Along the eastern border of Amalia fires lit the midnight sky in vibrant hues of orange and yellow. Troves of gray tents were cast in bright light and danced with the shadows of thousands of men and women. Earth had been churned to mud underneath unending feet rushing to and fro transforming the camp into a pit. Anyone that intended to be clean and dry in the morning was a fool and in the opinions of the others too sober. Boisterous laughter resonated from the camp reaching the smaller camps adjacent and stirring the men and women there to join in. On the Eve of Castian's Siege every soldier met in one great final celebration about their generals tent.

"And another thing!"

"No Fierre that's enough."

"No, it In't. Listen."

"Fier-"

"He just sits there. Oooh look at me I'm so respectful and proper. Like shit. The man's lost his head more times 'an me, but I'm the drunk bastard."

"You are drunk Fierre."

"That's not the damned point Alven. He's an ass and he knows it!"

Slamming his drink on the thick table Fierre spilled the brew and stumbled. Fuming he puckered his lips and sunk his head between his shoulders. His brown hair fell around his eyes and he wiped it back with a sweaty hand. About him sat four others, almost at least. Alven, a tall man with a strong beard and bear-like arms. Born in the central farmlands Alven was the strongest of the four friends and their unnamed leader. He had a good ahead about him and an amount of decency the other three lacked. Gallus who was drunk as Fierre and sleeping it off had been around the longest and was living what he told were his glory days. Every night the man was drunk and every morning he was the happiest man, arguably because he was still drunk. Elron was probably the drunkest of three musketeers so to speak that accompanied Fierre. Well built he came from the north and was intelligent, but despised most of his leadership. He always stirred the flames, quite literally with Fierre in most cases.

"Just kick his ass Fierre."

"Elron! Don't tell him to pick a fight with the major you idiot!"

"Damnit Alven we're all going to die tomorrow anyway! Castien isn't going to fall just like it never has. Let him have his day."

The two men fell quiet and their eyes returned to the drinks, then to Fierre. Sucking back the last of his drink he left the empty mug on the table and left. His hands curled and opened and he pushed his way through merry soldiers towards the majors tent. Taller than the rest with ornate yellow and blue crests on the outside it stood at the center of the mud pit. A few steps away Fierre was grabbed under both arms and hauled backwards despite his protests.

"Fierre you dumbass, you may as well drink yourself to death if you're going to try and fight the one sober guy out here tonight."

"He'd run you through mage or not, you know that."

Gritting his teeth Fierre cursed and threw his head back letting cool air rush to his head as his hair swept back. Letting himself be drug to the table Fierre looked to the empty night sky. No wind and no clouds tonight meant the stars would have been brighter than they had in any of the two months they'd been in this cesspool, but the light of the fire was stronger and the night sky was dead instead.

Two months and four days ago to be exact the Castian's Siege began. Though none of the men dubbed it nobles would in the years to come. Castian's Keep was a fort centuries old. Bordering Amalia and Galt it knew war since the day the first stone was laid. Built with five sides and inner and outer walls the fort was considered by most impenetrable. Though this wasn't true the fact of the matter was that in two months the Amalia army had barely managed to capture a section of the outer wall. The terrain leading to the walls was abhorred by all except the defenders as loose stone and uneven ground made footing deadly in some cases. Many had died before even reaching the gates, crushed under the weight of a marching army.

Finally though Amalia had breached the outer wall as three siege towers laid claim to their space along the wall and the gates were opened. The worst of the fighting seemed over as the outer wall presented the greatest danger to capture. Inside roads connected key points and eased the movement of forces. In the same day that the wall had been breached the inner gate was contested between both sides alluding to a swift victory to come. However, not all believed this to be true. Fierre was first among them as he knew that no fort would be so dull as to rely only on outer walls. The fact that they hadn't managed to blockade the fort in over two months also worried some of the to-be tacticians but they meant little to a man who would conquer the unconquerable in the morning.

"He's going to kill us all, and you know it."

The day before the final siege finally came. The army had taken the first walls, moved in and were now ready to assault once again. It was unclear either they were celebrating their previous victory, tomorrow's attack or simply drinking to their death but one thing was certain...they were drinking. Half, if not all, of the army was totally drunk. The camp was a real mess, as if it had be any different before anyway. The place was stinking of alcohol as well as any and all other smells that are related to soldiers having festivities...much to this woman's distaste.

Endolynn, daughter of no one of interest and who possessed no known last name, was barely trying to hold her own until the night came to an end. Gatherer of any and all things of profession, or thief, rogue, pickpocket, cutthroat and other such sobriquets, was enlisted in the army of her much beloved lord and soon to be conqueror a few years back. She had taken part in the previous attack with her own small, but courageous, contribution. It turned out Endolynn had talent for going places people were not supposed to go. Doors are no problems for her set of skills either, so she figured a gate was not such a big difference. Although she never reached it, way too dangerous with all the guards she met, she nonetheless successfully sabotaged at least two archers towers on the wall. She deemed her action more than worthy of not being executed for selfishness and cowardice. Which was exactly what she told to her immediate superior who had given her for order to infiltrate the wall and open the gates, who on his side was more than willing to see her head roll over. All that because she was the only one to come back. It was quite troublesome, but the woman managed to defend her cause by promising more success on the next attack. Now she was in real troubles since there was no way she could just desert, she would be found and suffered a worst fate than death, but there was also no way she could manage her mission alone.

