-=Blackstone Fortress, The Black Pass, Empire of Man territory=-

The Blackstone Fortress has stood for generations once as a dividing wall between two great nations, and now as Mankind's primary defense from the creatures of the Dread Desert. But the Legendary Fortress' gate now sits splintered and shattered the courtyard filled with the scattered bodies of the Empire Knights who defended its walls, and the Orc invaders that breached those defenses. Scattered battles still wage across the Keep as the Empire knights fight to slay as many Orcs as they can before they fall.

The Knight Captain stands long sword drawn as he faces off against an unusually big Red skinned Orc, his helm is already slashed and his armor stained with his blood. Stumbling forward he tries to attack the orc again who side steps the strike and backhands the knight. The knight tumbles to the ground and the orc drops its ax. As the Knight Captain tries to stand the Orc grabs him by the throat dragging the man to the rafters holding the captain over the edge.

"Today we have shown the filthy Humans exactly why they used to fear our kind! Why they will fear us once more!" The Orc yelled to his troops who gave a cheer at the words. "We now have a land to call our own and this is just the beginning! Soon the Bloodfang Clan will become stronger and subjugate these pitiful Humans! We will return them to their rightful place!" He boasted just before tossing the Commander off the balcony leaving the broken corpse to rot with his men. The orcs below cheered in victory, a dreadful cheer that spread out for miles around the keep.

It has been a little over a month since Blackstone Fortress fell to the Orc forces. News spread quickly throughout the Empire of the Legendary fort's capture shocking many. But the Empire's response was to be quick and decisive. Within a week the Emperor signed an Edict Calling upon all able men and women to help reclaim mankind's territory. Militia were formed and quickly trained, lucrative mercenary contracts were sent out to tempt all comers, and Nobles with secure lineages were asked to send their best warriors to aid the Empire. And now all that work had come to fruition, a massive army of man made of both Empire forces and the common folk now marched to retake Blackstone Fortress. But even with the Empire's swift response the Orc's still had a month to wreak havoc on Human territory and grow. They were constantly sending raiding parties out as far as fifteen miles from the Fort pillaging and destroying whatever they came across, as their numbers swelled as new clans arrived from the Dread Lands pleading themselves to the Bloodfang daily.

Our Story stars within the ranks of the Empires Third Legion one of the Five armies raised to take back the fortress. The Third Legion is at its core a Militia force, with a total of 1500 troops only 500 of them being part of the Empire army. Luckily so far the third Legion has yet to come into contact with the Orc forces. But that is about to change as the scouts have reported a Orc Raiding party headed in the Legion's direction. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to train its new Militia troop the Commander of the Third Legion broke off a group of 100 militia tasked to eliminate the raiding group roughly numbering 75 orcs.

Night falls over the 100 man Militia group, tomorrow will be the day of battle and there is a sense of unease through the group as many of the militia have never seen combat before. The 100 man General given command of the group had just finished a little speech meant to calm the troops, but words of encouragement have little effect to those who feel the reaper is creeping upon them.

-=Kantari Planes, Empire of Man Territory, Approximately ten miles from Blackstone Fortress=-

Silas and Dixon had been posted into the Third Legion three days ago and the three days of marching had given Silas more than enough to go off of and what to expect. And just their luck they had been chosen to be part of this first battle. In the back of his mind he couldn't help but wright off a good portion of these Militia troops for the battle ahead. But he didn't let that show instead he stood in front of one of the fire pits telling a story of old days.

"The damn thing hit like a wild boar snapping my spear as I tried to block the hit. Luckily I had help and one of my guys were able to turn the Orc into a pin cushion before it could finish me off. Remember Orcs bleed like us, if it bleeds we can kill it. Remember if we work together nothing can beat us. We have shown these Orcs our strength before and it seems like they forgot. Lets due humanity proud tomorrow." he said before going to sit next to Dixon. "So I got today's list of possibles if your read for it." he casually said knowing that the two did have a side mission here aside from fighting the orcs, Recruiting members to their squad.

Jan Oremus had trudged along with the rest of the one hundred that day. He had protested this mistreatment, insisting that he was far more use on horseback. They had horses enough to spare, aye, but none for an old priest. Likely the quartermaster had not believed his claim to military experience. He had probably never heard of the Broken Blades, and Jan could not honestly say he was surprised. Mortain's men were never great in number, and it was many years ago now since he had ridden boldly across the Empire.

After camp was made, the commander had made what he must have imagined was an inspiring address. It did not seem to move the troops much, and Jan was with them in that regard. If the orcish band was as large as he had heard, it would be a difficult fight. He could only hope this commander was a better tactician than he was an orator, else there would be great losses.

In any event the priest knew his duty, and went readily about it. Sword at his side and shield at his back, he staked out a position at the edge of the camp, and began to preach a brief sermon he had prepared to those that might be bothered to hear it. He was wearing his black cassock and cloak, and a solemn look stole over his countenance. He was, for once, quite sober, and glad of it.

