For King and Country...

[Letho]

((Closed to Aleister. All bunnies in the quest are approved by both parties.))

***

Three days ago news reverberated through Corone with such vehemence that it even reached the secluded Four Towns county and the serene town of the willows. A convoy of merchants, sailing under the Corone flag, was attacked near the east shores of Fallien. Two of the four ships were sunk without explanation of warning, making the other two seek refuge on shore. Those that survived the initial onslaught fortified themselves in an old citadel close to the ruins of Ras Arid. Irakkam issued no official statement about the attack. They either didn’t know what was going on or they tried to cover it up before any official investigation was performed. The Assembly decided not to wait for the bureaucracy to prevent them from retrieving their citizens.

Officially they were waiting for a word from Irakkam. Unofficially, under a flag of Raiaera, a small group crept down the east shore of Fallien.

***

This was not how Letho imagined his first visit to Fallien. The desolate land of sandy dunes and honorable tribal folk seemed like a fair destination for a vacation. Myrhia would scamper around in one of those scandalous bathing suits, collecting shells on endless beaches, perpetually working on getting him out of the sanctuary of the shade. She would smile and he would smile and they would be young again and completely careless, relieved of the burdens of the everyday life. Fallien should have been an oasis for them, a place where they would escape and just be together and crazy in love. It should’ve been a refuge.

It turned out to be enemy soil.

Cannons ripped through the night again, reminding the Marshal just why he came here and what was the general attitude of the locals towards their intrusion. The Fallien ship was on their tail for two days now, firing front cannons every once in a while to remind Letho and all aboard the Elenisar that there was no way for them to escape. They were well out of range, but in the stillness of the night, the cannon shots were like thunders announcing the storm. They flashed like eyes of a leviathan some distance behind the stern of the elven vessel, creating twin sound splashes some good five hundred paces behind the place where Letho stood solemnly.

“They aren’t giving up?” Myrhia asked, creeping up behind him and leaning her head on his shoulder. The twin flashes in the distance followed by a double booming sound gave her the reply she was asking for. “Why are they doing this?”

“Because they are following orders. Because they think it’s right.” he responded, unfazed by the cannonball splash.

“But that’s why we’re doing this as well.” she spoke dolefully and he smiled mildly.

“Aye. It is always like that. Kings sit on their thrones and move figures on a map, making men charge into meaningless battles, feeling that they are doing the right thing. It’s a feeling that keeps you going. Not the fact that you’re doing the right thing for your king or your country, but the man next to you.” Letho spoke in the serious rough voice that raised the hair on the back of her neck.

“Or a woman.” she added in less-then-mirthful voice so unusual for her.

“Aye. But if everything goes as planned, it won’t come to any blood spilling. Once we disembark, Elenisar will lose the pursuit, then return to pick us up and the survivors tomorrow night. All we have to do is sneak them out of the fortress. And we’ll be home in a couple of days.”

She sighed and held on to him more tightly. “It sounds so easy when you say it like that. I sure hope you’re right this time.”

They both did. The crewmembers were slowly preparing the rowboat for the four that were to proceed to shore and further to the fort where the Corone merchants made their last stand. Beside Myrhia and Letho, The Assembly decided to send two more. Both members of the Scarlet Brigade, the two mysterious figures clad in dark crimson cloaks were like closed books to whoever met them. Despite the tremendous heat of Fallien, they kept their faces hidden, giving out their one-word (usually yes or no) responses in emotionless tones. Letho heard of the Scarlet Brigade and the fact that Corone government decided to send their best only amplified the importance of the task.

Four figures clad in dark attires sat into the rowboat that was lowered into the sea below. The cannons thundered again, enlightening the night for a fraction of a second like fireworks before producing a sound splash. Soundlessly, the dinghy parted from the smooth hull of the Elenisar and proceeded towards the shore. Once they hit the sand, they began their short trek to the citadel and the helpless Corone folk.

[Aleister]

((Allowed by Letho))

The golden sands of Fallien shimmered in the waning sunlight, the bright star fading below the horizon. Lizards skirted across the desert floor, searching for the next insect they could snack upon. Birds above in the pink and orange sky swirled about, savaging the landscape for anything that could be considered a meal. The one road leading to the capital was crude and unpaved, but there was little choice for traveler. All round there were only sand dunes, shaped like the very waves of water that have forsaken this land. Each step was a risk, and any fall could lead to death in such an inhospitable land. And it was here that Aleister and his guide now traversed.

