Manga's coloring still found courage to glisten in the shadows of the rubbish fields. His spirit was brighter than the pale flame losing stamina in his owner's heart as his reigns were tied. A sigh pressed through his muscular snout in a large bout of warm breath against his owner's calloused hands. One of those hands patted the horse in a thankful, melancholy manner. Knowledge of honor and devotion were prevalent in the foreboding gesture. None of the matter of what may happened, a soldier down or not, neither shall give up any hope on the battlefield. A kiss of peace was gently preserved on the snout of Manga, and the steed saw his owner off. Only his ears could see where his owner was now, amongst all of the other horses and their equites.


Still prostrating in the fields, Theodore clenched his fists together. His knuckles were circled into the ground for an easy lift, and his pistol was stationed closely in his right fist. A prayer was beading through his mind, squeezing over his left wrist, having nervously twisted the black wool rope around his fingers and hand and wrist in heavy anticipation. The beating of the earth, the gentle ground that had been made for love and wonder, which provided such life and joy in unison like the Ever-Vrigin herself, was pulling his heart deeper and deeper into the graves of torment and fear. He could hear the heaviness of the men around him, especially the prayers. He was beginning to think, the pounding of his heart was the drumbeat of the soldiers' hearts all coming together. The feeling was strong and powerful. Theodoros thought this to be the battlefield's semanterion. It came quicker and quicker, not heeding to the words of the Cornet, "Steady... Steady..." Death was knocking at their door, and the horses knew before they did.

Theodoros' eyes were dry, staring through the brush. His breaths were barely moving against the sod in front of him. His teeth were trembling, against each other, and he was reminded, in sickness of the gnashing of teeth in Gehenna. Flexing his arm, he wanted to cross himself, but instead he held his breath, squeezing several knots of the Angelic Salutation through his self-induced apnea, hoping on the hem of the Theotokos she would interced with great mercy on the behalf of his comrades and him.

A shot rung out, knocking a hussar from his saddle. The hussar collapsed limp and dead to the ground. Theodoros felt the breath that he had been holding press further into his lungs, tying his throat shut. His body bowed lower to the ground, clenching his grip. The shot rung not like the chime before the start of a service, and the hussar did not fall to the ground like a man reverencing an icon. The line of time was sharp and cut through Theodoros' thoughts. Flurry of movement began charging in trumpets of commotion, and a blink suddenly separated all of the Godgiven colors into their very own categories, until there were only two versions of every color: black and white. This had happened to him several times during training from the harsh intensity during training. However, he could distinctly smell the difference between this and the child's play they had carefully learned back in Nikomedia. If not the deepest desperation of vanities being hollered for life, it was the realization that he actually had no other option than to use his fallen mate as cover, blood slicking from several bullet holes. Never mind the loss. His struggle was for the Empire, and the sacrifice was necessary.

Guarding his position, the ground continued to rumble. His own wrist was stiff as he watched a bullet pass into the enemy His spirit was shaken, and he had no time to decipher the metaphysical aspect. Either he had killed the man or wounded him. He was certain he wished it killed the man, and not knowing was a blessing and a curse. At least, if he rendered the man useless, his duty would be honored. I pray Thee, O Merciful Lord! Another shot was fired, and this time, he watched as the enemy collapsed in pain. A comrade finished the job, with no hesitation or breaking of tempo. It was meek and right to watch such a victorious slay. This was no time to fall into the pits of despair.

His body rolled over, finally, feeling the heat and heavy galloping of the horses. He must get himself Manga. His line was going to be broken soon. Orders were shouting through the chaos while he shrugged the corpse from him. His large frame flexed through the stampede. He remained as low to the ground as possible, praying through a cold sweat that clung to his uniform. His mind raced faster than his body could move, and with every moment, so split in direction, he realized he was not with Manga, yet. Prayers still pressed in him, except for when he finally reached his noble steed. He slung himself onto Manga, whipping as fast as he could. Steadying himself, he knew he must steady his mind. The fighting had only just begun, and his first conquest – to his horse, had left him prayerless. Clenching his palms against his reigns, he could feel the heat from his prayer rope form into his palms. Send, O Lord, Thy Archangel Michael to help Thy servant Theodoros, Heels clicked against the horses body,"And to deliver me from all my enemies, visible and invisible!" His voice grunted loudly as the horse took flight.