“Brothers and sisters!” he called out loudly, throwing his hands dramatically to the sky before folding them passively at his waist.

“Children of Men! Before us stands a vicious and cruel enemy. What have they robbed you of already? Your lands? Your livelihoods? Your brothers, your sisters, your husbands, your wives? Shall they pass us unchallenged, as wolves among sheep?

“Hold true to the Creator, God of your fathers, and no mortal force shall overcome you. Keep in your heart the memory of what you have lost, and what you may yet lose, and stand fast in defense of what is ours.”

He paused, composing himself after his inflamed recitation.

“I will be hearing confessions later tonight, for the interested.”

With his religious guidance, such as it was, dispensed, he made his way toward one of the fire pits. There seemed to be some interesting characters thereabout, and so at first he said nothing, but listened quietly.

Only a hundred yards away from Silas and Dixon stood Odessa. Though unlike most of the militia that sat around campfires, laying in cots, and comforting each other, the woman stood alone just outside the entire camp. The owls betrayed the sense of tenssion that radiated from the group that she had been lumped together with as the soothing moonlight glistened over the various tents. Odessa had been practicing for nigh an hour now, going over a strict regimen of movements that warmed up the muscles and got her magical energies flowing throughout her body. While at the beginning, some of the others were watching and some even trying to catch her attention, she stayed focused on the task at hand while everyone else eventually trickled away.

'Have to stay focused..' she thought to herself, thrusting a fist through the air as a tiny burst of arcane magic shot from her attack. It was her final exercise before her second half started as she felt it to be of the utmost important to keep her mind keen and her body trained. While she had gone over and mimicked several things she already knew, now was the time to focus on the more dynamic part of her training. Taking a breather for only a few moments, her eyes glanced over to the camp. 'Everyone is scared.. I don't blame them.. so am I.' She reached up and wiped some sweat from her brow, hearing the distant cries of a priest.

Her ears perked at the mention of lost ones as she clenched her fist. 'Aye.. lost ones.. I suppose that's why I'm training while most of them warm their hands by fires.. hm.' Drawing in a deep breath, she went at her training once more with a fired passion. It was not the deliberate, slow motions like before but instead a spark as she pushed her body and spirit to it's limits, fighting some unseen foe that fought in a way that no orc could - forcing her to use kicks, swings, arcane bursts, and even having her jump high into the air as her magic propelled her upwards. Most notably, at least in her mind, she was trying to focus and practice on both using her magic to create a shield and create a second push in the air, so she could potentially double jump. Suffice it to say, she managed it a few times, but not enough to be used reliably in battle.

Two fires away from Silas and Dixon, Stefano sat hunched over his empty soup bowl rattling a die in and trying to attract attention to his game of chance.

"Come ladies, gentlemen, bastards and lords, come take all of Stefano's money! The game is legion! The more who play the eaisier it is to rob me of my pay. You sit with me and pay a coin for each member in the game I roll the dice and try to roll higher than the party. I fail to do so and everyone gets a coin from me put it I outnumber you I keep the buy in! Come ban together to keep a poor man poor!"

Stefano always found Legion more entertaining to play a round than be the dealer yet he had searched the camp and found no men gambling. Here these peasants were on the doors of death and they were scared of losing their money! Some people needed to set their priorities strait.

Three burly soldiers set down and each threw their three coins at Stefano's feet. His hounds looked up from their nap at the disturbance but settled down seeing that their master was in no danger... yet.

Stefano smiled and asked the crowd, "Anymore takers?

He hoped not, it be embarrassing to explain that he spent all his money on lute strings and a gilded cage for his falcon should be lose.

"Well, I went and made a list of my own." Dixon said, pulling out some paper. "First, there was this girl with long dark hair, and legs for days." He said, smiling. "Then there was a guy with two different colored eyes. I think he may have been a mage." He said, looking at his list. "Mm, I got a wand he could use for awhile." He chuckled, then went back to a list.

"After that, was a woman who made me melt. It was dark, so I think he hair is red, but not sure. Anyway, she...hey that's her!" He said, looking up and seeing Odessa training. "Look at her. Silas, my friend, when was the last time you sat back and really appreciated the look of a woman?" He asked him. "Her legs, leading to her perfect rear. And just look at it, that's a rear you work for, she must train often." He said, then looked over at Silas.

"Hey, do not give me that look." He said, pointing at him. "We could die tomorrow, boom that's it. An arrow to the chest, sword through the neck. I wanna have some last minute fun before I bite the dust." He said and stood up, then sat back down. "I have no idea what to say when I get over there." He said and rubbed the back of his neck. "People have been trying to talk to her all day, and I think the most someone has gotten was a sideways glance."

---

Jehan listened to the sermon, flanked by Charles, his coutilier. Jehan muttered a prayer before moving away. While he had no problems listening to the sermon and speaking his prayers, he was not about to give the man his confessions.