It had been a month since the Aleister had left Salvar for his journey, a journey his father called "A step towards manhood." It was beyond the lad why his father chose such a strange route for him to take, why he needed to cross the deserts here to prove his worth. But he would never argue with his father, he was too afraid to. For nearly a week, Aleister and his guide, Col, had been in Fallien. It took an entire day to get the Exit Pass required for strangers to the land, and from the horror stories told by Col, the lad greatly feared losing his. For nearly five days he'd ridden on horseback over the journey, all the while the guide taught valuable tips on how to survive. At night they had camped, Col told stories of his days as a young nomad, while Aleister played a song or two on his violin.

The two had grown close over the week, and their journey was soon to come full circle. They were less then three days away from the capital, a journey that would've taken two had the horses not run off. Still, the two were anxious to reach the city once again. Col had his family there, and Aleister had passage on to the elven lands.

"Camp there." The guide said, gesturing his young customer to stop. Col pointed to a group of trees that began a small, gray forest. The trees had died, lack of water starving them until they were no more but brittle rock. Fallen branches lay at the roots of each plant, the result of a strong wind. The two trekked over to the outskirts of the forest as they dropped their gear. Col went about gathering the firewood as Aleister slowly unpacked his bindle. A swift wind brought sand to their faces, the sharp mixture grinding their skin harshly. Soon it died down, as it always died down. Nothing in Fallien seemed more certain than death.

"Can I help out?" Called Aleister, trying his best to stay chipper despite the pain on his cheeks. He rose quickly, eager to make himself more useful.

"No, I'm fine. You sit back down, find our rations." Col had decided while the boy meant well, he usually wound up messing things up in end. The guide had decided with himself that Aleister would be safer unpacking, ever since the lad upset a nest of scorpions while searching for firewood.

Aleister sat back down reluctantly on the sand. A feeling of guilt overcame him, guilt formed by his realization that he was useless to others.

****

Eventually, Col had gathered enough wood to start a fire. It had been roaring for over an hour, and his vigil over it kept it from going out even when a harsh wind blew. Aleister had taken out Violet, his violin, plucking the strings to make sure they were all in tune. Then, with the instrument tucked under his chin, hi raised the bow and began to play a soft, sad melody. The air carried off the sweet music through the desert, for any inhabitants nearby to hear. He was good at it, and it seemed to keep Col happy.

"Maybe I do have a use after all..."

[Letho]

The night was warmer then Letho expected. Back on board the Elenisar the weather was cool enough for him to wear his leather coat comfortably due to the oscillation in the temperature between the night and day. But sea heated up easily and cooled down just as easy. Compared to the crystalline waves of the ocean, the sea of sand accumulated more of the heat during the day, emanating it even after sundown. Suffice to say, by the time the cannon fire slipped out of their hearing range, Letho could feel perspiration forming on his back. Combined with the chafing sand that the harsh wind kept slapping his face with, the desert already put the swordsman in a gloomy mood.

The moon was an unwelcome guest on the dome above, providing ample amounts of the supple silver illumination that revealed the four figures expediting over the desert floor. In such light, Fallien landscape looked ominous, haunting, like a painting gone wrong at the hand of a demented painter. The makeshift sun was a white coin, the azure sky was a sea of black sprinkled with sawdust, and the tawny sand stood before them in innumerous sandy dunes glowing with an argent hue. The nameless pair of Scarlet Brigade members walked first, Myrhia followed in her tiny footsteps that barely left a trail, and Letho walked the last, plowing through the soft soil.

“Stop.” the voice before him whispered, the right of their two mysterious companions spoke, pausing their advance some half an hour after they left the shore. His voice came in an emotionless whisper. “Over there.” he added, moving a hand from his side and pointing towards what to Myrhia – who always had better eyesight then Letho – seemed like just a darker smudge on the horizon. Letho didn’t see anything tangible in the darkness.

“Enemies?” the Corone Marshal asked, straining his eyes in vain.

“No. Travelers.”

The hand fell at the man’s side soundlessly and their trek restarted. “Who are these people? And more importantly, what are they?” Letho pondered as he followed once again. He had a twenty-twenty vision before he became a vampire and once he did, it was even sharper. And yet he was as blind as a bat as these two noticed a pair of hidden travelers. The swordsman tried to draw a parallel between their vision and their battle prowess. If the two were proportional, the pair must be godlike on the battlefield.

