The sun rose over the pass of broken ambitions. Its luminous form greeted the infantry marching into formation. Methusalem looked over his forces. A collection of strong men, called to arms in defence against the encroaching savage menace. Everyone knew what was at stake here. He sighed deeply. He had no love lost for wars. If he could help it, this conflict would have been solved with words and diplomacy... But alas, fate had dictated otherwise.

“Grandmaster... Is something the matter?” A familiar voice asked. Methusalem turned to his trusted second man. Titus had been marvelling at what was in his mind an army of justice marching to battle under the blessing of the very sun. This idealism worried the aging grandmaster sometimes. He had seen what terrible things men did when they believed themselves infallible. And sometimes, he could see shades of such zealotry even in Titus. “Morale seems good, and we look to have an advantageous position... But I fear the men might be underestimating our adversaries... A small man can make a giant fall my friend.”

Methusalem had evaded what he really wanted to talk about. He could slap himself for this failing. Yes, the ninti army approaching was a more immediate worry... But he would have to adress Titus's overzealousness sometimes... A scout riding up shook him from his train of thought before anything else could come from it . “Sir, the enemy is marching on our position. Looks to be they'll be here in ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

Methusalem nodded his head. “Good man, get some rest, you deserve it.” It would appear he indeed did not have time for philosophical discussion right now. He turned to a robed figure shouting orders at a disorganized rabble of wizards on a nearby hill. “Tim... How are the magic batteries looking up?” The wizard looked up from under his pointy hat. “They lack discipline sir... But I believe they will fall in line when the fighting starts... I mean, there's no feeling quite like raining arcane devestation down upon your enemies. And I theorize that this enthusiasm will only be strengthened by the projected volume of elemental projectiles and magical destruction that will be wrought.”

Subtly, Methusalem shook his head at the wizard's bloodlust. He couldn't fault the man. There was a certain catharsis to using powers that took months, even years of careful study to acquire. He uttered a prayer the man might find the right path under his breath. “That is good, now remember, our goal is the defeat of the ninti warlord, not shoot our own men in the back. I want friendly fire kept to a minimuim when at all possible.” Methusalem knew the chaos of a battlefield would surely see some brave warriors struck down by wayward lightning and poorly-aimed fireballs. But such was the harsh reality of warfare.

Finally, he turned to those faithful of his own order. Lined up in rows behind him. All paragons of mankind, clad in steel platemail and carrying the heraldry of their dearest lady Justitia. “Men! Today we fight for the defence of our fellow man. As you know, the agressor from the east is almost upon us. Their advance must be halted here in this pass, lest they spread out across the land like a plague of locusts! But always remember! We fight for justice! Not glory!” The maxim was repeated, at first only by Methusalem's personal retinue. But soon repeated by the infantry also.

Methusalem shook his head again... The motto of his order was not meant to be a war cry... It was meant to be a solemn declaration of introspection. Regardless, these were common men. And they needed something to rally around. This would have to do today.

Glott the Ambitious rode upon his majestic looking fuga front and center of his chattering, disorganized army, that was trekking eagerly through the fields to reach their prey mere minutes away from their position. A lot of the ninti clans involved in this invasion were not up to his normal standards, but he knew that he needed all the help he could get to face the army that his scouts had warned him of. They were lead by a skilled grandmaster and were well armed to boot. This would be the more difficult test that he'd have to face. Either he would emerge the greatest ninti who had ever lived, or he would lie broken and tattered underneath the human's feet. However, he was too confident and proud to back down. His forces greatly outnumbered the humans and he had some hand picked troops with him who were easily a match to any human, even if the bulk of his troops left a lot to be desired. The cannon fodder could weaken and encircle his foes and then his true warriors, those of the Glendtehwa clan, would finish them off.

At last the glittering of armor was seen. The battle would soon begin. Amid the swarm trailing Glott, a human girl towered over most of the other ninti not on their steeds. She was dressed as a savage, prepared to slaughter her fellow humans when the time came, as she was raised as a ninti. She readied her bow, which had better accuracy at farther ranges than the ninti muskets.

"Light cavalry...charge!" Glott bellowed at the top of his longs. The fuga riders, split up on either side in equal amounts, rushed forwards along the edge of the battlefield, the ones wielding muskets taking the rear so they'd be protected by the more expendable troops for the time being. They would try to get around the edges of the enemy formation to get behind them if an opening along the path were to present itself, but if not they would simply remain at the sides of the battlefield, the musket users preparing to fire into them.

"Berserkers...charge!" Glott ordered again. With a massive battle cry, the half dressed hoard sprung into action straight down the path, filling up most of the earth with their massive numbers. It would be like a wave crashing upon the shore. The human girl advanced with them down the middle to get into arrow shot, eager to get in on the action.

Glott would see how the battle would progress before committing to any further action and sending out his bombarders.