Lost in her thought the woman forgot to watch her every step and what was bound to happen actually happened. She ran straight into a man of much greater size than her and still managed to get him to drop his beer ''As if it was hard to make such a drunk giant drop anything...''. The bulky man looked down on her with eyes that first spelled confusion, but quickly turned to unwelcome'd anger.
''What's this, little girl?'' he said with a strong accent, which made things worst actually. No one could be mistaken, such an accent belonged to a group of particularly well known mercenary coming from some place north. They were, unfortunately, not known for their forgiveness. Rather, they were savage animals that lived for combat and cared for little else except plundering and...well, women. Of course Endolynn, today like every other day of her life, felt little need for forced loving intercourse and would much rather take her leave.

''Well...'' She began ''It look like a spilled beer to me...but fear not! There are a LOT of other beers around, right...? Right?'' She said, realizing that such sarcasm and honesty might not be the best choice right now.

''The little girl doesn't seem to realize that...I don't care 'bout no beers no more. You stupid whore, c'mere and have a tast' !'' The man said, as he actually threw a painfully slow punch at her with about as much grace as a grazing pig.

Endolynn crouched under the large fist, passed under his arm and stood back up on the other side of him, provoking the laughter of the man's drinking pals.

''Please, I don't think it's such a good idea, you know?''

''Shut up, stupid bitch!'' He yelled as he threw yet another avoided punch, followed by an equally useless try at grabbing her. His friends soon began to mock the man about not being about to hold his own against a whore. Offended, Endolynn looked down at her old rugged leather vest. She was wearing leather boots going up to her knees as well as simple clothes underneath her armor. They were also a bit damaged and old, but still she did not see from where those men took the idea she was a prostitute?

''Fight, goddamnit, what's your damned problem?!''

''Unarmed fighting is really not my cup of tea--'' she said while dodging yet another clumsy attack ''--but if want, I'd be more than glad to cut your throat with a dagger!'' the woman said in an overly joyful voice, just as if she had been proposed with a delightful gift. This kind humorous threats were normally the only thing that got to such idiots, but those same idiots were way too drunk for even that.

Tired of playing around, feeling tired and begging only to get some shut eye before tomorrow, Endolynn waited for the man to try another grab before she took out her dagger. She actually grabbed the arm, almost as large as her own torso, used the movement of the man to balance herself up on his back and using her dagger's handle to knock the man down with a quick stab behind the back. He fell down like a vanquished bear with the woman still on his back, looking more annoyed than triumphant. The other men burst out laughing when the snores of the vanquished mercenary were heard.

''Whew...what a night...'' she told herself walking away and sheathing her dagger. Endolynn was offered with multiple beers by the men who respected her victory, but she refused all of it in favor of heading to her own tent and get some good shut eye. On her way, she passed right in front of the general tent just in time to see yet another sort of brute get knocked over while he tried to enter. She had a smirk out of it, but decided not to get involved on purpose. The day of tomorrow was going to be hard enough as it is...

The morning came quickly in the Amalian camp. The sky was clear and sun bright by the time every soldier found themselves dressed and ready. Still crippled from over drinking the warriors were assembled in block formations as though in a game of chess. When all had assembled together and hushed their groaning one man saw fit to speak to them.

He was tall with a strong look in his eyes. Though he wore bulking armour it was no secret that the man was a great and fearsome warrior. Even his voice told of a battle hardened veteran standing ahead the assembly. Vanis.

"We stand at the cusp of breaking through Castian's walls. Do not think failure is acceptable. We must take this fort by the end of the day or we will not be able to retreat. Reinforcements come from the North and our only hope is to fortify ourselves in those very walls."

The crowd became silent, even mutterings halted as the man spoke. Then as he finished hard whispers passed from mouth to ear, most contemplating turning tail now and not being slaughtered, though a few wondering how exactly they intended to break through the defenses of a fort in a day while a single wall had taken two months. Fierre was among both groups as he groaned in frustration cocking his head back then drooping it forward. Muttering that he'd told them so and he knew he was right to the three musketeers the mage adopted silence for a brief moment. Alven nudged him in the arm encouraging with a wide smile that they'd be fine. The others gave a halfhearted laugh.

It wasn't as though the four of them had much choice. Because of regulations stipulated on mages designating them to mandatory military service of at least seven years if Fierre ran he would be designated as an outlaw and danger. Subsequently in the past two decades groups of people particularly potent at capturing outlaw mages had grown in numbers making evasion impossible. To top it off even within service he wasn't trusted and so that brought to him the three musketeers. All of them veterans from one battle or another they had been assigned to act as bodyguards to Fierre to allow him to concentrate on spell weaving. After four years the three of them admitted the ulterior motive entrusted to them should he desert.

