark mage had the common decency to look embarrassed. "Ah, Sir Marcus." He cleared his throat, looking around to make sure none of the other Reclaimers had seen his little escape. "I do apologize. I was just, ah..." Nickolas looked at the bodies, suddenly forlorn. "...Apologizing to them as well."

Marcus followed Nickolas’ gaze out to the pile of bodies that had been thrown without consequence or care into the field to rot. They may be have been thugs and brigands but even they deserved more respect than that. However Marcus was surprised to find Nickolas the one to give them that.

Though he’d only known the mage a short time Marcus had regarded him as rather cavalier in his attitude. “If I may be so bold to ask. What care does a dark mage have for the spirits of the dead? I’ve never known dark sorcerers to concern themselves with the passing of others.”

Nickolas gave a faint smile, shifting his weight to be more comfortable along the shaft of the spear. "We study elder magic, Sir Marcus. That means we just work more closely with death than your average mage. That usually..." He searched for the word, waving his hand absently. "...desensitizes us. My grandmother's words."

The smile grew into something much more genuine. "However, my master thought differently. He was a priest of Naga, in one of temples up north. We differed in how we practiced our magic, so he had to teach me in different ways. This was one of them."

The monk raised an eyebrow. Clearly there was much more to Nickolas than he had originally thought. "How does the pupil to a priest of the Divine Dragon find himself practicing dark magic?"

"Grandmother again. She was a highly skilled practitioner of elder magic and I was simply the one who inherited the talent." Nickolas shrugged. "So I was already quite learned in the art before I met my master."

He wasn't looking at anything in particular as he continued, making certain to keep his voice neutral as he asked his own question. "I could ask the same of you, Sir Marcus. Wounds caused by elder magic are particularly finicky and hard to treat." Pale eyes flickered over to look at the monk, impassively probing for a reaction. "And yet you were able to correctly treat the remnants of a Mire curse without issue. From what I've gathered, that isn't in the usual curriculum of a healer."

Marcus froze at Nickolas' observation his knowledge in dispelling darker magicks. It wouldn't have been obvious to any of the other Reclaimers, even the other dark mage likely wouldn't have noticed anything however Nickolas had some experience with healing magic even if he himself could not perform it.

Marcus had rather hoped that this would go unnoticed when Nickolas had not said anything but in retrospect it seemed more likely that the other hadn't consider the battlefield an appropriate place for such a discussion.

Marcus would try to answer honestly but not completely. His record was so stained with things he couldn't take back, he didn't need the judgement of his fellows on top of it. "I had somewhat of a colorful youth. Playing with forces I shouldn't have touched. It was only after meeting the head of a monastery that I was able to leave that behind me."

Thinking it best to change the subject Marcus motioned to the bodies. "You're in no state to give these poor souls a proper burial, if you still wish to send them on with dignity I will assist you."

Nickolas simply nodded, knowing that prying for answers that one didn't want to give only ended badly. Instead, he shifted his weight again and his smile returned. "Thank you, Sir Marcus. I'll take you up on that offer, and then head back to rest. I'd hate to waste the hard work you put into healing me up."

The next hour was spent burying the dead of the enemy. The two men buried the bodies in silence though in truth Marcus did most of the actual burial. Nickolas while well meaning and fully willing hadn't the strength in his leg. When the job was done the two walked back to the Reclaimers lodgings and to a much earned rest.

Scarcely had the sun risen before the Reclaimers departed the village. For another hour they walked northwest, most in a sort of anticipatory silence. After all, they were en route to the site of the mysterious reports. None knew quite what to expect, leaving imaginations to wander. Were they to find monstrous undead stalking the fields, like the legendary Risen? Was a band of cultish dark mages prowling among the dead, seeking trophies and samples for horrible, occult experiments? Were the unknown groups allegedly hanging around the fringes of the fight mere scavengers seeking to make a killing off the corpses' loot, or omens of something far more dire?

As it happened, the scene of battle was far less devoid than Hugh had expected. When the Reclaimers drew near to the sparsely-forested area, they encountered a division of the Bravuran royal army. The camp, as they passed through, was in a sorry state of affairs. Groans and cries of pain through the tents, the familiar and woeful sight of lacking field medicine, and obvious damage to equipment could mean only one thing: another skirmish had just been waged. “Hmm...” Hugh murmured as he looked around, audible to only the few Reclaimers nearest. “I hadn't expected this to be a live battlefield. Panoplian fighters must be on the other side of this expanse. We're going to have to tread carefully to avoid being mistaken for marauders.”