The moment the Cornet fell off his horse, so did Ioannis jump. He ran over to the stricken leader, and tapped a cheek. "'ere, Captain, you awake?" He said jokingly, before realization dawned. The Lance Corporal instinctively crossed himself before he looked left and right, sweat starting to form on his brow. "Bloody elites eh?" he muttered before standing to his full height and looking at the men that now in turn look to him. He turned back to the corpse, and as if muttering last words to the man he quickly looked through what he had. Satisfied he had nothing else valuable, John quietly tucked his former leader's pistols into his uniform in discreet places.

The Varangoi clapped his hands together and sucked in air through his teeth before letting out a long sigh. "Your previous leader - Heavenly Empire to him - is dead. I am taking temporary command until a replacement is found. Understood?" After he presumably had the agreement of all of his now underlings, he mounted up once more and drew his sword with a dramatic wave before he sliced the air and pointed to where the combat was presumably occurring. "We'll mourn later, now, let's get the invader! Hurrah!"

Spurring his horse with somewhat more caution he had it gallop as fast as he could towards the site of battle. Admittedly, that may have been getting things rushed, but that didn't matter. He had to set an example, what with the men now undoubtedly demoralized so much.

Thus he rode on, occasionally whistling as he did so and giving a twirl of his sword in the air in preparation for battle. He was ready for whatever would great him, friend or foe.

SPEROS

You fly down the hill through a thin fog of powder smoke. There are perhaps half a dozen Hussars left standing and they have quickly regrouped. A figure in a black greatcoat with gold trim barks orders to his fellows from the center of their line, gesturing furiously with his stunted saber.

The Hussars spot you when you are halfway down the hill, and you feel a cry tear itself from your throat as you rush headlong towards them. Your own saber is clenched tightly in your right fist, though you do not recall drawing it, and you raise it above your head and spin it fiercely through the air.

Whatever the Hussars expected, it is certainly not this; two of your foes panic and break out of the line at the same time a third is picked off by musket fire from your fellows still on the hill.

You brace yourself for impact.

IOANNIS

You leave your unconscious officer and ride onwards. After a bare couple minutes of riding, you and your men break through the treeline to find the opposite hillside crawling with German and Galician soldiers. A somewhat fortified bridge stands inbetween them and you, and on it stand some eight or so men in Imperial Dragoon uniforms - the other one of your patrols. As you watch, a cavalry charge by half a dozen German Hussars is repulsed, but not before they cut down an unfortunate Dragoon with their sabers.

Your fellows on the bridge are clearly hard-pressed, and sorely require whatever aid you may render them.

Lieutenant Karras

Of course, only a few minutes prior to his arrival at the east gate, Milos had been accosted by a rather unexpected individual. A man he vaguely recognized, but only when he spoke did he realize exactly who it was - the Spaniard! Milos's firs instinct was to narrow his eyebrows in suspicion. After all, he had not been expected back by now.

But the Spaniard wasted no time, and immediately launched into an explanation. By the end of it, Milos had been clenching his teeth in frustration, and perhaps a bit of confusion.

"Which Cornet?" Milos had immediately demanded. He had sent two, but if this man was indeed the last survivor of his patrol, that meant Konyk was dead. "How many of my men are left at the bridge? What are the numbers of the enemy force? And why in God's name did your superior see fit to disobey my orders!?"

Delgado shook his head slightly at the barrage of questions. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, and he was tired of superiors who had to ask a ton of questions. He managed to sit up straighter in his saddle and then took a breath.

"The Cornet is alive. I was dispatched as part of a smaller patrol, three of us. We were attacked by a unit of five lancers and at least twice as many infantry. I don't know how many others there were." He took another breath and then continued. "As for why he disobeyed you? I don't know sir."

He fell silent and sagged back in his saddle again.

Lieutenant Karras

Milos's frown deepened, and gears in his head seemed to start turning. He had been about to embark on a simple scouting mission, and now he just found out two fifths of his Bandon were at risk of being annihilated. Naturally, his first instinct was to ride to their rescue, yet that instinct he immediately squashed. His orders had been to ride elsewhere. Yet, it still didn't sit right with him.

"I have been ordered elsewhere, trooper." Milos told him, his voice suddenly cold and even, once again. "Take your report directly to the Captain. Give him my compliments, and tell him exactly what happened. Then inform him that my force is assembled at the east gate and ready to depart south. However, if he believes the current predicament to be more urgent, I can take my men northwest instead. Do not delay. Hurry."

And with that, Milos turned his horse away from the Spaniard and was about to launch into a trot, but then he stopped, almost as if having second thoughts. He looked back at the Spaniard, his expression no less serious or monotone than it was mere moments ago, and his tone once again betrayed no emotion despite the sincerity of his next words. "You did good to arrive so quickly. I thank you. If the Captain does not promote you himself, I will advise him to do so upon my return."

