---

Plenmos 21, 5061

It is a cool, windy day in southeastern Nepharie. An eastward wind blows across the soft, gently-rolling plains, rustling the leaves of the sycamore trees and turning the long golden grass into a stormy sea. A roaring gust catches the sloped wall of a canvas tent, rattling the structure. Within the tent, Captain Adam Bradshaw awakens. He groans, his back sore from sleeping in a bedroll on the hard ground, his short black hair and beard a wild mess. Slowly, he rolls to his hands and knees, rises up, and opens the weighted flaps of the tent. It is dawn, and orange light is pouring over the horizon like a flood. Adam blinks in the sunlight and listens to the quiet of the morning: wind rushing across wide grasslands. In the distance, a mourning dove coos from a tree. Swallows excitedly flit across the empty sky, swift as darts as they cut swirling patterns through the air. Adam sighs. Now, the day is beautiful, but later, he knows, it will be soaked with blood.

Slowly, the camp comes to life, folks awakening and preparing for the day. Adam retreats into his tent and dresses; he pulls on a padded, long-sleeved tunic and a pair of trousers, then dons the same hauberk of chain mail he has worn for ten years. It weighs heavy on his shoulders, but it brings him comfort, like a weighted blanket. He pulls on armored greaves and laces them, fastens the leather straps of his pauldrons across his chest. He pulls on rerebraces, fitted to his bicep musculature but in need of adjusting with leather cords, then couters, and finally plated gauntlets. As his fingers slide into the chain mail gloves covered with plate, he makes his hand into a fist. Nothing grants the feeling of invulnerability more than a fist of metal.

With that, Adam runs through his hair and beard with a fine-toothed comb and brushes his teeth with a frayed stick and crushed cloves. Prepared for the day, he steps out into a camp brimming with activity. Emrys, the quartermaster, sits around a cauldron of beans over the fire, ladling out bowls-full to each mercenary. As Adam walks towards the meeting-tent, wide and high-ceilinged, with a large wooden table and chairs within, he salutes to his fellow soldiers wordlessly. He takes a bowl of beans and a spoon from Emrys with a smile and sits down at the head of the table. Slowly, the other soldiers file in one by one, and the day's tactics meeting beings.

---

Captain Bradshaw glowered down at a map setting upon a wooden table in the center of the Iron Pride's meeting tent. He sat at the head of the table, head resting upon his right fist. By now, the rest of the company had arrived for the morning's meeting and was finishing up their breakfast. Across the table from Adam, on the opposite end, sat Amelia, who sipped from a wineskin to wash down her breakfast. Amelia was not a planner— she seldom found anything to contribute in meetings such as these, and from time to time wished she could spend the morning sleeping or training instead of staring at a map. Yet, here she was, frowning over a half-eaten bowl of beans and blinking the sleep from her eyes. She didn't know how her father did mornings.

After a few moments of silence, Adam spoke up:

"Hope you've all had a good morning," He said. "As you've all been briefed previously, we're being called today to retake a watchtower guarding the trade route between Nepharie and Jikari. It's been taken by a gang of highwaymen, your usual bandit punkery, and is now being used as a base of operations. Considering the gravity of their crimes, the Nepharie government has branded these folk extra legem, so feel free to kill if you have to. Scouts from the local governor have provided us a map of the local area." Adam gestured towards the map in the center of the table with an open, metal-covered hand.



"Each square upon the map is roughly fifty feet," Adam continued. "From our reconnaissance, we've identified eight external guardsmen, though we know there's a ninth, a captain, within the tower. Normally, four of those men travel down to the road to ambush carts, but the governor has instituted roadblocks up and downstream of the area to prevent collateral damage to merchants or citizens. The four men atop the tower have crossbows, most likely taken from the stock within the watchtower, while the four at the bottom have three boar-spears and one hatchet. These are not exactly knights of the realm we're up against." Amelia snorted from the other side of the table. Adam couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Now, as usual, we like our tactics planning to be a collaborative effort, so let's get some input here." Adam said, leaning back in his chair.

The gravity of the day's mission was not lost on the company's chaplain. The black robed priest was up since before dawn in meditation and prayer, and finding himself once again in solemn contemplation over the map and the figures and units scrawled and placed over it. The heat of the coming day was beginning to rise, and he knew that the Jikari sun would not favor a drawn out battle for the fighters of the company. His fingers were tracing the distance from the treeline to the tower, then resting on the figures representing the bandits.

He looked around at the company, assessing what their strengths and weaknesses were -- what little he knew of them, at least. There were many archers in the company, that much he knew. That is something they should capitalize on, though they would be at a disadvantage when firing up at the crossbowmen, who possessed the high ground and tower battlements. Still, taking them out would ensure the fewest casualties. With Iroh’s blessing, there wouldn’t be any.

“The tower was made to be a defensible position,” Irae said with surprising levity, as he set down a cup of hot black tea in front of Amelia with a knowing look, “but they’re looking for trade caravans, not armed battalions. If we charge in and they see our numbers, the men on the ground will retreat inside the tower and lock themselves in while their crossbows fire down on our people.”

His finger returned to the treeline and continued, “What we can do is have a couple of our own archers and crossbowmen fire shots at the crossbowmen manning the battlements first, from the cover of the treeline while the rest of our troops stay a bit further behind. It's no longer than two-hundred yards, so your bows should make it, but they won't be easy shots. If the men on the ground think we’re only a few people that they can take care of, the moment we lure them over is the moment we gain control of the battlefield. We can then take them out and immediately take the tower with few to no arrows taking out our own men.”

His critical eyes scanned over the men and women in the company. Having only been with this group for a few months, he only knew what a few of them were capable of and wasn’t necessarily filled with confidence, but he’d try to keep them from needlessly dying regardless. They probably thought similar of him, who didn’t look the part of the fighter and smelled too nice, like sandalwood, and too clean to be telling them what to do. But he hoped that through respecting the men and women he was serving, he’d be respected in return. Among the crowd he was scouring, faeries were scarce in the company but they were around. The ability to fly was a tactical advantage that they ought to capitalize on.

“Those with the ability to fly should probably scale the walls and enter the tower from the top while the ground troops enter the tower from the ground. It’s a classic pincer maneuver used to great effect in the Siege of Maceron. Any arguments?”

---

As a farmer would rise, Senna rose with the birds. Not that it was some primal instinct to do so, but because of the noise. Back in the caves, there was no sort of sound but the echos of the elders. Those who'd grown to rise with the sun, because that meant it was time to tend the crops. While at first it was hard for Senna to adjust to the life of the beings above ground, now that she'd been out of the caves for years she thought herself just like the elders.