After approaching the commander of the division, explaining what the Reclaimers were up to, and attaining his permission, Hugh approached the convoy and the soldiers around it. “Alright. We're leaving the convoy here and heading in. According to Commander Shepadd, the lurkers have been spotted to the north. Between us and them is the battlefield, including several copses of trees, a small river, and a hill, from which they are purportedly surveying the scene. Dylan, since you are the fastest, I would like you to take a discreet look at the hill from the east and report back. We need to know if there are more of them hiding in the trees, and if there are any bolt holes they might disappear into. Once you've found it, report back to me and Gaius. My plan so far is to send you, Kel, and Taene to fly around and flush them away from the northern trees, and the rest of us to move from copse to copse until we're close enough to ambush them. Depending on what Dylan finds, however, I might need you, Gaius, to help me amend that plan. Get ready for battle, Reclaimers. It's time we see our enemy's face.”

The night before...



Jeanne perked up as she heard someone humming a familiar melody, a lilting 12/8-rhythm jig that she often heard in the forests in which she lived.

Jeanne, intrigued, followed the source of the hums, cupping her hand to her ear every so often.

Jeanne's stealth was a force of habit; back in the forests through which she chased the caravans of the pretentious wealthy, she would fly through treetops silently and undetected. It was a practice of hers that wove into her way of life.

Jeanne eventually found the source of the humming. She came across Habeen, who, sitting cross-legged by candlelight, was carving some kind of small totem while humming the melody. With short, swift motions, Habeen turned the totem in her hand and flicked shavings of wood off the totem.

"Hey," Jeanne said.

Apparently she had totally startled Habeen, who flailed her arms in surprise, letting both the carving knife she was using and the wooden totem fly into the air. With a THWOCK-CLUNK, the knife and totem landed in her lap and on her head, respectively.

"I totally meant to do that," Habeen joked, completely ignoring the fact that she was nearly impaled.

"Oh, yes, I'm absolutely sure that nearly knifing your noggin is TOTALLY what you want to do while whittling your wooden totem," Jeanne replied. "So, what's that song you were humming?" she asked.

"Just something I heard on my travels while staying in a forest village," Habeen replied. The dark-skinned Mage simply picked up her knife and totem once more and continued to whittle. "It was a lovely melody so I decided to pick it up. I think there were words, but I don't remember them."

Jeanne nodded. Habeen restarted the song, humming through the intro. It struck Jeanne: it was an old folk song that she herself knew in her childhood, that stuck with her for her life.

Habeen's humming entered the first verse, and that's where Jeanne opened her mouth and:

"'Neath the ole wooden towers
That do scrape across the sky
Lying underneath the bowers
We the forest-dwellers lie

With the verdant grass a-staining
Leaves a-whirling, swirling; why,
The forest is our home, a humble home, for you and I."

Habeen turned around. "Is that what the words are?" Habeen asked. "That was bothering me for a while. You know that feeling you get when you have a song in your head that you don't completely know the words to?"

"That's when you resort to, well, simply singing the merry melody," Jeanne replied.

"So you know that song?" Habeen asked.

"Of course! Everybody in my home in the woods knew that song. We were a small community, and every week we would gather at night and sing the song. Within the woods, the townsfolk were in tune with the trees and flowers."

Jeanne sat down next to Habeen and wrapped her arms around her own knees. "That song helped solidify the idea within the forest village of living in harmony with nature instead of conquering it," she said. "Like the birds and the flowers, we were a part of the forest habitat. Granted, we had houses and such, but still..."

Jeanne looked up. "Hey, when did you learn this song?"

"Fairly recently, actually; I passed through the village in which I heard this about a month ago."

Jeanne nodded. "You're certainly well-traveled," she remarked.

"Oh, I ought to tell you all about it," Habeen said, her smile growing wider.

Jeanne chuckled. "We can talk later, it's getting pretty late," she said.

"Alright, I'll just go back to cutting up my wood," Habeen replied.

Jeanne and Habeen reached support level C.

---

Jeanne wasn't stupid. She realized that juxtaposing an infamous thief and a whole lot of blood didn't do a lot of good. (In fact, quite the opposite.) As such, Jeanne made a mental note to refrain from thieving unless necessary (not difficult given her normal fare).

Jeanne heard the moans of pain and winced. "I'm just wondering," she said to no one in particular, "but what kind of vile violence just ravaged this field?"

The night prior, the archer had been confronted by Kel to ask about supplying his wyvern's food, and she'd accepted after the young man had inadvertently worded it as a challenge. She split off from the company half an hour into their march toward the nearest battlefield, and returned as the Bravuran camp came into sight. She carried the carcasses of three rabbits and her bow, nearly skipping with the elation of a challenge completed. The spring in her step vanished as she caught sight of what the group was approaching.