Then he spurred his mount onward.

---

And that brought him to his current situation. Waiting at the gate for the arrival of his men... as well as the Captain's response.

KARRAS

Your men meet you by the east gate. Immediately you can sense they are all tough, grizzled men; likely veterans of the Dragoons. Leading them are two Cornets, one a young bespectacled man who fidgets constantly on his horse, and the other a flamboyant looking fellow with an incredible mustache and an immaculately cared-for uniform. They introduce themselves as Cornet Doukos and Cornet Tornikes. The latter spurs his horse closer to you and, with a twirl of his mustache, leans towards your ear to speak.

"Captain Philolakes believes the mission towards Istrus to be of the utmost importance. However, with the change of circumstances he has decided to pursue a more aggressive doctrine in dealing with the enemy. He requests you rendezvous with your picket stationed at the bridge, forfeit the position, and take that force to confront the enemy spotted near Istrus. The Captain will reroute patrols in the area to cover your absence."

"Encircle them, get them from behind, get them!" Screamed the Lance-Corporal, as he rode on. He had to think fast in such a case, but luckily there wasn't much need for thinking. They had caught the enemy by partial surprise, and they'd show them what it meant to face an elite of the true Romans.

He quickly placed his sword in his teeth (by the handle, for he knew only idiots and writers - arguably the same - thought soldiers stuck blades in their mouth) and quickly snapped off two pistol shots at any enemies who were closer to trees or other terrain that could not be navigable by horse. Just as quickly he put them away and drew his sword once more.

He swung the blade in the air a few more times with a meaningless scream of battle, before giving off two quick whistles. As he approached the enemy he screamed "Ei Fritz! Ein gefe til eseis!" hoping the old Varangian tongue passed down by his kin still shared enough German roots for them to understand. As the lines began to close, he greeted his teeth as he prepared to cut down the first kraut he got to, aiming for his neck to get the head right off.

Delgado could only smile faintly in thanks and offer a quick salute before Karras turned and trotted way. The man was brusque but business like, Delgado couldn't fault him for that. Direct and to the point were a few things he appreciated.

Almost dead from the ambush and the long ride, he dragged himself to the Captains quarters and made his report. The response was much the same, though the possibility of a commendation was mentioned. Delgado wouldn't have cared if they offered him the Empire at that point, he just wanted to sleep. The Captain, perhaps seeing the tension in Delgado that could break a man, spoke quietly and ordered the young trooper to find a bunk for the night. Delgado had gratefully saluted and staggered from the Captains office.

Thusly dismissed, Delgado made his way back outside and half walked, half staggered, his way to the stables, where a groom took his horse. The stable was warm and dry, the comforting scent of horses and hay filled his nostrils. It reminded him of home. He made his way down the long stalls until he found Nubarrón. The big roan was sound asleep, his head drooping against the wall, a mirror image of Delgado's own feelings. He had been rubbed down and carefully groomed. Delgado made a mental note to thank the man who had done so.

Delgado slung his sword over the edge of the stable wall next to his saddle, which has been polished, and carbine, which has been cleaned, before sliding slowly down the wooden wall and into a pile of hay in one corner. He took a long drink from his canteen, screwed the cap back on, blinked a couple of times, and dropped into a dreamless sleep.



Delgado woke abruptly in the early hours of the morning as the strong smell of horse urine cut through the air. Nubarrón had clearly also woken and was relieving himself on the floor nearby. Delgado was immensely sore and groaned as he levered himself to his feet.

"Morning Trooper." Came a cheerful voice from nearby and Delgado looked up to find himself staring into the face of the same groom he'd seen the day before.

"Morning." Delgado responded, glancing at his neatly maintained gear. "That your work?"

The groom smiled shyly. "Yea. Thought it was the least I could do. We heard about the ambush from some other wounded fellows who came in last night. Well done!"

Delgado felt himself grow red as he waved away the compliment. "It was nothing... Here, thank you for keeping an eye out on my kit." He rummaged around in his coin purse and drew out some unfamiliar Roman coins, sorting through them and handing over a collection of them.

The grooms eyes almost popped out of his head at the coins. It was clear he was far more aware of their value than Delgado but it didn't matter now, the coins were given.

"Any chance you could find me some food?"

The boy nodded and was gone like a shot. Delgado smiled slightly and then began to rub down Nubarrón with straw. The big horse nuzzled him and whinnied softly. Delgado found him a bucket of water and, while the horse drank his fill, he began to replace his saddle. He checked over his carbine and sword. By the time the groom returned he was dragging himself back into the saddle. His legs ached, his back was sore, his arm felt like someone had tried to ram a lance through it, but he was alive.