So, when the early birds began to look for their worms, Senna rose as well. For the first few moments of the morning, Senna sat outside of her tent to enjoy the dark. The cool breeze touched her skin, and she felt her hair rustling against her ears and the leaves of the trees against their branches. The chirping of the birds illuminated the surrounding tents in soft vibrations. She could just so slightly hear her comrades awakening too.

The air began to warm, and Senna knew it was time for the sun to rise. Which meant it was time for Senna to grab her coverings. A soft sigh, and then her body moves into the tent. She pulls on her cloak first, her gloves and their wrappings next, slips her feet into her boots, and ties her jingasa over her head to finish her morning routine. By the time she makes it out of the tent, she can feel the heat of the sun against her cloak.

The crackle of the fire brings the smell of breakfast her way, and she uses the scent to guide her to Emrys. "Morning, Emrys." She said as her hands reach for the bowl she knew he would offer. While he usually brought the meals to them in the tent, Senna preferred not to make him walk all that way from the cauldron. As easy as it would be to walk with sight, Senna was sure even the abled grew tired of it. She gives Emrys a nod before she turns. With extreme caution, Senna allows the wandering feet and morning greetings to show the path to the meeting tent.

Her feet barely make a sound as she slips into the tent, but she clicks her tongue twice. Once to let Adam know she was inside, and a second time to let her know where her chair sat at the table this morning. She'd learned quickly not to expect the chair or table to be in the same place twice. Her bowl slides onto the table first before she climbs into the chair, and once she's comfortable she places the beans in her lap.

---

By the time Captain Bradshaw speaks, Senna has finished her breakfast. To get more comfortable in her seat, she sets the bowl onto the table again and rests a foot on the base of the seat. Her elbow is propped on her knee as she turns her head in the direction of Adam's voice.

Highwaymen. The usual "bandit punkery" was an apt term for them. A kill order, too? These guys must have really pissed off the Nepharie. Although, she wasn't surprised. While darklings usually cherished life, it wasn't the same above ground. Senna frowned lightly when a map was mentioned. She assumed the swish of movement from Adam was his way of gesturing to the item, but Senna (obviously) thought that maps were useless. Even if someone took the time to describe them to her, she often found the terrain to be different than it was drawn.

"Each square upon the map is roughly fifty feet..."

Senna listened and took note of any descriptions made. Eight guards outside, one captain in the tower. Another four with arrows up above. Senna smirked. Ceri can take them out for us. Or I could climb up when nobody's looking and give them a surprise greeting. She heard Amelia snort and her smirk grew wider. This should be a piece of cake.

The Priest's voice piped up to her left, and Senna nodded in agreement with what he had to say. "It's no longer than two-hundred yards..." Senna smiled. Thank Gallor someone here knows how to explain distance. Squares were helpful, sure, but they meant nothing if Senna had no idea how many squares there were.

"Those with the ability to fly... while the ground troops enter the tower from the ground." Why weren't we given the ability of flight? "Any arguements?"

Senna's ears perked up for a moment as she waited for someone to pipe in, but she had a question of her own. "I'm assuming I'm a part of the group that enters from the top, correct?" There was an obvious answer to it, but the question itself had the slight implication that Irae assumed she could fly.

Rowan was not a morning fairy.

Autumnal Fae enjoyed sleeping in until noon, or even later. Waking up to a cup of wine and a platter of cheese and fruit, often with a cute fairy next to them...or three. So it was a miracle that Rowan got to the meeting on time. But it was clear that he was unhappy to be there so early.

His hair was messy, half pressed into his head and the other a flyaway mess. It was clear what side he favored sleeping on. His clothes were wrinkled, his shirt only half tucked into his trousers. Rowan was also missing his shoes. But this was a conscious choice.

Rowan sat in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, brow knitted together, a frown on his face. His large brown eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the suggestions of the others.

”Those with the ability to fly should probably scale the walls and enter the tower from the top while the ground troops enter the tower from the ground. It’s a classic pincer maneuver used to great effect in the Siege of Maceron. Any arguments?”

The fairy sits up. Rubbing a bit of dried drool from their cheek.

“Yeah. I support that. But we gotta be careful that the climbing team isn’t ganged up on by both the archers and the people on the ground.”

Rowan looks at the map. And after a moment of poking through his pockets he pulls out an acorn and a walnut. He places the acorn on the northern side of the tower, and the walnut on the southern side. He purposely sets these down with a bit of force. An effort to assist Senna.

“Maybe ground team comes from the front, draw the attention and the fire. Climb team gets up. Dispatches the archers real sneaky like.”

He again goes through his pocket, eventually pulling out a wax wrapped hard candy. He Rowan sets this on the tree line Irae pointed to.

”Here. Our archers. Also helping draw attention away from the climb group”

Rowan leans back in his chair. Still frowning.

”We also need to consider when this attack occurs. I think a night or early morning ambush. It gives us more cover. And a higher likelihood that the guards won’t be as attentive.”

---

---

Morag-Nog was normally up earlier than most.

When the wakeup call hit her she felt the weight of something on her face... and after getting up it fell off her face off the side of her head. She looked down and saw the book she was reading last night and was reminded of how she spent her evening. Reading. She shook her head as she ran a hand over her shaved head and rubbed her eyes. God damn it, she should have gone to sleep when she had the chance. Not like she was a stranger to being uncomfortable, she loudly yawned. Fortunately, she was the only person that shared this particular tent. So, Morag-Nog was wearing her sleepwear, she was going to conduct personal hygiene and then move onto the meeting.

After all of that, Morag-Nog put on her boots and outfit, grabbed the Tusk, and then went to their tent. When she stepped in she pushed the curtains aside and saw that everyone had assembled here. From their company Chaplain to Scrapbeak, the other archer that comes to mind. The Captain and his brat were there with the former taking charge as usual. Morag-Nog made sure to find herself a spot in the back and crossed her arms with her masterpiece attached to her back with a black strap. Morag-Nog was perfectly content with keeping quiet and listening until she had something meaningful to add. It seemed Scrapbeak was doing the same thing... as per usual.