As he moved through the camp towards his tent he was disappointed. This force, a forth of the size of a proper company and lacking proper lances was never going to hold up in any real battle unless their commander was some kind of mastermind, which he highly doubted. He wondered if any scouts had been sent out, but once again, he assumed incompetence and therefore that no scouts were out.

As if sensing his mood Charles piped up, "A round of sparring Sir?"

"Definitely" Jehan said in response, happy to do something he enjoyed. But his mood was still a dreary one as he walked across the camp. On the way he passed Stefano shouting about his gambling. He looked the man up and down with utter contempt and found himself unimpressed but he said nothing and left the man to his gambling. He had never been fond of gambling or gamblers, seeing them as some of the lowest. When skill fails, trust to luck. Not really the way he would go about things.

As he arrived to where his lance was had set up, he found that only one of the archers were present. He sat next to the fire, carving something from a small piece of wood, though it was unclear as of yet what it was going to become. The archer nodded to him and Charles respectfully before going to back to carving. Next to the archer sat his squire, Henri. "Henri, armour." Jehan said shortly which sent the squire running to get the valets and armour.

Soon enough he and Charles were fully equipped. They moved to an open space, and soon they both stood with a poleaxe facing each other as a small crowd of bored men grew around them, including his squire, valets and archer. Charles nodded to him and with a smile on his face Jehan slammed down his visor and went into a combat stance, keeping a centre guard. Charles was the first to attack, with a poke aimed for his head. Jehan used his poleaxe to deflect and in the same motion stab towards Charles who took a step back and recovering without being hit. Jehan moved forward, jabbing his poleaxe and Charles struck it away so it went wide, swirling the movement into a swing aimed low. Acting quickly, Jehan stepped inside the blow, letting the shaft hit his leg. Jehan brought his poleaxe back over and down under Charles' weapon on the outside. Jehan now had a poleaxe between his armoured body and his own weapon, but before Charles had any chance to recover, Jehan took another stepped forward again, bringing the head of his weapon to the back of Charles' knee, then dragged it forward, as he stepped around. Charles fell backward, losing his poleaxe. Jehan raised his own poleaxe above the downed man, the point directed at the Charles' neck. Both went still for a moment, then Jehan offered the man a hand, pulling him back to his feet.

The sparring went on for many rounds more, and while Jehan won most rounds, he had lost a few to Charles. By the end of it, Jehan raised his visor, gulping down air into his lungs. He was grinning as he started to move back to his tent, though he almost felt bad for his squire who would have to clean and polish his armour before the morning.

---

---

Argleif's footsteps sounded quietly off the ground as he walked away from the Encampment, small wisps of air twirling visibly between his fingers as he let out a slow breath, stopping in his tracks. His eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. When his eyes opened they emanated a soft glow, revealing the birthmark on his pupils, indicating that he had tapped into his magic. A few eyes from the men surrounding him focused on the strange sight, the soft murmur of conversation fading as their heads turned to him in curiosity. Then, without a warning, the man before them disappeared in a gust of wind, the softly glowing trail of his eyes the only trace that he had been there at all.

A soft smile of relief played upon his face as Argleif moved at incredible speed away from the camp, leaping into the air as he saw a training women do the same. Using a gust of strong wind, he flew past her, close enough that she could hear the breathy whisper of his voice.
"Impressive."

He continued past her, landing softly about 50 metres away, rolling his shoulders as a chill went down his spine. There wasn't a better feeling in the world than letting the magic built up inside him release. It was like loosening a tight belt after a large meal, or sitting down after a tiring day's labor. It was something that reminded him home, of his missed Eldest and the playful training of his younger years.

After the comforting ebb of pleasure subsided, he began to move in the way he had always known. The pleasure returned as he began to move the air around him, dancing with the wind as it began to grow from a breeze to a roar at the tips of his fingers. The sand below his feet stayed still, as his control prevented the growth of any wind unwanted. As his arms pulled and manipulated the roar of wind around him, he began to move his feet and legs as well, wind rushing upwards from beneath him.

His robes billowed as he closed his eyes in concentration, feeling himself slowly lift from the ground as he concentrated the massive forces of wind to lift him, propelling himself high into the air before slowing to a stop. He hovered there for a moment, making sure he was balanced before he began to move himself forward, flying slowly. With another deep breath he pivoted his body forward until his stomach was parallel with the ground below him, sweat dripping down his brow from the exertion, he shudder with anticipation before propelling himself forward at the speed of a galloping horse.

Despite the roaring volume of the winds, which could likely be heard as far as the encampment, the sound was ignored by Argleif. Serenity the only thing present in his mind as he began to further manipulate the wind, lowering himself steadily until he was only a few metres from the ground, and with a strenuous burst of energy he propelled himself high into the air, disappearing from the sight of any observers above the clouds.

Within a moment he returned, falling head-first towards the ground at incredible speeds, only slowing his descent moments before he reached the ground, swirling his body back up and landing softly with open, glowing eyes on the cool desert sands.