The groom handed him over a generous bag of scourged food, Delgado was sure he didn't want to know who it had been stolen from, and a gourd of wine. Delgado nodded his thanks and kicked back his heels. He rode out of the stable, through the gate and passed a couple of sentries who gave him a cheer as he went, and northward toward battle.

Lieutenant Karras

Milos nodded as he received his new orders, feeling a slight sense of relief which he did not show. His men might not be fond of him, and some of his Cornets may indeed be too reckless for someone with no experience, but he was not comfortable with letting him die. However, had the captain ordered him to continue south, he would have carried out that order nonetheless.

"Very well." He said at once. Then he turned to his new command. Raising his voice just loud enough for all of them to hear, he spoke. "Dragoons, your comrades to the north are hard-pressed, while the enemy gathers in the south. It falls to us to relieve them so we can deal with this southern threat. Form up!"

Once the men had done so, he spoke his next command. "At the trot, advance!" And then they set off, two rows of six with Milos himself at the front.

Enemies to the south, enemies to the north... what is the meaning of this? He found himself thinking. Either the enemy planned to strike the towns from both sides simultaneously, or one force was only meant to be a diversion while the other scouted for the main army. Or perhaps no attack was coming at all, and they just wanted to harass and harry them to make it harder to establish a foothold?

He continued ruminating on it until they reached the western gate, and once they had exited the city itself, his mind went back into focus. The last thing he wanted was to distract himself and get caught off guard by a sudden ambush. Even though he knew such an event was unlikely - they were, after all, in an open field, and possessed double the numbers of a six-man patrol. Nevertheless, he ordered his men to keep an eye out.

IOANNIS

You smash right through the surprised soldier's guard, your saber cutting deep into his neck. Hot blood spurts onto your face, and you have time to glance at your troops as they shout "Nobiscum Deus!" and charge at a small group of infantrymen. The enemy manages to get off a panicked volley, which drops a few of your men from their saddles, before your Dragoons crash into them. The infantrymen not sent flying by charging horses are quickly dismembered by flashing sabers.

Your comrades on the bridge cheer and fire off a volley of their own, before mounting up themselves and charging the left flank of the enemy position.

The coalition forces are on the backfoot now, half of them in a state of near-panic. Still, they outnumber you and your allies two-to-one. If they get a chance to regroup, it could be disastrous. Keeping them disorganized and confused will be vital if you hope to run them off. How will you move forwards?

DELGADO

Per the Captain's orders, you have been temporarily reassigned to Cornet Abd-al-Hakim's command, an African from the eastern provinces of the Empire. Unfortunately for you, the Cornet is currently on patrol, leaving you to go find him. Alone. After your encounter yesterday, you would consider this nearly suicidal, but the Captain has assured you there have been no reports of enemy presence in the area, as Cornet Abd-al-Hakim's route is more towards the coastline, halfway to Istrus.

Thankfully you have a map and you know the Cornet's patrol route, so theoretically it should be a fairly simple matter to find your new comrades. To your knowledge, they are roughly four hours away by horseback.

KARRAS

You remain vigilant along your route, despite the eerie quiet you encounter. The heightened level of awareness takes a toll on your men, and they are clearly uneasy, many of them keeping their carbines cocked and loaded in case of enemy attack. Some even rest their carbines in their laps, unwilling to risk the half-second it would take to remove the weapon from the leather holster resting above their mount's right shoulder.

Regardless, you see nothing and encounter nothing besides birds and insects, the latter of which seem to find nothing more delightful than ramming themselves into your eyes and nose, or incessantly biting your neck. Your horse is constantly snorting and flicking its tail at the abominable creatures, so at least you know you aren't alone in your misery.

It has been some time since you departed Tomis when you hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of musketfire and fighting. You are perhaps a mile or two from the bridge now, and your men and horses are tired but fit. You have no idea what the composition of the enemy is, and for all you know your comrades could be surrounded -- thus it may be prudent to advance cautiously. On the other hand, if you dally too much your comrades could be overrun by the time you arrive.

ABD-AL-HAKIM

The flat, forested plains of northern Thrace and Dacia are quite different than the rolling deserts of your homeland. It is a stark contrast in color, in climate, and most of all in wildlife. There is vegetation everywhere, birdsong fills the air, and insects of all sorts seem determined to attack you constantly.

You are perhaps half a mile from the black sea, patrolling along the coastline between Tomis and Istrus. You and your command were sent out two days ago, and at your last checkpoint you were informed that you would be scouting the route to Istrus in order to prepare for a subjugation force being sent to the area in order to check enemy presence reported there.