Kuur stalked the among the tents, keeping to the center of the Reclaimer's formation. She was obviously Panoplian, from her stark blonde hair and heavily tanned skin to her light and flowing clothes. While she would usually be proud of her height and heritage, the current state of affairs in the camp suggested that she remain scarce and out of sight.

The tall woman spoke up as she caught Jeanne's statement. "That would be... war." While her voice was as level and emotionless as ever, Kuur's lips had twisted into a barely perceptible frown. She gestured over to the other side of the field. "The Panoplians... are probably... in a similar... state. No one...wins."



The dark mage's leg had excused him from walking with the rest of the group, and had instead joined the two youngest Reclaimers on the back of the wagon. He kept watch over both of them with a kind word or two as he pulled out a quill and inkpot and set about writing in one of his massive stacks of paper. Despite the bumpy ride, he made good progress throughout the hour of travel.

Nickolas looked up from his writing as the group pulled into camp, his face an unreadable mix of emotions at the sound of pain and suffering. He set down his quill and made some excuse about looking to see where he could help, before hauling himself up on the crutch and vanishing into the row of tents with the promise of returning as the battle started.

My plan so far is to send you, Kel, and Taene to fly around and flush them away from the northern trees, and the rest of us to move from copse to copse until we're close enough to ambush them. Depending on what Dylan finds, however, I might need you, Gaius, to help me amend that plan. Get ready for battle, Reclaimers. It's time we see our enemy's face.”

Hearing this, Gaius spoke up, "This actually occurred to me last time, but how about when we send a flyer to scout, I go with him? That might slow us down a little, but it allows me to get a better idea of the terrain and troop deployment then by word of mouth." He turned to the rest and said apologetically, "Not everyone has the training or natural inclination to take in a lot of detail and remember it accurately. Plus, sometimes even a little thing, like a boulder, that most wouldn't mention, could have some tactical significance."

Dylan took a moment to realize initially he was being talked to, he had phased himself out, daydreaming, and hadn't really noticed what was around him. When he did, he had to keep himself from vomiting, and he focused on Hugh's words to do so. Next their tactician, Gaius if he remembered correctly, began talking. Once he finished, Dylan spoke up. "I can carry a second person, so long as they're not too heavy, so I could take Gaius with me. But if we get into a scrape while we're scouting, I won't be able to maneuver very well until he got off." The Pegasus rider moved up next to Gaius and offered his hand to him to help him up. "But unless we end up surrounded, I'll probably be able to get out of there intact. There was never a man or horse born that could outrun a Pegasus, especially through a field like th-this one." He'd look over at Gaius once he was on, and he gave a short lesson as to staying on Andromeda before taking off. He stayed fairly close to the ground, ready to go up higher or fly behind some trees if someone were to suddenly attack while he did his scouting run, giving the tactician a view of as much of the area as possible.

In surprisingly short order, the scouts returned. They reported few to no anomalies in the terrain that might derail the general plan. Around these parts, what wasn't riverside delta was smooth, rolling, forested hills. No large rocks had been spotted, and if there were any happenstance crevices or bolt holes in the area around where the enemy was gathered, they were both small and well-hidden beneath the trees. As Hugh sounded the five-minute watch, soldiers raced here and there to secure their gear and prepare to fight. Sanguin studied her scimitar, shield, and armor, poring over each for deficiencies that would require a last-minute preparation. Finding nothing she could fix in the allotted time, the myrmidon made her way to the front of the Bravuran camp, from where the Reclaimers would ride to war.

“Ready...” Sanguin heard the knight captain's voice. “Go!”

She took off running, racing across the grass, not at her top speed but at a sustainable one. Her first objective was to get to the nearest copse; after that, she'd move with her allies to the second one and wait for Taene, Kel, and Dylan to flush the enemy from the top of their hill. Around Sanguin were some of the other lightly-armored soldiers, including the mages. More encumbered warriors, those lacking horses at least, brought up the rear. Regardless, the whole army crossed the open grass, navigating past corpses from the recent battle and avoiding patches of mud. The river skirting the base of the hill, when approached, proved to be significantly less wide than it had appeared from afar—likely the sun reflecting off its liquid surface that had made it look bigger. Just as Sanguin was hopping over it, a mere fifty feet from the small patch of trees that was her second target, there was a cacophonous noise from the top of the hill. It was a mixture of neighing, crackling ice, roaring fire, and the panicked yells of men and women. Over the top of the hill, the enemy appeared: about fifteen assorted people appeared, garbed in brown clothing and dark gray armor. They rushed down the hill, fleeing from lance point, sheer cold, and searing heat. One of the archers, however, turned and loosed an arrow at the manakete.

The foes were immediately aware of the Reclaimers' presence, however, as not all were lying in wait in an ambush. From the back, Hugh roared an order: attack, but try to capture some alive. The battle had begun with the Reclaimers at a slight disadvantage due to their lower elevation.