They plodded on, four phantasms in a windy night, and minutes afterwards they found themselves slowly dipping into the landscape. Two dunes at their sides grew gradually until, at the end of it, they grew into a pair of real mountains that formed a canyon through which the four walked. This seemed in accord with the maps that Letho surveyed back on Elenisar. The fort was supposed to be at the end of the long ravine, making it accessible only from the front. Before the alleged cataclysm that fell upon Fallien people, the fort used to be one of the greatest mines in the realm, the canyon artificially made so that the ore reached the shore as fast as possible. Nowadays the mines were exhausted, the shafts mostly collapsed and the fortress that was build around it was holding on simply because it was made by the dwarven quarry masters.

The outer wall was merely a vertical outline to Letho at first – he was certain that the two before him could already see it in full detail – but soon enough the stone fortification stood before them like a dam forgotten in time. There seemed to be no activity on the ramparts, but as soon as they came into bow range, the silence was ripped with high-pitched whistles of launched projectiles. The swordsman reacted in a flash. His gunblade was before him, spinning so fast that it became a blur, fending off the incoming projectiles effectively. The two warriors that accompanied them didn’t even move. Neither did Myrhia, but she did so because she was caught with her pants down. Luckily, none of the arrows struck them.

“Hold your fire! We hail from Corone, coming here to your aid!” Letho’s voice rose in the night, powerful, royal, the voice of a king that raised the hair on the back of Myrhia’s neck every time.

Only a faint echo of his voice stirred in the tranquility. Then: “Where’s the rest of you?”

“We’re it. Now open up!” the swordsman spoke again, returning the gunblade to his back. On the other side of the wall shuffling became prominent, together with voices issuing orders or something akin to that.

“They are coming.” again the same irritatingly emotionless voice. Letho recoiled, turned around and gazed into the darkness, his every sense piquing. He heard nothing but shuffling behind his back and saw nothing but the darkness of the ravine. The tension was like electricity in the night. And then he could hear the sound of feet. And there were many.

[Aleister]

When night came, the beauty of Fallien's sunset was lost. Soon the picturesque, water color scene was engulfed by a abyss, illuminated only by silver light. The land was eerily quiet, not a single creature could be heard. Only the occasional howl of wind broke the silence, the breeze rustling the dead trees to motion. Col stood ever vigilant, sitting up as he watched the fire burn down. Aleister had fallen asleep, and a not a sound could be heard from him. The guide watched the lad in his charge, eyeing him in his blanket for any sign of trouble. He had never lost a client, and wasn't going to start now. His protection of Aleister was more than professional. He really did enjoy Aleister's company, and he started to feel more and more attached with each passing day. The kid was nice, funny and a tad naive. But what really struck him was how the boy was always willing to help out, even if he was never any good at it.

The guide let out a deep sigh as he laid back against the desert sand. It was still warm, and experience told him it would stay this way for another hour or so. Until then, he needed no blanket and could just enjoy the sigh sight above. Aleister was safe, no danger lurked nearby, and above was the mysterious beauty of the night's sky. He eyed the black canapé dotted with twinkling shimmers, remembering his childhood in a nomadic tribe. From an early age he was taught the basics of stars, where to find things, how to navigate across the desert. There was something he'd always liked about the stars, an unreachable treasure that humans could only dream about. His eyelids closed, the darkness within them mirrored the sky. Images of his wife and daughters flooded his mind, and Col couldn't help but smile just a little.

His thoughts were interrupted however, when he heard footsteps plod through sand dunes not too far away. He rose quickly, instinctively reaching for his saber, rising up as he did. His keen eyes, trained from years of the desert life, searched about for any sign of movement. The fire had gone out while he dreamed, and only glowing embers remained. Still, the smoke rising from the burnt wood could give the pair away to any hostile elements. Nearby, he saw seven shadowed figures moving in his direction. They looked about, so Col guessed they didn't know the exact location. He knew that could buy them some time, because no one out at this hour could be considered friendly. He packed his bindle quickly, staying as low to the ground as possible. Crawling over to Aleister, he woke him as best he could, trying to keep them both quiet.