Irae was quick to demonstrate that, yet again, he was more than just a priest. He took charge with the same tactical fervor as a general, saying that the tower was made to be defended (Well, so were a lot of places here). What got her attention was the suggestion that most of their archers take potshots at them. Which, of course, meant Morag-Nog and her wonderful weapon. It took Morag-Nog a second to realize that Rowan was speaking - he was just so damn short he got lost in their meetings sometimes. He brought up what she was going to bring up, covering the people who were going to scale the building. She shrugged.

There was something on her mind.

"What are the odds the numbers of the bandits are accurate?" She questioned, "And how much are we being paid?"

---

"It’s a classic pincer maneuver used to great effect in the Siege of Maceron. Any arguments?”

”We also need to consider when this attack occurs. I think a night or early morning ambush. It gives us more cover. And a higher likelihood that the guards won’t be as attentive.”

"What are the odds the numbers of the bandits are accurate?"

The priest had the right idea.

From the beginning the most prominent teaching engrained into his head was to use the nature of the beast against it. Vampires craved blood. Lycans feared silver. Bandits loved gold. In a way it was like a dance or a game- but one was trying to outpace the other. In his trade, staying a step ahead and ensuring that one's plan was followed to the letter was imperative to survival. Hunters like himself relied on it, when strength and speed and skill was no longer enough, until they slowed and then died.

The archers would thin the numbers, but the the warriors would control the fight. Setting the tone for the battle from on the ground or the watch tower should they hole themselves up. Man and monster were not so different, and Irae seemed to share his sentiment on what the bandits would want. The fairy did too, at least for the battle. The orc addressed a legitimate concern, though. Should their plan deviate for even a moment, they could very well all end up dead. They may have the element of surprise, but these highwaymen had the home field advantage.

"Dusk would be good," Iulian commented, crossing his burly arms across his chest. "Low light will allow the archers and climbers to get into position." His next statement was a calculated risk, and he knew it. "These bandits may be looking for caravans, but these are still thieves. I could pose as bait, some may be inclined to come to me." He explained. Such an evolution could land him in a compromising position, outnumbered and potentially injured, but that's what the archers were for.

"They might even go further if we can make it convincing. I can take care of a few unprepared men. Thin the numbers, and act as a distraction so that the others may fulfill their roles better."

---

---

As the sun began to rise, its light shone through the tent and pulled Ceri out of her sleep. It was a force of habit to wake up at the crack of dawn - but no earlier, so she got as much rest as she could after and before long hard days. She sighed as she blinked away the last dregs of sleep and forced herself up. She immediately got up, changing into her simple undershirt, tunic and trousers - she would get on her heavier armour before they went out to fight. She didn’t even bother trying to brush her hair but instead just braided the long, messy curls. She grabbed her long dagger and sheathed it at her hip and headed outside.

“Good morning, Emrys,” she smiled to the quartermaster with a nod, gladly taking a bowl of beans and heading into the meeting tent. Everyone was beginning to filter in and she took a place in the middle of the table. She climbed up onto the chair and stood in it rather than sitting, her short stature meaning that if she sat she wouldn’t be able to see the table. Really they should invest in some chairs for the shorter folk… it would certainly make their life easier.

Ceri couldn’t hold back the downward curl of her lips at the mention of the Nepharie government, baring her teeth slightly before forcing herself back to a neutral expression. Now was not the time to think about those things… They were paying and that was all the matter. She surveyed the map while listening to what the others said.

“What we can do is have a couple of our own archers and crossbowmen fire shots at the crossbowmen manning the battlements first, from the cover of the treeline while the rest of our troops stay a bit further behind. It's no longer than two-hundred yards, so your bows should make it, but they won't be easy shots.”

“I can hit them from the treeline,” Ceri said with utmost confidence, pointing to the hard candy that Rowan had placed there and then to the watchtower itself. “We won’t only have to offer supporting, distracting fire but I’m confident that we can take them out. I have plenty of experience attacking Nepharie watchtowers so I know where to shoot. You say the shots won’t be easy, and you’re right, but if you know where to aim...”

She grinned, though there was a savage spark in her dark eyes, drawing a hand across her throat. It was a shame that it was just bandits they were taking out and not members of the Nepharie military themselves… but then again, she had put those days behind her. She did not speak of her freedom fighters days with any of the members of the Pride but some probably guessed or assumed her bad blood with Nepharie anyway, given that she was a West Ostaran. She didn’t bother to hide it.

“And I agree with it being at Dusk,” she nodded in agreement to Rowan and Iulian. “They won’t be able to easily see archers or climbers, and it will be difficult to pinpoint where we’re shooting from.” She tilted her head and looked over to Iulian. “And if Iulian draws some of them out, we can split our ranged fire between those who leave the tower and taking out their own crossbowmen.”

"And how much are we being paid?"

More quietly, she added, “I would also like to know how much we’re getting paid.”

She wanted to know if it was worth it for doing the dirty work of the Nepharie Government.

---

Adam sat back as the company each voiced their opinions. Irae, as usual, had the same strategy Adam had in mind; picking off the bandits from the cover of the woods would nullify the bandits' height advantage, though battlements would provide them some cover. The pincer technique, too, would be effective at driving out the bandits if they attempted to retreat, or at least they could drive the captain to surrender. Dusk would place the sun behind the trees, which could hopefully disguise their incursion. Adam frowned at Iulian's suggestion— Iulian had worked on and off for the Pride for years, but his plans always involved personal risk. Sometimes, it felt like Iulian was trying to get hurt. He looked between the company members, wondering where to start.

"Considering this is Nepharie land, I'd imagine the intelligent is accurate," Adam replied to Morag. "And we'll be paid enough for 500 monas each. I think that's sufficient given the risk involved." He turned to the rest of the party;

"We're not using you as bait Iulian," Adam said. "Last thing we need is to lose a soldier in a fight that should be a cakewalk. I think the rest of us are on a good track; attacking from tree cover with the sun behind us will decrease the accuracy of return fire. While I'm not keen on "bait", per say, we'll first need a way to draw the foot soldiers away, else they'll go inside and lock themselves in." Amelia looked up from her frowning stupor, though her face remained glum.

"They're looking for merchant caravans, right?" Amelia said. "Just use one of the carts and put soldiers in the back. We can draw their attention over and when they try to rob us, our archers pick off theirs." Adam nodded and thought for a moment.

"That's sensible," he said. "What do the rest of you think?"

Rowan sat back in his chair while the others discussed their ideas, sinking even further below the top of the table. While the fairy seemed distracted, or bored, he was paying attention to the others. What a mix of personalties and questions. Doubting intel and confirming payment, self sacrifice and confidence. Soon there were no more questions and the Captain began to provide answers. It was honestly...reassuring to see that everyone was on the same page. Even if this was a simple mission, there were a lot of new faces at the table.