Violet Saint-Valeri

---

No one held a better poker face than Violet. This game was over before it even begun; they never stood a chance but were eager to take advantage of any disability regardless. She patiently tapped a steady rhythm with long fingernails on an oak table stained with pungent ale, waiting for the man with deep wrinkles from concentration to make a move. Dim candle light cast an intense glow on the pile of coin in the center of the table and each participant sitting in a loose circle. This was the end game, down to Violet and 'Sweaty Palms'- or so she nicknamed him. The man in front of her had beads of sweat glistening along his brows. His beady eyes squinted at each card before he finally made up his mind.

“All in, love.” He said with a sniffle before taking a long swig of amber liquid.

Mistake

“All in.” She repeated coolly and waited one last time.

After a moment of silence, large callous hands threw down an assortment of five cards with ancient symbols on them. His chest puffed out a little as his shoulders straightened. An overconfident smile crossed his chapped lips while the audience cheered, and his two comrades roughly padded him on the back. His greedy hands reached for the wealth pile but froze as he saw a sly grin illuminate Violet's once stoic features.

“Tsk, tsk. Patience.” Agile fingers placed five cards on the table, one at a time in a slow motion.

As each square touched the tabletop the man's smile slowly drooped into a satisfying frown until the last card was revealed. Instead of applause from the crowd, a stillness took hold. Others gasped while some had their jaws open wide enough to house baby birds. Then, from the back of the shelter, bursts of laughter filled the spacious tent. People pointed toward the conquered soldiers direction with full bellied howling, and began to cheer in delight for the woman who bested one of their champion card players - on this side of the regime, at least.

“How'd you bloody well do that?” He murmured in defeat; his words near a whisper under the supportive yelps.

“Sir.” She flipped a coin in his direction, which he caught with a confused face. “For letting a lady win, of course.” The rest of the shimmering pieces were placed within a satchel of hers, and tied to the side near her plum hued open front skirt. What a downright shame. She needed to stop these childish games and focus on wining honestly, if only once. As the group settled down and began another round of drinks, Violet could sense a stranger attempting to brush a hand against her wrist. She pulled her arm away just in time, and turned toward the masculine figure outlined in grey.

“Damn well cheated, didn't you? But how?” A curious voice asked. She did not think he meant any harm but she was not going to test that theory by staying.

“A lady would never.” She brought her mauve painted lips inches away from his ear. “Regrettably, I am no lady.” With the last word spoken Violet's statuesque frame disappeared, leaving behind thin strips of purple and black swirling haze.

Something caught his eye near the solider who had played against the mysterious woman, Violet. A figure resembling the exact same lady who left in fog, donning the same attire excluding the blindfold, stood unnoticed by anyone else. After lowering her hood, fingers leisurely waved before she exited through the tent's cover. He smirked, shaking his head before carrying on. His question somewhat answered. Though, she wouldn't be able to explain her ability to "see" - blind sight, she called it - to him if she tried. How it truly worked a mystery to herself even but shadow's played a part, dark and light energy and senses.

A hand retrieved the blindfold tucked into a buckled thigh high boot. The material, placed partially over her forehead and bridge of her nose was tied behind her head, and underneath wavy russet tinted tresses. After loosing vision in her eyes long ago, the damn things still hurt to this day. Gingerly she smoothed any wrinkle out of the decorated cloth and sought out further entertainment. Although, she did not expect much given the situation. Most of the militia focused on training. White auras danced around the grounds thrusting swords either alone or among partners while magical energy flowed through the atmosphere.

Violet sighed. A bit late to hone ones skills it seemed - not that she, or the majority needed practice but the display was alluring none-the-less. Feet wandered past mages, sword maidens, and a game of dice. Seeking favor of cubes proved far trickier than deploying a decoy to glance at cards. She wouldn't take a chance this night. With all this action around her, deciding where to loiter took a bit of time. She ended up settling a few paces away from the bonfires and the dueling area. While resting against a tree a woman passing with a basket of fruit handed an apple to Violet, who kindly received it. She obtained one of her daggers and began to slice the apple into small portions and observe potential allies.

Sitting alone around a single campfire sat a bare foot woman dressed in a deep red kimono with her back to the fire as she was engrossed in a book. The said book about fire magic was floating in the air in front of the woman held in play by the cushion of air that was being controlled. There was so much happening around the camp as many did not seem prepared for the up coming events that would happen on the battlefield. Many in the camp seemed to be peasants that had been recruited to just fill the ranks for the army and were meant to die during the battle. Ren didn't see much use in training to hone her skills before a battle as all that would do was possible destroy their encampment as well as drain her of the magical energy she would need tomorrow, besides she had some reading to enjoy.

That was when she felt the air currents around the camp change and looked up from her book to see a flying air mage showing off to some onlookers. She sighed to herself as she closed her book and stuffed it back into her pack before using air to push her up to her feet and stretched when her feet touched down on the hard ground. She wanted to see this other air mage actually had some talent or if he was just showing off for some friends.