"Hmm? What's..what's going on?" The boy mustered with a yawn, his bright emerald eyes only half opened. Col could only place his finger over his mouth, trying his best to keep the lad quiet. As fast as he could, the guide pulled up Aleister, grabbed his bindle, rolled it up, and left in a trot, pulling the lad behind them. He tried his best to move deeper into the deadwood forest, but as they quickly crept in, a branch on the ground snapped. The sound resonated and the shadowed figures quickly came towards its source. At that, Col took off, nearly dragging the confused Aleister behind him. Soon, they were out of the small forest as the began to climb a high sand dune. It was treacherous, and had Col not been holding on to him, Aleister would've fallen all the way back down.

The sand was different here, no where near as stable as the road had been. Each step sunk a little, Col knew his charge couldn't handle the pace in this terrain much longer. He was worried who was behind, and if there were more. Nomadic tribes in the area usually came in larger groups. Luckily, the guide new of a safe spot up ahead. He saw the dunes that would lead to a canyon. A fort, built long before the great disaster, stood there. They could camp inside for safety, and Col could plan the next move. All the guide knew was that he had to keep Aleister safe for now, and that was his only goal.

****

They had traversed a good distance from their original camp, and Aleister was only now waking up. He felt confused, tired, and a little scared. In their short time together, the boy had not once seen Col afraid of anything, not even a nest of scorpions. "But now...he seems so different...so unsure." The boy could barely keep up with the swift pace, and had little time to notice the scenery change around him. The two dunes rose high, elevating into two mountains by the time he could notice anything. His legs were weak, and his body fatigued. Aleister just wanted to lay down in the sand and sleep for days. But that continuous tugging by Col kept him going, all the way up to a fortress wall.

Col stopped suddenly in his tracks, and Aleister could see why. Right in front of them stood four dark figures, looking up towards the largest fortress wall the lad had ever seen. They were no more than 5 yards ahead, and Col tried his best to stay a bit low, incase they belonged to the group following. A sharp wiz came right by Aleister's head, and in a second the guide had thrown him to the ground, using his own body as a shield. Col's weight was uncomfortable, but when the boy realized what had just happened, he was grateful for it.

The guide's eyes and ears were on the figures, piercing through the darkness. All Aleister could do was stay low, and pray.

[Letho]

When the second salvo of arrows whistled above his head and the heavyset steel gates still weren’t open, Letho reckoned that the attacking force was already here and the four of them were about to make their stand alone. However, it turned out that the attacking force was actually a frail looking boy and a significantly more experienced tracker that lay in the dust, barely evading the projectiles launched at them. They were no threat. From what the Marshal could read in their eyes, they were too bewildered and surprised to be scouts of the following legion.

“Hold your fire!” he reinstated his order to the archers above. He could hear the bowstrings loosening up above his head. Whoever was on those ramparts certainly shot first, shot some more, shot everybody and then maybe asked a question or two. But then again, mercs always had a tendency to be jittery, and being stranded in an enemy territory with a minimal chance for survival could certainly make a person trigger happy.

“We mean no harm!” the older of the two strangers spoke, getting up slowly with his hands raised to verify his words. “There’s a large group heading this way and we were seeking shelter in the fortress.”

“How many?” Letho asked, but the rugged-looking traveler never got a chance to respond. Instead the obscure phantasm of a hooded man spoke.

“Enough. We need to move.” the Number One spoke, the title something Letho’s mind created due to the lack of any other discernable feature of the dark warrior. He got the number one because he was about an inch taller then the other and spoke more often. The bolts of the massive gates clanked loudly as the support beams were removed, the rusty steely gates screeching unhealthily as they swung inwards.

“Alright. You two either come with us or take your chances with whatever’s coming. We don’t have much time.” the sullen swordsman spoke before he led the way through the gates. Once they were inside, the ancient dwarven machinery was set in motion once again, slamming the door behind them with a dull definite sound, allowing the men to return the massive supporting beam on its rightful spot. It took almost a dozen of them to do so due to the girth of both the door and the beam.

The interior of the fort was rather unremarkable at first (and only) sight that Letho cast. Most of the supporting buildings were either turned into peculiar sand dunes by the dry winds or they barely had enough constitution to stand upright. From a couple of them though faces popped up, doleful and scared, their eyes that of a frightened doe that just heard the sound of a hunter. About half a dozen horses stood beside those houses, ignorantly calm with their dull gazes merely skimming over the newcomers. There was a prominent sense of desolation in the air despite the activity, a scent of something forgotten on a shelf for so long it begun to decay into fine powder.