Amelia's suggestion made Rowan a little nervous. Drawing the bandits on the ground to the road, and away from the tower, was good but he was worried about the 'pretending to be merchants' part. Would that not seem suspicious? A cart rolling through at dusk of all times? What if the bandits heard about the roadblocks? Rowan huffed, crossing his arms a little tighter. No need to question the captain's kid. He was probably just over thinking a simple mission.

Rowan looks at Captain Bradshaw and gives a thumbs up, still frowning.

The Fairy looks around the group. Captain Armor and Armor Junior probably didn't want to climb the sheer face of a tower. Iulian was practically jumping at the chance to get stabbed. Morag-Nog was meant for the treeline group, and as much and Rowan wanted Ceri on his team, it was clear the Ostaran was needed there too. The priest...well Rowan wasn't sure about him. He wasn't even sure if Irae would go to a fight in the woods. He smelled too clean.

And so that left...the bird and the darkling. Fresh meat and Fresher-meat. He scowled, rudely scratching at a dry patch of skin on his arm. Darklings were good climbers, and Auguries were good at sneaking into places. But they were both pretty new to the company. And for that Rowan was nervous.

With a huff Rowan sat up on his knees, wanting to be somewhat scene by the rest of the ground. He props his elbows up on the table.

"Does the camp have hooks and ropes for the climbing team?"

If not that at least road snacks.

---

Senna kept one white eyebrow raised as she waited for Irae to realize his mistake, but it was another's voice that chimed in before she could be satisfied. The fairy. She listened to him speak. His voice stood out from the group because it had that signature tone to it like the other fae. She was happy to hear that her soon to be partner in crime was looking out for them. He made a good point, too. If they were caught sneaking up the walls, it would make them easy targets. Especially herself.

It is extremely difficult to dodge an arrow if you cannot hear or see it coming.

Her ears twitched beneath the jingasa when she heard him ruffling through his pockets. Then she heard the forceful placement of what sounded like... nuts? Some kind of woody nature things. She didn't really need to know what it was. What kind of stuff does a fairy keep in their pockets? A fairy that doesn't care about their appearance? She'd only assumed the last bit, because she hadn't heard him once complain about having a "bad hair" day.

Still, the placement of these nuts gave her a good sense of position for the tower's sides. The distance between the two was too small to be the space between the treeline and the battlement. Rowan, who was being quietly helpful to the blind girl, also placed another object further away from the first two. Ah, so there is the treeline.. Senna now had a rough sense of positioning of the battlefield. She smiled with one side of her mouth and gave Rowan a nod to thank him.

He was a decent planner, for a fairy. Also a lot more thoughtful than the other faes. Captain Bradshaw knew how to pick 'em.

The next voice to speak was strong. Morag, of course, wanted to know if the information came from a good source. Like any mercenary would; even if the payment was enough to deal with these numbers. Senna turned her head towards the Captain and awaited his answer. She was just as curious, even if she knew that Adam wouldn't pick a fight that didn't pay well enough.

Again, she didn't hear the voice she expected. This time it was Lulian, and his words made Senna furrow her brows. Does this guy like to play the hero, or does he just want to help the rest of us out by drawing the fire? She thought in response. She took a breath through her nose to keep herself from pointing out the risk to his magnificent life if he were to pose as bait. Ceri, ever the excited one for going into a fight, agreed with Lulian. Senna wasn't exactly bothered with the idea, but it left Lulian with a higher risk of getting himself killed. The team needed his experience and skills for most missions. How could he just throw himself at danger like that?

When it seemed like each mercenary had gotten their word in, Senna finally heard the Captain speak. She grinned when she heard him say '500 monas each' and was suddenly ready for any plan the group decided to go through with. Lulian can patch himself up with only a fraction of that payment.

Thankfully, Adam completely shot down Lulian's plan to become a worm on a hook and even stated the exact reasons Senna was against it. See, I don't have to say a word because our Captain says it for me. She nodded in agreement with Adam's words so the group would know how she felt about it.

Right after Bradshaw finished, Amelia piped in to suggest a new idea. A merchant caravan, hm? How can we guarantee that they'll try to rob it? As greedy as they might be, they still have a whole, fully stocked Nepharie tower under their control.

There was a moment of silence. Senna assumed that the group was either nodding their heads or shaking them in disapproval. Or the Captain had a deeply thoughtful look on his face as he mulled everyone's suggestions over.

"That sounds sensible."

Looks like Lulian gets to play the fool. Caravan and all. She shrugged in response to Adam's question. 500 monas to climb a tower and kick some bandit ass? I'm fine with anything at this point.

From the direction of Rowan, Senna heard the scratching of nails against rough skin and she grimaced. Is he picking at a scab? He then huffed, and she heard him shuffle around in his seat. Most likely to be more visible within the large chairs. Senna never really cared if the group could see her. They could be staring at her hat, for all she knew. Height wasn't something to worry about unless it was a judge of how hard and how high she should hit someone. And to be honest, there were four squats to four taller mercenaries in this company. An even amount of height differences, and without outnumbering either of the height ranges.

"Does the camp have hooks and ropes for the climbing team?"

Senna grinned once more. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Rowan?"

"I've always wanted a grappling hook. They're just hard to come by unless you know someone that can make one." She would have made one herself a long time ago, but tying intricate knots is also hard to do without seeing where the rope was going.

---

"Check with Emrys, but I'm pretty sure we have some climbing equipment you all can utilize," Adam said. "Perhaps Morag can set something up for you." With that, seeing that everyone seemed in agreement, Adam nodded and stood from the table.

"Alright," he said. "I believe that concludes today's meeting. As the plan, we will depart at dusk. Make sure you are ready on time- tardy soldiers don't get paid." With that, Adam left the tent and walked the perimeter of the camp, ensuring everything was running accordingly. He stopped by one of the company's carts, a canvas-covered wagon pulled by a large grey ox. The cart could hold ten people comfortably, the whole company, while the other cart held equipment and supplies. Adam surveyed the cart: the wheels properly-aligned, the canvas unripped, the harness in good shape. Adam pet the large grey ox, who nuzzled his hand and grumbled softly.

"You're worry-planning," Amelia said, approaching behind Adam. Adam sighed, realizing he'd been caught.

"Here we go," Adam grumbled, standing up and facing his daughter. "Alright, let me have it."