Ren arrived just as the man dropped out of the sky and before stopping himself with a cushion of air just before he hit the ground. His control of the air around him seemed to be stable and he didn't seem to have difficulty channeling his magic either. "You shouldn't burn all of your energy before the battle tomorrow." She told the man as he landed on the ground and she approached him. "You never know how much energy your going to need for the up coming fight."

Silas also watched Odessa train. "Yeah she is on both of my lists." He said with a smirk under his mask "You can tell a lot about the girl if you look at more than just her ass you know, She is strong, a brawler he build and stance shows she will defiantly hold her own. But she is nervous, I don't think she had seen real life threatening combat before." he said commenting the girl as well. Silas almost pulled Dixon back down when he stood, "Not tonight let her practice. I have an idea, and if I'm correct she will be coming to us by the end of the day tomorrow." He added with a cocky tone.

He gave a little cough as he noticed he had stayed off from his original point. "There are a few nobles that seem to have a decent upbringing and could be of use to us, but the one you should approach tonight is the priest he might be a good one to have on our side before our performance tomorrow. He might not look it but he is an old warrior and with how idiotic our commander current leader is we might need someone with a bit of tactical forte to back us up." he said, "And before you say anything I know he is not the best looker but he will be useful." Silas added "I'll go talk up another potential companion and see meet back up with you later so we can come up with a concrete plan." Silas finished before standing up and moving on. He wandered through camp for a bit but eventually found himself moving beside Violet. "Well you look calm, What are your thoughts for the upcoming battle my lady?" He asked with a smile under his mask.

---

---

His eyes pulsed a gentle blue as he observed the woman before him, something they did regardless of his control in the presence of another wind mage. With a soft look of wonder in his eyes, he recognized the garb this woman was clad in from the times traders had arrived at his monastery. Remembering how he had been taught to greet those traders he stood stiffly, bowing his head and torso respectfully.

"Hello Madam, It has been ages since I've seen a Kimono of such fine quality."
He spoke in his wispy, passive breath. Raising his head and torso, he relaxed his body as a kind smile found it's way onto his lips before continuing.

"Your concern is gratefully appreciated friend, but I can assure you these practices consume little, and are merely tedious, requiring focus, else I would not have used them. I would never risk the potential lives of others for something as inconsequential as training, nor personal gain."
With that, he pushed a soft breeze between the two of them, feeling the warmth of her aura and the cooling touch of his winds.

As the rush of wind was felt before the man even made it to her, she tensed, ready to strike whatever surprise was coming her way. Thankfully at the last moment, she recognized the presence as a man - a wind magi to be precise - forcing her to tense and twirl in the air until she had feet on the ground again, scowling. 'Jerk!' she thought to herself, wiping sweat from her brow once more and taking a moment to catch her breath. She watched as the magi shot off across the plains for a bit and settled down, only for some other woman to approach him.

Stretching her shoulders for a moment, she let out an irritated huff. 'Show off.. but I guess I shouldn't be surprised.. boys will be boys..' She had never cared for any men in the past and normally this wasn't that much of a problem, that was until she started training. Now that her body was more toned, especially in particular areas, it seemed like all the boys wanted to get her attention. All a bunch of pigs, she figured, often writing off their little games are pointless - no, she preferred the gentle, intelligent approach of a woman and even the forceful ones had an air of finesse.

At the very least, he had interjected at an opportune time since it was near the end of her training. Odessa took the time to stretch out her muscles as they cooled down, making sure they wouldn't cramp and taking out some rations as she munched on them afterwards. Now that her body was warmed up for the next day, she began to wander the camp, not seeming as exhausted as she ought to be. After passing a man trying to play Legion, she caught the end act of a spar between knights where a sudden thought struck her mind. 'Knights? I thought this was mostly militia?...' Having just finished her rations, she wrapped the crumbs up and tilted her head in interest at the mock fight came to an end. There was clapping as the pair wandered back to their tents.

It was then she realized that she didn't have much to do. Most of the men that composed the unit were what you'd expect of militia, commoners and peasants that were barely trained to hold a blade. The thought had crept into her thoughts once before when they were marching, watching a lot of them tire out before Odessa had even felt fatigue. Now though, that it was resurfacing, it painted an expression of worry on her face. She didn't like the idea of rushing in barely trained men into battle with beasts and the hard truth? There was going to be a lot of deaths. At least she had a chance, even not facing real combat, but these men and women? The thought forced her to groan in disgust.

Odessa felt sick to her stomach as she realized another thing - she didn't have friends or comrades like most of those here, but the worst of it was, despite her usual loneliness she knew it was a fruitless effort to even bother. Simply said, the reality of the situation was settling in and it was making her heart sink as the moments went by. She jumped lightly onto a large rock and just watched as people wandered by.. this might be the last moment that anyone ever saw them again, outside of battle. The last moment anyone would remember them without blood on their armors.