Watching the top of the hill, Jakobe took a deep breath as the sounds of combat while he raced forward. As the enemy crossed the top of the hill, he readied his halberd, eyes narrowing at his intended target: the archers. As always, they served to impose a major disadvantage on the Reclaimers' aerial units, which was an unacceptable disadvantage. Fighting uphill, as well, put him at a loss when it came to the host of enemies. There were a number of things tactically serving these mysterious enemies, but Jakobe had one thing they didn't.

The best damned warhorse he'd ever seen.

Letting out a massive bellowing cry, Jakobe charged into the host of enemies, swinging his halberd at the archer who'd loosed an arrow at Kaene. Not many people had the resolve to stand firm in the face of a charging warhorse and its rider, but this archer was one of them. Rather than cowering or panicking, the robed person instead used their bow to deflect the haft of Jakobe's halberd, before nocking another arrow and firing it at the mounted soldier. The projectile flew past, missing both rider and mount, causing Jakobe to curse and turn in preparation for another attack run.

---

Jeanne silently took Kuur's remark as a sarcastic one; plainly this was a war zone. That's why the Reclaimers were there in the first place.

Jeanne surveyed the terrain; apparently the fact that they were on lower ground hindered them somewhat in terms of firing range, movement range, et cetera. The hills caused even the nimble thief some consternation.

"I'm more accustomed to flying across the treetops. I don't do slants," Jeanne muttered.

I have to get to higher ground as quickly as possible, she thought. Glancing up at the fighters, an idea flashed through her head. "That'll do."

The thief deftly drew her sword and ran off to the side, bounding through the grass, the soles of her shoes digging into the damp dirt.

However, these fighters seemed well aware of the advantage that swords have over axes, and had prepared a suitable counter. The fighter closest to Jeanne saw her coming and hurled his axe at her.

Jeanne's eyes widened and she immediately crumpled to the ground, rolling along the grass as the axe barely whistled past her scalp. That was a horrible idea! Jeanne chided herself. Kicking her legs out, she got back up only to have to dodge another swing from the other fighter as the first rushed to recover his axe.

Jeanne stuck her leg out to trip the first fighter, but when she got back up, the fighter whacked her in the side of the head, causing her to reel back and roll down the hill. Thank the gods that wasn't a concussion, Jeanne thought to herself. She felt something warm trickling down the side of her head. It was her blood. "Damn, those dastards are devilishly deft," Jeanne muttered. "I've got to step it up."

The thief knew that the Reclaimers had a disadvantage; perhaps it would do better to force them to engage closer to them.

Jeanne turned tail and attempted to return to the rest of the Reclaimers, but upon looking back she saw not one but both Fighters chasing after her. She cursed under her breath before twisting around and running back towards them. The one who threw the axe didn't expect Jeanne to spin right around and attack, and took a pretty nasty wound in the chest. Jeanne then whirled to the other Fighter, but their blades merely clanged against each other. Jeanne stepped back as the first Fighter staggered to his feet, hefting his axe and breathing heavily.

Jeanne woozily stumbled back down the hill, one of the fighters still chasing after her. "Habeen! Get this beefy buffoon off my back!" Jeanne hollered, pressing a hand against her bleeding forehead. The mage turned and without a word cast Mire to get the man's focus off of the thief. Mire, unfortunately, missed, but it did distract the fighter's gaze long enough for Jeanne to hack at his axe arm in a swift motion and scamper back down the hill.

"Remind me never to risk frontal assault again," Jeanne muttered, sitting next to the folk magician and quaffing one of her three servings of Vulnerary. The bleeding on her head ceased.

"A valiant effort," Habeen said.

"Oh, be quiet," Jeanne grumbled, rubbing her head where the fighter had struck her. "It looks like they have the higher ground, and I don't know if they intend to charge down anytime soon. So maybe we can spur them prematurely into action by taking out their ranged fighters. That'd save everybody else a headache," she suggested. "Such as mine," she added.

"Ought you to tell Hugh? He is our leader, after all," Habeen asked.

"Well, you're the one with the long-range slime magic," Jeanne replied.

"He might have use for a suggestion like that," Habeen remarked.

"True. Perhaps I ought to point out our predicament and potential fix to the good knight," the thief said, before running and attempting to grab Hugh's attention.

"Hugh, I am certainly no tactician, but I quickly learned that a frontal assault would earn me a nasty nick to the noggin," Jeanne explained. "Undoubtedly, those two feisty fighters saw me coming with my blade drawn, and it looks like they can afford to take their sweet time before the playing field is level. Do you think we might coerce them to abandon their higher ground should we eliminate those on their side with ranged weaponry?" she suggested.