"You're nervous cause you know I'm gonna be on that cart and on this mission," Amelia said. She shrugged and crossed her arms.

"It's more than that, it's-" Amelia cut him off.

"Give it to someone else," she said. "You do this every time I fight." Adam put his hands on his hips.

"You know I'm just looking out for you," Adam said, bowing his head. "I'm supposed to, you know." Amelia put a hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam was always astonished by Amelia's strength: her grip on him was like a sailor's.

"We're gonna be okay," Amelia said, smiling. "I was trained by the best knight in the whole goddamn realm." Adam shook his head, unable to suppress his smile. "There we go!" Amelia said. "See? It'll be fine! We beat these anarchist dipshits to a bloody pulp and haul their corpses off for cash! Totally safe!" Adam laughed— nervous-making as she was, Amelia always knew how to diffuse tension. The two of them walked off back towards the camp, Amelia's arm on her old man's shoulder.

"And hey, if things get back," Amelia said. "I'll just have Iulian eat them. I'm sure he'd love some nice raw kidney of highwayman!" Adam couldn't help but laugh.

---

---

The rest of the day's planning went off without a hitch. Climbing gear was obtained from the storage cart and given to Morag for modification. The teams assembled and prepared their equipment: Morag, Ceri, and Scrapbeak would be on the archer team, Senna and Rowan on the climbing team, Adam, Amelia, Irae, and Iulian on the cart team. Each soldier prepared their equipment for the day's combat: Adam polished and sharpened the blade of his partisan until it glittered in the midday sun. Amelia donned her armor and surcoat, and took out her mighty blade, a tremendous zweihander. The massive, two handed steel sword wasn't much shorter than Amelia was, the pommel nearly reaching her chin when the blade tip was placed against the ground. Such a massive weapon was not easy to use; it was heavy for a sword, ten pounds, and required an understanding of leverage and momentum to use. Amelia gripped the sword as she normally would, one hand on the handle and the second overhand in the space of dull steel between the crossguard and parrying hooks. She practiced a few maneuvers behind her tent; she quickly slashed across her body to the left, then jabbed forward, hurling the momentum of the massive sword to her advantage. Holding the sword this way made controlling it equal parts swordsmanship and polearm combat. She threw out several more attacks in the air: a thrust, quick parry to the left, catching an imaginary polearm blade on the parrying hook, then sliding down the shaft and slashing towards the neck. Satisfied, she stuck the blade into the ground and leaned both her arms on the crossbar. Adam always preached how mercenary combat was inglorious, but Amelia couldn't help but feel a tinge of heroism sometimes.

"Time to bring down the bad guys," she muttered to herself, walking off towards the cart.

---

Dusk

A single cart traveled down a dusty cobblestone road. The wheels grumbled and bumped, throwing clods of dirt into the air as the beast of burden, a broad-chested grey ox, labored in the falling sun. At the head of the vehicle sat a hunched-over driver clad in brown traveler's robes, a tattered hood pulled low over his eyes. A scruffy beard stuck out from a lowered chin. The ox snorted and shook its head to bat off flies. In the distance, three men approached across a wide field of yellow grass.

The first man arrived at the road and stepped in the path of the cart. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a messy auburn beard and a grey hood pulled over his head. He wore a padded tunic and thick leather gauntlets, and he carried a boar spear in two hands. The other men, smaller but similar-dressed and wielding similar weaponry, stood by the side of the cart.

"C-can I help you?" the voice of the cart-driver said.

"Evenin', ol chap," the large bandit said. "What're ye haulin at this time er day?"

"J...just supplies on their way to Jikari," the cart-driver said. "Mining tools and such. Nothing that would interest you young lads."

"Well, it do interest us," one of the men beside the cart said. The larger bandit held up a hand to stop him and barked "quiet!"

"As that 'ere smaller man said, it do interest us what yer haulin' and where. Ye see, this 'ere is our road. We own it, ya know. An' we can't 'ave ye comin' down it witout payin' the toll, else we'd lose our ownership."

"Oh, my apologies," the driver said. "I d-d-didn't know." One of the other bandits, the one who'd spoken up before, stepped towards the driver's chair and brandished his spear. The driver leaned back in surprise.

"'issl be easy than I could've dreamt," the large bandit said. The others laughed menacingly. "Alwroight, we'll be takin' all the gold on ye and 'alf yer load. Right quick, come on. Don't want ter 'ave ter spill peasant blood on me road, now do I?"

"Oh, please sir," the driver held up his hands in fright. Behind the hands, Adam was grinning like a mischievous little boy. "I've got to feed my family!"

"Well, so do we," the smaller bandit said. "So cough it up before I slice open yer windpipe and pull it out with me bare 'ands."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," a voice came from inside of the cart. The movements quickened. The driver dove out of the seat onto the ground, his cast-off brown cloak fluttering in the wind. From inside the covered wagon, Amelia lunged in full battle regalia, Iulian behind her, both brandishing their weapons. Amelia caught the boar-spear with the parrying hook of her blade midair and shoved it to the side briskly, then went in for a lunge. The bandit caught the sword in a static block with his spear shaft. The blade dug into the wood. Amelia twisted the sword and ripped out a chunk of wood, then went in for another lunge. Adam was on his feet, sword drawn and in hand. He faced the large bandit at the front.

"Well, that's half my cargo," he said. "Guess I'll pay the rest in blood." Adam ran forward and thrust his sword. The bandit caught it on the crossbar of the boar spear. The battle commenced, the archery team moved into action; they would fire upon the tower and take out the crossbowmen, then the climbing team would head out across the field and scale the side. Everything was going according to plan.

---

---

While the cart was traveling towards the watchtower, the archer team was getting into position in the treeline. Ceri frowned as she stepped through the undergrowth, careful to watch her feet with the lowlight making it more difficult to see. She stopped as she reached the edge of the trees and tilted her head to look up at the watchtower. The crossbowmen were just visible since she knew where to look - but it would be hard to take them out from where they were. Especially from the low height, she was at. But it did have the advantage of making it easy to stay hidden.

"It's not going to be easy to hit them from here," she commented quietly, narrowing her eyes towards the tower. "And I'm going to need to get higher to even have a chance."

Morag-Nog nodded. The bait group had it easy, all they had to do was ride a cart. Meanwhile, Morag-Nog and the archers are out here barely navigating using the night sky. The first thing that Morag-Nog was going to do was invent an efficient light source. However, she sneered at Ceri.