Dixon rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, send the sinner to meet the priest, lovely." He said and went to walk around the camp, looking for the priest. He stopped when he noticed a blonde bombshell, with her eyes covered. He smiled as he started to walk towards her, thinking of all the good pickup lines he could use. Unlike with the other girl, he knew just what he was gonna say.

"Fucking Silas." He said as he walked. "Sure, I'll go talk to the hot blonde, you go talk to the priest. Don't worry Dixon, I'll make that sacrifice for you." He mocked Silas voice as he walked. "I swear to the gods if he steals another blonde from me, I'm hiring assassins on him." He mumbled, and stopped for a second. "I wonder if there is like a deal for assassins to kill someone for another assassin? Like, hey you're an assassin too? I'll kill that guy for half price! Why don't I just kill him? Who am I talking too?" He asked, then shook his head and went back to walking.

He soon found the fireplace that Jan sitting. "Oh forgive me father, for I have sinned. A lot. I mean a lot a lot. You may wanna go to the bathroom first, we'll be here awhile." He said and sat down, pulling out his drink. "So, shall I start with the rage, lust, or should I just talk until you get scared and walk off?" He asked and took a drink, before holding it out towards Jan, in case he wanted a drink.

Ludivico chuckled at the odd gathering of people that was his regiment. Mages flashed their colorful spells. Armored men huffed and puffed as they sparred round after round. A priest gave one fiery sermon to an otherwise half-attentive crowd. Gamblers tried their luck at whatever game they could spill their coin on. It was like a small town festival put together at the very last minute, except everyone in this village is just now meeting for the first time. While the mood was relatively lighthearted, there was an air of seriousness underneath it all. As if the cordiality served as a blanket, hiding concerns for the coming battle.

The beasts made their mark at Blackstone, the bastion of mankind's defense against these foul creatures, rallying Orc armies from the dread lands like a pus infected wound. Ludivico was sailing the eastern coast, delivering a hefty stockade of arquebuses to a port town when the beasts invaded the fortress. By the time he docked at his destination the Emperor's Edict had already been declared. People in town came in droves to volunteer for the cause. Ludivico would like to tell people that he joined those honorable men with shared vigor for protecting land and country.

Truth be told, the lucrative contract he signed with the port town's recruitment officer is the only reason he's baring arms with this hodgepodge of militiamen. The sum entitled for his services was most gracious, a pot sweetened with suave negotiation, further enticed with a gift from his herbal wares. The recruitment officer probably thought Ludivico was just some ordinary merchant lout, way in over his head, and will likely die on the battlefield before he could collect the reward. Ludivico stared around at the odd militia group once more and couldn't help but agree.

"Hey, you listening?"

Ludivico glanced to his side and saw a wide-eyed soldier, one he had tuned out for the past couple of minutes.

"Of course, my friend." Ludivico flashed his dashing smile. "What did you do next?" It was a bold question. Ludivico hadn't been paying attention at all, and the aloof soldier could very well be talking about something grim like the death of a loved one. The soldier's glinting eyes proved otherwise.

"I took him by the hips and we danced like two magical antelope in a dread land oasis-"

Ludivico nodded his head ever so slowly, wishing he was back on his boat to some private island with rum and harlot in hand.

Sigh...

Jan warmed himself by the fire, trying to savor the moments of peace while they lasted. He had hoped for more penitents, though he had done what he could to console those that had come to him. To lift the sinful burdens from their shoulders, to give them a little solace. In all honesty, it was not probably so hopeless for these peasant militiamen if they could reasonably hope to survive. For green, lightly armed men, the real trick was morale. That is what holds a spear line. Inspiration. And discipline, though, admittedly, they were a little light on that front. Hopefully the smattering of more experienced soldiers would even the odds a little. The priest had seen ploughboys fight fearlessly when alongside knights and seasoned warriors. Was it a desire to appear manful before the veterans, or confidence that those veterans were invincible?

Becoming lost in his memories, weighing this skirmish against that siege, Jan almost didn't notice Dixon approach him. The fellow was rather tall and well-built, with a scar on his face. A seasoned soldier, to be sure. Probably a sellsword. He didn't have the look of a legionary.

At first, he assumed the man to be another penitent. His tone told him different, however, and Jan frowned with visible annoyance.

“I believe you may have the wrong idea of the sacrament.” the priest replied, seizing the flask and taking a heavy swig. A practiced drinker would have noticed a kinsman.

“It only counts if you're actually sorry for what you did. I suspect you are rather proud of yourself- so, no absolution.”

he passed the flask back to his visitor after taking a second swig, considering his words for a space.

“And there is nothing you could tell me that would frighten me. I did not come into this world with this cassock on, nor did I spend my boyhood singing in the choir. I was the right-hand to Mortain the Black of the Broken Blades when you were no more than a glint in your father's eye.