If the enemy were to anticipate such an action -- and it is plausible that they will -- they may attempt to set up an ambush, or some sort of picket forces along the way. Thus it is important that you search trail for areas that seem a likely point of ambush. To your knowledge, there are three such areas along your route: one is at the crossroads near the end of your route, another is a bridge crossing near Tomis, and the final one is a small valley in the middle of your route.

Lieutenant Karras

As he neared his destination, the distinct-yet-distant sound of musketry became audible. If any of Milos's men had been flagging or half-asleep, they were now fully alert. Milos himself was actually relieved - it meant his men were still holding out. Complete silence would have been even more alarming.

"Dragoons!" He shouted back to the men behind him. "Form up on me!" His men moved to obey, bringing their mounts closer and forming a single line. He would not order a more advanced formation just yet, as it would surely shake apart by the time he reached the enemy. "At the canter!" Milos shouted, spurring his mount forward.

It felt strange to be riding Southeast, away from the first battle he had ever been in. He knew fighting was taking place between Imperial and Roman troops, one could not fail to hear the crackle of muskets and the occasional deeper roar of a cannon. It just happened to be the opposite direction he was riding.

He had no doubt there were further enemies out there however, refugee's were streaming into Tomis from every direction and, more often than not, he found himself riding on the verge of the road rather than trying to force his way through the miserable masses. He got many dark looks and he could not blame the people who gave them. They were being forced from their homes and their very livelihoods were being threatened by the arrival of the Imperial army.

Occasionally he encountered Provosts or a squad of infantry holding vital locations, all of them pointing him Southeast as he sought to catch up to his fellow cavalrymen. The infantry he encountered grinned at him as he rode past, one even throwing up a small satchel that contained some pungent yet delicious German sausage. presumably taken off a dead Roman.

At last he spotted a collection of dismounted dragoons clustered around a tall black man who sported a wicked facial scar beneath the brim of his helmet. It could only be the cornet. He reined in as he approached and dropped from the saddle, nodding to the black man and handing over the paper he had been given by the Captain.

"Cornet Abd-al-Hakim. Trooper Delgado reporting for duty."

The Lance-Corporal spat as arterial  blood went into all of his facial orifices from mouth, to noise, to his eyes and ears. Ioannis quickly recovered his blade and raised it into the air for comrades and enemies alike to see its ichor shine, and to prepare to bring it down once more. 

However developing events forced his hand quite quickly once more. His endangered allies had fired a volley and went off on a supporting counter charge at the enemy, but not before they sent a volley of their own. Ioannis ducked as bullets whistled around him, glad of the apparent reprieve until one ball went into his shoulder. The officer gave a pained cry that turned into an angry roar as he realized it wouldn't do well for the men to be demoralized now of all times. He glanced down to see the deformed thing intact and relatively far out of him to even pull out with his fingers if he so wanted. But not now. "Return fire, now!" He yelled, sword under armpit as he cracked off one of his own pistols. He made the obvious inflection of urgency for aiming was less important than just getting the shots off right now. They had to soften the enemy for the counter charge of the Byzantines upon the bridge so that it would slam into a disorganized enemy rather than one that managed to draw blades, shoot, or affix bayonets. 

Depending on the man, the soldiers under his command would have from zero to three loaded pistols left at the moment, averaging to a pessimistic one. Thus he had to keep those as a reserve to either fire at the routing enemy, or to once more quickly disorganize them if things turned in their tide again. For now, sharpened steel would have to do the trick. 

"Get the closest one to you, but look for the officers!" He screamed, as he himself looked for distinctive markings. He briefly considered himself at the same risk for even though he was not ornamented as a leader, his shouting of what were obviously words of command most likely gave him away at least to some of the enemy. As he raced forward he put on a grim expression as he prepared himself for the next cuts with his sword. He leaned slightly to his right and stared at the closest enemy to him on that side, as though he were about to try and cut them down. In fact it would be feint, for he would quickly make use of the fact he was actually going forth straight and not leaning too much, so that he could quickly turn to the left and cut down the unprepared enemy further along his left side. His first kill was based on sheer surprise, now he had to use a measure of skill hoping the enemy wasn't experienced enough to catch his feint for what it was. If they did, Ioannis would be between two enemies who could cut him up at their leisure if he didn't act fast. Through gritted teeth, the NCO glanced around again hoping to catch a glimpse of an enemy officer before turning back for the moment of truth, blade swinging for his coming trick.
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