"I'd be surprised if one of us lands a shot from here," Morag-Nog whispered.

Ceri could easily climb up a tree and shoot from there if she had time to get up there. Her gaze moved from the watchtower to the cart that had just been stopped. "We won't have much time to properly get into position before the fighting breaks out."

"We'll just have to make the most with what we got, won't we?" Morag-Nog said with a grin as she raised her custom made crossbow, the Tusk... and realized that she probably couldn't see it.

Scrapbeak was remaining quiet, keeping his crossbow at the ready, intently focusing on the watchtower, adjusting his vision for the dark. The only sound he was making was a low, repeating inhale-exhale. He disappeared from the other two, eyeing one of the large sycamores. It was an ancient tree, probably a hundred or so years old, with white branches that nearly scraped the sky. Scrapbeak nodded in silent thought, his dole black eyes darting from branch to branch. Then he knelt and began to fiddle with his leg.

"You're right," Ceri nodded. She squinted her eyes against the darkness as she pulled her bow off her back, hands easily finding an arrow and nocking it without needing to look. She decided against trying to get higher and moved to a spot where she had some cover, but could still see. Well, as much as she could in the darkness.

Morag-Nog followed her... keeping her distance if they use magic or explosives. She wasn't perfect at gauging distances but she guessed that she was at least five meters away from Ceri. The Tusk was primed with merely a single action... Morag-Nog was just waiting for the signal.

It was the sounds of the battle breaking out from the cart that alerted them to things starting.

Ceri raised her bow, pulling the string taut and aiming for where she was fairly certain she'd seen a bandit in the tower. She let the arrow fly towards her target and quickly nocked another one. From a sturdy bough of the sycamore, a bolt fired. Scrapbeak sat straddling the bough, using the increased distance to fire down at the tower. Where his simple prosthetic normally extended from his stump of a right leg, a sickle-like blade now attached, covered in remnants of bark and sap.

The very second that Morag-Nog heard the chaos, she aimed for another bandit and cut loose... and the Tusk automatically reloaded and she fired another and another.

Three arrows flew from the treeline, out towards the top of the watchtower. The bandit guards, watching the road from their posts between the battlements, never saw a thing coming. They laughed to themselves at first as their ground team bullied yet another cart driver laden with goods. Their laughter was caught short by the sound of an arrow striking flesh. Ceri's hit first, piercing the throat of her target. The man cried out, blood gushing from the wound with a horrible gurgle. The other three turned around to see what was the matter, but it was too late. One guard was struck once in the left flank, then again in the center of his chest, just ascent of his breastbone; the bolts of Tusk tore through his cloth armor like it was tissue paper. A third guard turned to run towards the trapdoor leading down into the tower, but before he could get there, a crossbow bolt from Scrapbeak pierced his left temple, running through his head and toppling the man into a heap. The final guard turned to run as Tusk fired again, but the arrow flew off course and struck him in the side of the thigh. He cried out and collapsed, clutching his leg but still very much alive. Slowly, he crawled towards the trapdoor, attempting to flee to safety.

---

Rowan and Senna were tucked into the tree line, about 500 feet away from the tower, awaiting some sort of signal or sign that it was safe for them to start moving. It shouldn't take the pair more than a minute to quickly, but quietly, make it to the tower, but getting there before the diversion started would be dangerous.

But the waiting was the hard part, Rowan was getting antsy.

He was trying to occupy himself, getting himself prepped for the attack. For the past few minutes he had been doing warm up stretches, bending over to touch his toes and stretching his arms across his chest. Basically anything to keep from standing still.

He takes a glance over at his companion. She seemed perfectly capable, everything would go just fine. Hopefully.

The fairy squats down in the grass sprouting in this tree line. His brown eyes scan the ground a moment. He takes a deep breath, and pulls a small knife out of a sheath on his belt. He cuts five blades of grass from the patch. Stashing the grass in his pocket, he then produces a handful of tiny seeds, sprinkling them where he trimmed the grass. Rowan continued to look down at the grass, a concentrated look on his face. He runs his hand over the seeds, slowly exhaling, as his hand pulls away it reveals tiny sprouts where the seeds once were.

Rowan stands, stretching his arms over his head. He looks at Senna.

"Alright, do you have any concerns?"

He looks away with a huff.

"I've never worked with someone...sight impaired before. I don't want to hold your hand or like...have a leash around you. Cause I know you don't need that."

He pauses a moment, stealing a glance at the Darkling.

"But I don't want to leave you stranded either so...what do you need? Descriptions? Whistle signals?

Senna responded to Rowan's words by raising an eyebrow. From where she stood, she'd been patiently waiting for the fight between Adam, Lulian, Irae, and Amelia to begin. Instead of worrying about the plan, she thought it over as she listened to the breathing of her partner. She could hear the faint wheels of the trojan horse in the distance. The way Rowan spoke to her feigned nonchalance so obvious that Senna knew he was genuinely concerned for her. She smirked.

"Unless I spontaneously lose my hearing, you won't have to worry about me." Her voice only had a hint of snark to it.

She almost left it at that, but she remembered the leash comment and frowned.

"If anyone puts a leash on me, they're going to lose a hand." She muttered

Rowan blinks, snorts, and then laughs at this comment. He stifles the sound slightly, not wanting to give away their position. After a moment Rowan finally speaks.

”Gotcha, noted. I’d like to keep my hands.”.

The fairy quickly sorts through his bag, pulling out the two grappling hooks Emrys lent him. They were...heavier than he would have liked, but there was no point complaining now. Rowan had also given them a little customization, he holds one out in front of Senna.

”Here’s your grappling hook. I wrapped a thin cloth around each of the tines, so they won’t make a really loud scraping sound when they hook the tower wall. I trust the rest of the Pride to be distracting, but I want to give us as much of an advantage as possible.”

Senna clicks her tongue once before her long fingers reach towards the rope and grasp it. She gives Rowan a nod before securing the makeshift grappling hook to her belt on the opposite side of her pistol. ”Good idea.” She then slowly pulls her gloves to reveal the wrappings around her wrists, palm, and fingers. She tucks the gloves into a pocket before stretching her fingers out. ”I’m not sure if you’ll have time, but I do have one request.” She could hear the ox and cart rolling to a stop down the way. It was almost time.

”When we’re climbing… if you see any arrows coming our way, let me know.”

Rowan nods, but then quickly realizes the gesture would be lost on Senna.

”Yeah...yeah I can do that.”