“I lied, gambled, cheated, murdered, stole, blasphemed, and lay with many beau-”

Jan broke off suddenly, realizing he was rambling. And probably amusing his would-be penitent. He cleared his throat, attempting to return to his usual clerical decorum.

“But my point is, I'm not proud of it.”

He did not imagine he was very convincing on that count.

Ren couldn't hide the smile on her face as the other mage bowed to her. She was surprised to meet someone this far from home that was familiar with her peoples customs. This bow was met with a slight bow of her own before she inwardly cringed from being called madam, that just made her sound so old. "Please, please no need for Madam. You can just call me, Ren."

She was glad that he was so confident in his abilities, but he spoke like someone who had little experience with actual combat. Ren could tell by how he had been putting on a show for the rest of the people and even how he tried some risky moves that could've left him in serious injury.

Ren felt the wind being controlled by the other mage brush against her and she inwardly sighed. She had not come on this expedition looking for companionship and she didn't feel like this would be a good time to start on the eve of a battle that could be her last one. She smiled at the other mage before lifting herself up on a cushion of air underneath her feet and floated a few inches off the ground. "It would appear to be getting late and I should be getting back my fire before someone makes off with my pack. I hope to fight beside you tomorrow and see what your truly capable of with your magic." The female mage drifted away towards the direction of her campfire and the comfort of her book. Maybe she had spend to much time traveling alone and had not had much human interaction in the recent years.

Violet Saint-Valeri

@Arthanus

---

“On the contrary. I never look any other way.” Violet's pearly white teeth flashed as she smiled when greeted.

“Please, call me Violet – and if we are speaking in earnest, I would venture so far as to say that the impending skirmish looks stormy at best. The commander is a fool.” The core of the apple twirled between her thumb and index finger as her once friendly tone turned stern.

She wasn't quite ready to die just yet so the fact remained, they were all being lead like cattle to the slaughter. Rounding up such a diverse group of individuals with absolutely no ties to one another and throwing them into battle straight away seemed asinine. In fact, the situation caused Violet's blood to heat out of frustration but she only had herself to blame. Just because one volunteers doesn't necessarily mean they retain any abilty of control over any of its happenings.

“What can I truly assist you with good Sir? You did not really seek out my company for battle strategies, I assume.” She turned in his direction, slightly cocking her head to the side in curiosity.

If Violet was anything, subtle was certainly not one of them. Beating around the bush or sugar coating words had never gotten her anywhere quite as fast as simply being straightforward. Not every one appreciates someone so curt but in all honesty, after leaving the order, she never cared about appeasing anyone since. Somehow, this man seemed like he would not be offended by an outspoken woman but she had been wrong about people before. Time would tell.

---

Jehan disarmed in his tent, his squire and valets helping. During the short walk back, he had once again thought of how small and poor their force really were. These were not professional soldiers, they were peasants and little more. The good mood he had from the sparring was already gone. As his battle harness came off he felt light enough to fly. As Henri started to clean his armour one of his valets gave him a cup of wine and he headed outside to speak with Charles.

"Charles" Jehan said as he approached the older man, who had also disarmed and sat on a bench next to the fire with all the archers who had finally shown up from wherever they had been.

Charles looked up from the fire, "Aye?"

"How much cavalry does our force have?" Jehan asked then carried on, rambling questions, "How many lances, how many men-at-arms? Archers? Professional men?" With a sigh, he stopped himself. He was concerned, for if this force could not hold up, most if not all of them would end up dead and in reality; peasants or not, there was little point in dying when manpower was needed.

Charles rubbed his chin as he thought, considering what he had seen. He was, according to Jehan, a most useful asset in any situation. He had an eye for details, and a good memory, he was handy in a fight and a good friend. "Lances. At least one." he said with a chuckle. "As for cavalry... Perhaps twenty if you include us, though most of them are very lightly armed. Men-at-arms, even less though I believe there is a fair number of professional or semi-professional fighting men though it does not pass half. Most men here barley know how to hold a spear the right way around."

Jehan drank from his cup, savouring the taste of the wine. It was definitely not the best, but it wasn't bad. He did not respond to Charles at first. The answer he had received had been expected but it did not improve his mood. At last he said "Very well, I'll think of a plan to survive this. Don't stay up all night, I need you all in top form in the morning."

Jehan returned to his tent. Henri sat at one end, polishing the breastplate. Jehan sat down on a stool, sipping his wine and observing his squire. Henri was a good squire, if a bit overzealous at times. "Nervous for tomorrow?" Jehan asked.

Henri looked up from his work, "Not yet." he said with a shrug.

Jehan smirked, "Fair enough, just stay close tomorrow." As Henri finished his work and left to sleep Jehan sighed, trying to think of something that could win them the battle, or more likely, save as many men as possible in defeat. The commander could be damned for all he cared.