The militia that manned the walls was somewhat of a comforting sight though. They seemed like swords for hire, their equipment varying from one to the next – mostly studded leather armors, long bows and broadswords – and that at least was something to cheer about. Mercenaries weren’t the most trusty folk, but they operated with a simple agenda, trading their prowess (and sometimes their lives) for a fistful of coins. They knew that, their employers knew that, and if they were the honest kind that stayed the course no matter what, they were a factor Letho could count on.

“Who’s in charge here?” the Marshal asked, once again in that commanding voice that made Myrhia shiver. Number One and Number Two stood at Letho’s flanks like apparitions that rose from hell and came to serve the gallant swordsman. Myrhia stood behind them, surveying the surroundings in her usual panicky manner. A rather flamboyant man stepped forwards, his posture as cocky as if he just won the world on a hand of card, his wide-brimmed hat decorated by a ridiculous dangling feather.

“I am. Felix Arnauth... Uhm... Captain Felix Arnauth.” he corrected himself the second time, his tone trying to be imposing but failing in front of the mountain of solidity that was Letho Ravenheart.

“Not anymore. I am Marshal Letho Ravenheart and we are sent here to rescue you.” the swordsman spoke so that all in the vicinity could hear him. The heads that popped from the crumbling buildings seemed to be encouraged by this, but the second they made a move to get anything more then a peek, the eyes of the mercenary force lashed over them. Letho had no time to notice this. Myrhia did. She put it in a little logbook in her mind and saved it for a more appropriate time.

“For now we have to man the walls and repel this attack.” he spoke to the captain and those near. “How many able men do we have, captain?”

“Close to a hundred. Some of them got injured in the last night’s raid though.” the blonde captain responded, feebly trying to compete with Letho’s dominance. The Marshal didn’t like the vagueness of his information though, speaking in approximations instead of exact numbers. That alone marked the lack of true leadership in the man.

“And them? With what force did they strike so far?” Letho continued, starting up the stairs that led up to the ramparts.

“About a thousand. They are not very well organized. No war machinery, light infantry mostly.”

Letho stepped on the top level and cast a look over the canyon. The view stopped him in his tracks. “I guess they learned on their mistakes.” was the only thing he said as he surveyed what looked like a black tide swarming through the canyon. Though never a good judge of distance and numbers, he put their force at about five thousand strong, the front liners equipped with broad tower shields, followed by a pair of mobile towers made out of wood. A couple of ladders were also brought, lumbered by the lightly armored warriors, and what seemed like a makeshift battering ram followed in tow, made out of a trunk of some humongous tree. They stopped just out of arrow range, a legion of Fallien tribals eager to draw the blood of the infidels that crawled into their mouse hole. And suddenly all was silent.

[Aleister]

The sand had cooled with time, Aleister had only just noticed. Col's warm body on top of him was all he could feel for the moment. His eyes were shut tightly, listening for the sounds of more arrows. He was afraid, truly afraid for his life. It was not often that the pampered lad found himself near death. Soon it became apparent no more arrows would be fired as the tracker got up off of the boy and helped him to his feet. Aleister brushed the sand from his shirt and looked at the four people in front of him. They were clad in dark outfits, and all had serious looks on their faces. The most imposing figure had an air about him, like a lone wolf. He now spoke with Col, the guide trying desperately to keep the situation from escalating further. The youth could not help noticing the only girl in the group, the left side of her face covered by auburn hair that could be seen clearly in the moonlight. The other two with the group were nearly identical, hooded figures that gave off an eerie aura. Aleister could not help but distrust them.

When the great dwarven gate began to open its screeching bolts, the boy jumped behind his guide, fearful of the sudden noise. Col followed the four as they entered the darkened fortress, with Aleister sticking closely behind. When they were inside, the gates slammed shut. Several men scurried up, securing the gates with a large wooden beam. The boy look around his new surroundings, buildings in the state fo decay, homes nothing more than a pile of dust, and all around eyes peaked out from the glassless windows. These people were suspicious, and frightened.