---

Before any further words could be said, a sound caught Senna’s attention from the direction of the cart. The clash of metal against metal. The first fight had started.

Senna held up her hand as a gesture to wait, just in case Rowan heard it too. ”When you see the archers at the top of the tower fall, we move in. Only when the archers are taken out can we make the distance between the trees and the tower without getting hurt.”

As soon as the fighting had begun Rowan poked his head out of the treeline, just slightly, wanting to keep tabs on the melee group. Just barely, with his keen fairy eyes, could Rowan see the figures clashing. Although it was difficult to identify who was who, given that it was dark, and the fighting was happening far across a field.

Rowan narrowed his eyes slightly, huffing. He didn’t like the suggestion for the pair to wait until the four bandit archers had been killed for them to start moving. The two were about 500 feet away from the tower. It wouldn’t take a human all that long to sprint that distance, but the two of them had little legs. Not only that but the field had pretty tall grass, it was dark, and the bandits probably weren’t looking for two Fae to be tearing ass across the field.

But the captain's order is the captain’s order. Rowan really didn’t want to piss the guy off. He liked his job, and he liked not having arrows in him. Rowan watched the movement of the ground team with wide eyes, trying to keep the locations of his allies and the bandits in mind. But once the archery team got into position, and began firing at the tower, Rowan really started getting excited. His wings fluttered slightly as the arrows rained against the bandits.

He saw enough of these arrows collide with their foes to feel like the time was now. Rowan turns back to Senna, and in a hushed whisper says:

"Alright! Our turn, let's keep close together."

And with a deep breath Rowan dashed into the field. And while not in a dead sprint, as that would be a little too attention grabbing, he was moving pretty quickly. The two of them had to get to and up the tower before any bandits on the ground tried to flee inside, or the captain got smart and fled to the top. It would make it far harder for the two to climb up with a pair of bandits causing problems.

Rowan let one of his hands run through the grass they were hurrying through, the tips of his fingers glowing slightly. Let us through, we will cause no harm.. The grass, seemingly responding to Rowan's magic, parted around the two small humanoids as they charged through the field. The fairy winced slightly, blinking. Casting magic quickly, and while on the move, was difficult and draining. But he would take a headache tomorrow over tripping and falling in a field of tall grass because he and Senna were three feet tall.

Senna hadn’t been able to hear the arrows flying through the air, but she could tell they’d been set loose. Rowan’s wings fluttered; it happened every time he was excited. She even heard a few low thumps of bodies hitting rock. The arrows made their mark. It was time to move. Senna nodded her head when Rowan gave her the okay to go, and she was off.

She ran alongside Rowan with her head ducked low. Her ears heard the rim of her hat skim the tips of the grass until Rowan whispered to them and they parted. Now she only heard the sounds of their feet thumping across the field. She ran for what felt like a long time. Too long. Rowan’s feet slowed and Senna matched his pace until he stopped. Her tongue clicked twice, and she could hear her echos against the tower wall. They’d made it unscathed. Now they just needed to climb.

The pair eventually made it to the tower, approaching from the northern face farthest away from the ground group. As Senna and Rowan got into position to climb, the fairy took glances at the melee team. Shifting focus back to the tower, it was clear that the tower was too tall to simply throw the hook up and hope it stuck. With a sigh Rowan took several steps away from the tower, swinging the grappling hook next to him like a lasso. Once the hook picked up a significant amount of speed, and a good amount of slack, Rowan released it. The tines of the hook grabbing onto the upper lip of the tower, a strong pull confirming that, at least for now, it will hold strong.

While Rowan prepped his grappling hook, Senna knew she wouldn’t be able to hook it from this low. Instead of relying on the rope to aid her climb, she simply removed her gloves and stuffed them into her belt. ”See you at the top,” she said to Rowan before her hands gripped the wall of the tower and she started her ascent. She’d climbed walls like this before. Towers that were made this way, with rock and white clay, made it easy for her thin and long fingers to find a hold in the crevices. Her toes drug across the wall beneath her until they found footing. She continued to feel her way up the tower at a pace faster than Rowan could climb. With one click of her tongue, she knew she’d reached the top. She could hear a remaining bandit scrambling for the hatch and stopped to wait for Rowan. She’d need help to take him out.

Rowan took a glance over to his side, hoping Senna had been able to get her grappling hook ready. Instead he spotted her already climbing. Climbing with just her hands. Rowan blinked, trying to get rid of his wide eyed look of amazement. Rowan began climbing himself, using the rope to assist in his walking up the wall. He occasionally fluttered his wings, not wanting to leave Senna waiting. Pulling himself onto the lip of the tower a few moments after Senna, he was quickly able to discover why she had stopped. One of the bandits was still alive, and attempting to crawl to safety. Rowan frowned, for a moment the softness in his heart taking over.

The fairy grabbed the vine he kept coiled on his hip and with a quick movement of his fingers, and some magical persuading, the vine sprang to life, whipping out towards the injured bandit. It found it’s target not around his neck but instead the man’s leg, pulling the injured man away from the hatch. And Rowan, with the other end of the vine firmly gripped in his hand, barked out in a hopefully intimidating voice:

”Surrender now and you will be spared.” The bandit, eyes wide with terror, raised his hands in the air and mumbled “...o...okay.”

Rowan looks over the edge of the tower, at the melee team making short work of the bandits there.

”And feel blessed that you are dealing with us and not them.” The bandit nodded vigorously, his skin pale, though whether that was from blood loss or fear or both was unclear.

Senna pulled herself over the parapets, then put her gloves back onto her hands before proceeding. She could tell that the man was on the ground, but she had to click her tongue to know the vine was around his ankle. It wasn’t enough to keep the man subdued. Especially because he was being captured by two small fae. With a frown, Senna pulled her scimitar from its sheath and pointed it in the direction of the bandit.

”Move and you’ll regret it.” The bandit replied only by screaming and covering his face.

Now atop the tower, Senna and Rowan got a glimpse of the situation. The battle on the ground was going swimmingly, Adam having already taken down one of the bandits with a swift thrust of his sword, with Iulian and Amelia gaining on the others. Below, they heard the sound of a door slam shut, then muffled shouting. The fourth ground bandit, seeing the situation, had run inside and locked the front door. At the top of the tower, in the corner opposite where the corpses of the bandits slouched, was a wooden trapdoor with a heavy brass ring bolted on to open it. Rowan approached and tugged on the brass ring, but to no avail— the door was sturdily locked, with the bandit captain inside.