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The sun had waned in the sky and long had Amalian forces fought against the defenders of the fort. With heavy losses on both side prior this last surge neither was well prepared to assault or defend. Despite this the Amalian army had fought their way into the inner wall and now stood affront the main fortifications. Fierre found himself near the East edge of the fort ducking through passageways and under towers with his bodyguards. Rather than openly engaging everyone they met the group simply ran past them and in their hurry were believed to be mercenaries moving as they were told. It helped that a man with non distinguishable colours with bodyguards of similar attire were common in most mercenary troops. Only once had a guard halted Fierre and it ended in a short conflict before Alven slew the guard with his blade. Slumping the body in a corner the group pushed forward. Their aim was through a gateway to reach what would hopefully be the last hold of the forts commander.

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As the Amalian army clashed sword against sword with the enemy they began to fight them back from the walls and into the inner courtyard. Blood littered the ground and bodies lay limp and groaning all over. Vanis and his men urged the injured and weak forward and bolstered the mens morale as more and more ground fell beneath their unending onslaught. Soon they reached the center of the fort itself and needed only to dethrone the commander and defeat any straggling forces.

"Clear out the halls! Not a single man left to fight against us!"

Vanis' words were met with a gallant cheer as the battered men and women rallied under his cry followed his bidding. They pushed through the hallways meeting with great resistance in some cases and needing to circumnavigate the prepared defenses. It seemed, at least to the observant soldier, that the forts walls were only stepping stones as inside the building was a maze filled with deathtraps and roundabouts to slowly pick away at enemy forces. This was efficient to say the least as once inside the Amalian forces were cut down to a third of their size. Nevertheless they were determined and soon Vanis stood at the door to the Commander's chambers.

The hinges squealed under the weight of the great wooden doors swinging inwards. Metal clamored and soon twelve men clad from head to toe in armour with swords ready to strike made their way into the room. Vanis followed closely behind and in turn two men dressed in darkly coloured robes; mages. Across the room stood four men and the commander. Three of them carried blades and the fourth a simple book hung at his waist. As Vanis entered his eyes fell on the unarmed man and a scowl writ itself on his face.

"Fierre you damned rat! Step away from him!"

The four threw puzzled looks back to their general. They hadn't expected him to want to muddy his hands with the final blow. Yielding to his authority they did as he said while Fierre bit back his tongue from lashing out.

Stepping slowly forward Vanis stood himself directly ahead of the enemy commander and slammed his hands on the great desk. The two starred at each other in silence for a long while, then Vanis turned and waved a hand towards Fierre and his men. The armour clad men rushed towards them and instinctively the four drew back placing their weapons between them and the knights.

"What in the lords name are you doing Vanis?"

"Damnit Fierre read the situation. I'm tying up loose threads. If you and your men hadn't been here we never would have needed to kill you, but you're so damned determined to prove that your the best man out there."

Vanis turned to face Fierre and took a single step towards him in his anger. Halted by soft words the fort commander stood and addressed the group.

"Boy, what sense is there in winning a castle already ruined? Reinforcements will arrive within the hours and all of your friends and fellows will be dead before the morning. Your general here understands this and has seen fit to... change sides so to speak."

Grinding his teeth Fierre prodded further at Vanis.

"What do you think this will accomplish? Do you really believe King Adravis won't simply send another army to crush your treasonous ass?"

"Not when I've conquered the fort and repelled the reinforcements and asserted myself as new commander. Isn't that right sir."

"You're too stupid to grasp the situation child, stop poking your nose where it's only going to be bitten off."

Realizing that Vanis likely meant to raise in secret a force to assault the king and usurp the throne Fierre looked around the room quickly. Even his friends of years seemed to understand the situation and reluctantly turned inwards towards him.

"Huh, the lot of you want me dead then?" Voice filled with denial Fierre laughed lightly. As he stared Vanis down his denial turned to rage. Clutching the book tied to his waist Fierre touched the spine and let it fly open. His right hand extended upwards and with it flames grew from the floor beneath his feet casting him in an inferno. Growing in size it pushed against the knights and two faced friends he'd known forcing them to step back. The sound of rushing flames made him have to shout to be heard. "There's a goddamn reason I was always on a short leash Vanis and it wasn't because of you!" Lowering his right hand the raging inferno expanded outwards in a great explosion. The two mages stepped into the blast deflecting the bulk of the force away from Vanis, though failing to shield the others. Cries of pain and the scent of searing flesh filled the room. Smoldering bodies fell to the ground nearest Fierre and he took his opportunity.

Dashing through the great wooden doors and past Vanis he escaped the stroke of his sword and retaliated with a blast of fire aimed for his face. Concentrating on the barrier they had enacted around him the mages could do little for their general other than shave away the flames. In the blinding light Fierre saw his only chance, tucked tail and ran.