---

It was an interesting spectacle for Amare as he watched his fellow brothers-in-arms prepare for the battle which was about to commence just a little less than a day from now, a battle some could consider an easy task though not without losses. Amare had known war for a while since taking the call of duty to defend the last bastion of mankind just fortnight ago, in his few encounters of taking on foes since his first days as a Men of the Scarlet Coats, a mercenary guild he had officially left another two years prior to taking the freelance and began his search for some since of individualism. Though that was only so short lived, many men who could say they are truly self-sufficient at such a young age were often the ones who either made history, or have wished they did. And so, it was back to jumping from one guild to the next for Amare, hoping for a chance of bottling the fame as those written down in history and told around the campfires of warriors who aspired to be the their idols as their names echoed in eternity. Amare was mostly self-made though it would take very laborious condition in order to bottle the fame and reek the fortune of eternal life in order to become truly one of the greatest at his occupation. Eagerly, Amare was destined to prove himself in battle as he so dreamt of.

What a colorful group Amare thought to himself half optimistically as he walked around the camp of equally eager young men and women, standing to fend their country against a sea of troubles that threatens the last of mankind. Though the same thoughts could not be expressed in how the small band of warriors were unorganized. It one be one thing if the king had hired and called upon a reasonably experienced group of warriors who could substantiate the defense of mankind though these in general were no such warriors. They had been gathered of commoners, peasants mostly who hadn't the knowledge of anything more to battle than a fistfight over bread and that was not to necessarily be exaggerated. The empire needed as many men as they could, this was true, and the last of man could have easily levied men from villages, though they exhausted all resource of men in order to do so. All that could be what was left of mankind could be summed by the gathering of any warrior willing to fight his or her race. That was not to necessarily to say that it was a pathetic group of soldiers, it was certainly better than Levies of fresh recruits. They were also a handful of: Experienced guild members, trained knights of lesser born sons, mages, and even a priest who had kindly offered his services before a battle, though anything but coming close to being members of the King's Guard and Amare would rather pray to the Gods himself. Amare had sparred with the men who were quite experienced and rather skilled with the sword and he could himself say they were not terrible, though some were initially brought up of not knowing which side of the sword to hold onto. With time, however, it would definitely benefit mankind's last stance, but to send them into battle surly meant the ultimate test for those eager enough to prove themselves or die trying, jeopardizing a great defeat. Luckily, it was only a hundred men. A hundred men, though diverse in their skills - preparing themselves to fight what historians would consider 'the good fight'.

Those who so often pride themselves in whatever prowess they dare to try to express and convince to themselves or others of are very rarely often as good as they think they are and a country seeking not to depose of whatever warrior were left still alive to defend their lands could say it would be just to weed out such commoners and what many could call 'mediocre' in order to benefit the higher ranking, more experienced men though that could not be said for a nation that serves as the last bastion of mankind. Cannon fodder could only be considered Cannon Fodder if only there were so many to spare and at this moment of time, a race of people on the edge of being conquered and possibly extinct could not afford to do so. No, the could-be Last Empire of Man needed whomever they could take to arms and those convinced rightly so by propaganda could not resist the call of duty. Whatever lied ahead, whatever task that needed to be done, Amare was ready for it if it meant either death or another chance to climb the ladder of fortune. Only time would tell, and his experiences would certainly pave a way to redemption.

The camp was beginning to be swallowed by the departure of the setting sun and tranquil sun that began to set over the horizon and cast the shadow over the land. Throughout his two weeks of training in this guild after being placed by his recruiter, he had not bothered to know his fellow companions for too long despite the occasional sparring session which were far too often. This was something he regretted as he was usually a quiet fellow. Often, Amare would spend days shadow-fighting, training his muscles for hitting the perfect strike though very little spending time on how to attack and defend against a moving target. As the days passed, more and more often did the recruits come in, lesser trained and then some.

Tonight, he had spent another evening in solitude, praying to the Gods, and put his blade to whetstone to ready himself for the morrow morning which was surely to come. While coming back to his campfire after a break to relieve himself, Amare overheard the conversations of the Jehan de Challon, his squire, and the accompanying coutilier. He had already known the Challon family from his father, the Count, who had offered the Men of Scarlet Coats a percentage of coin that needed to be collected from peasants at a nearby village, though never quite meeting the fourth-born son of the family. Any man experienced enough to judge an army such as the one he was in, Jehan very much came to the same conclusions as Amare did. Amare himself had only one horse, Dustin who as almost as slow as a mule, a horse who he had spent only three months with since Attamir had fallen in battle to a band of raiders another month before. Though not as well as riding as a nobleman, Amare considered himself proficient enough to fight with a spear and while riding horseback, as lightly armored as he was though there was only so much boiled leather could take in the violence of a battle against orcs. If this fight were to be so destined for defeat, he could try to fight off as many orcs as he could and if needed be, retreat and run for his life to fight another day. Amare soon after, turned his back when he thought Jehan had noticed him and walked back towards his own tent, passing by the soldiers he will be standing next to in battle on the morrow. How many he would see again, he could not be certain, for Amare could only hope for the best, both for him and the band of warriors he was to stand side by side with.