Rowan sighed, seeing that the still living bandit was no longer a threat, and the trap door was locked, the Fairy hurried along the lip of the tower, until he was on the face closest to the ground team. Taking a deep breath, Rowan sharply whistled, hoping to at least get Iulian’s attention, pointing and gesturing down at the fourth bandit dashing back into the tower. Rowan considered calling down to the ground team, but really didn’t want to call any more attention to himself and Senna. He turns to the quivering bandit, and attempted to sound friendly.

”Calm down, we aren’t gonna hurt you unless you give us a reason.”

---

Irae was hesitant to allow Bradshaw to be the one at the front driving the horses. For one, he was far too imposing a man, and he himself could probably play it up better than he could. Secondly, he was worried that taking the time to dramatically take off his cloak, reveal his armor, and draw his sword, they’d already be on guard and ready to slaughter him like a ripe pig. Nevermind the fact that hiding Irae back here was kind of a waste of resources, but of course, this was perhaps his own expertise talking and he was expecting too much from a small handful of roadside brigands. When their fearless leader gave the cue, the other two combatants hiding with him burst outside armed to the teeth with oversized weapons to bear down upon their enemies. Meanwhile, Irae stayed seated with his dagger in hand and center to his body, held up almost ritualistically, as he closed his eyes and prayed for a bloody end to his enemies.

Outside, the battle proceeded as expected. Compared to trained mercenaries, these bandits were no match. At the front of the cart, Adam faced off against the largest of the bandits, sword in hand against a boar spear. The spear, Adam knew, was a hunting tool, not a weapon, and despite its appearance, the crossguard beneath the spear point was a liability Adam could exploit. Held at a range, Adam feigned a lunge forwards, and the bandit took the bait. He thrust out with the spear towards Adam, who side-stepped and brought his sword up swiftly, catching the backside of the crossguard with the blade of his sword. The blade now secure, Adam pulled, bringing the bandit in close, then shoved the spear to the side with a quick thrust. The spearpoint pushed off to the side, Adam reached forwards with his off hand and grabbed the spear shaft, securely neutralizing the weapon. Before the bandit could react, Adam pulled the shaft and thrusted simultaneously, stabbing the bandit between a pair of ribs. The blade pierced through the back of the bandit’s torso, running him through.

The bandit struggled weakly, blood rushing from the wound. He grabbed at Adam’s forearm, attempting to remove the blade to no avail. Adam let go of the spear and put an arm around the bandit’s shoulders, pulling him close. At closer inspection, the bandit was a lot older than he initially looked; tufts of grey sprouted from his messy hair and beard, and wrinkle lines ringed his eyes. He was probably around Adam’s age. The bandit opened his mouth to say something, but only blood escaped. Slowly, Adam lowered him to the ground and withdrew the sword.

“Sorry, old man,” Adam said, looking down at the dying man. “May you rest in peace.” With that, Adam stood up, leaving the man to watch the swiftly blackening sky.

On the other side of the cart, Iulian and Amelia fought the other bandits. After her initial attack, the bandit was able to get back his footing and prepare to defend. She lunged forwards, trying to catch the spear with her parrying hooks, but the bandit backpedaled, the blade glancing off the tip of the spear.

Iulian was far more ravenous in his approach, wielding a khopesh and nothing else with surprising effectiveness. Unlike his quarry and the allies he fought with who grunted in exertion and effort or gasped in pain, Iulian cackled, his gravelly voice taking on an unnerving laugh as he powered forward. His chosen bandit was a young man, likely a decade his junior. The bandit’s approach had been energetic at first but he was worn down fast by Iulian’s seemingly endless barrage of heavy strikes. The bandit parried a downwards arc of Iulian’s sword and brought it upwards, glancing Iulian’s flank, but he overextended. Iulian’s hand came up and caught the boy’s forearm in an iron grip. Out of instinct he pulled backwards, but Iulian moved with him. The young man was off balance and panicked, and swung with his free hand in an attempt to punch the larger man to gain some breathing room, but Iulian was undeterred. He lunged forwards with ferocity unlike a normal man, and sunk his teeth into the boy’s neck. There was a seize, and a gurgle, and Iulian dropped the still living young man- roughly shoving his body to the ground. He had a chunk bitten out of the side, and blood was flowing freely from the bite. Iulian spat that chunk out and wiped his mouth with his forearm, electing to pay no further attention to the dying man, either unaware or uncaring of his injury. Saliva and drool strung from his mouth like a rabid dog, now tinted red with the blood from the bite.

Irae heard the wet gnashing of blood and flesh and teeth from behind the canvas and signed a cross over his body with his hand. It was very likely Iulian’s doing. That man always had a habit of playing with his food — a messy eater with such terrible table manners, and it was doubtful he even brought a napkin with him. He made a rueful sigh as he held his reliquary and called out from inside the wagon, “could we please expedite this?”

As if on cue, a blade ripped through the canvas beside his head and tore a two foot vertical slit in the wagon covering, to which Irae acknowledged with a surprised widening of his eyes, albeit nothing more. The sound of impact against the side of the wagon, conjoined with the mutual grunting of a man and woman, Irae assumed that Amelia pinned one against the side of the wagon. A quick peek through the new hole in the canvas confirmed this. With a tired rolling of his eyes, he broke form (that is, praying), and brandished his dagger and stuck it blindly through the canvas and into the torso of the bandit engaged with Amelia. One shrill yelp later, the weight on the wagon shifted as he heard the sound of a body crash against the ground, followed by a quick and bloody end on someone’s blade as he cleaned his own with a spare red handkerchief. This was just another day in life.
As the last ground bandit slumped to the road, leaving a bloody smear down the side of the canvas wagon, Amelia frowned and rolled her eyes. Before speaking, she lifted her blade and plunged it down into the chest of the bandit, confirming his death. Then she looked up at the cart, anger in her eyes.

“That was my kill!” Amelia shouted. “You’ve got no business flexing your weary priestly muscles.” Adam walked around the corner and brought the conversation to a halt.

“No time for small talk,” Adam said. “The archer and tower teams have moved. Let’s head to the base of the tower and try to get out the rest of the bandits. Adam looked around this side of the cart; the fights over here had been much bloodier. Furthermore, the canvas of the company’s troop cart had been torn and bloodstained— a costly repair. Adam groaned as he walked out towards the tower.

“And Iulian,” he called over his shoulder. “Wipe your goddamn mouth off, won’t you? We’re soldiers, not cannibals.”