"Could you not latch on so tightly?" The tracker's deep, warm voice whispered to Aleister. The lad, unknown to him, had been tightly holding onto Col's hand. Embarrassed, he blushed as he released the more experienced man. The guide sent a slight smile at him, before returning his attention to the fort and its soldiers. Aleister, annoyed that he acted so childish, wandered a few feet back to look at wear he was. The boy was amazed at the fortress, as old as it was. 'How could this have lasted so long? Only true masters could craft something so...so well built.'

The wide-eyed youth approached the sealed gate in awe. The strong wooden doors and finely molded iron frame were like nothing he'd ever seen. However, A quick look from one of the nearby guards sent his gaze downward, forcing him back towards Col. The intimidating mercenary was not too fond of these uninvited guests. He held his spear firmly, his cloak flapping in a night's breeze. All that was too much for Aleister, who now stood at his tracker's side.

"Why are we here?" whispered the youth, looking around cautiously. He didn't want to offend any of the men around them. Once he was assured no one was listening, he continued in a slightly louder tone. "I'm not sure these people are all too friendly."

The guide let out a sigh as he stared into those emerald eyes, those trusting, naive eyes. "Of course these men aren't friendly Aleister. But the group from the forest didn't look to friendly either, and these people look held up against them. I don't trust people that travel in such large groups at night, especially when it looked like they were scouting. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend, have you heard that Aleister?" Col tried his best to seem firm, but felt guilty he was treating the boy so foolishly, and it was obvious in his tone.

"I don't believe that, not at all." Seriousness plagued the young boy's face, his playful deemed vanished. "We don't know who these people are, or what they're doing. For all we know, those men from the forest could've been our allies." The lad tried to stress his point, his voice raised to a higher pitch.

Col could only summon another sigh again, shaking his head a little. "Aleister, have I steered you wrong yet?" No response, but the guide knew that is was silent agreement. "Then just listen to me. We're safer here, then we are out there, no matter. If we stay cool, blend in, and weight it out, we should both be fine." Aleister turned his head, trying his best not to look Col in the eyes. A sign of defeat. "Good, just listen to me, Okay?"

"Alright, you've gotten me this far." A weak smile came across Aleister's face, he knew he just couldn't argue right now. He was tired, and arguing with Col just seemed stupid.

"You two!" A pudgy soldier bellowed as he walked towards the two. He had a thick beard and the eyes of a sadist, cold and emotionless. He narrowed his view on Col, taking momentary peeks at the boy. "Can you fight?"

"I fought nearly two years against piracy in Fallien trading vessels." The guide was proud of that achievement, and it was how he became so well known. One of the few people of Fallien to travel out of the land, hired as a mercenary from one trading ship to another. "I'm pretty handy with this..." Removing his saber slowly, he let the moonlight catch it, adding a bit of shine to the dull blade.

"Hmmph..What about the kid?" His gaze came down on the youth, who began to blush a little.

"Ah, He's never been trained or fought. He'd be no good to anyone in combat." Aleister was a bit offended at Col's words, although he knew he was trying to keep him safe. The soldier could only let out a huff before he walked off to another, chatting with him and pointing towards the pair.

"I don't want you to fight. It's just too dangerous" Col tried his best to explain, Aleister nodding all the while. "Just help out on the other tasks they give you, alright?"

Just as the lad was going to respond, he remembered something. His eyes grew even wider, fearful of what he might discover. "Where's..."

"Don't worry, Violet's in my bindle." The guide rested his hand on the youth's shoulder, reassuring him that his instrument was safe.

[Letho]

From the legion that occupied the entire width of the sandy passage, a solitary rider came forth, stopping just out of the reach of the archers. The beast was restless beneath him, but he held his hand up peacefully, holding his troops stationary. His voice rose over the silence effortlessly, reaching every single ear in the fortress.

“Surrender, infidels, and answer for your wrongdoings!”

It was a commanding voice, ancient-sounding and yet powerful enough to travel the distance with no loss in power. Letho stepped onto the ledge of the rampart, raising his hand as well.

“We have wronged you in nothing save being foreigners in a foreign land!” his voice echoed through the canyon, a perfect representation of his dauntless posture.

“So be it.”

The last wasn’t uttered in a voice loud enough to reach the walls, but Letho’s heightened senses picked it up quite clearly. And even if they didn’t, acts spoke louder then any words, the twinkling sea of helmets, swords and spear tips starting their advance towards the fort at a steady pace. “By the gods, what did these people do? Defiled their shrines or something?” The first volley of arrows was set loose, lacking the range and striking the stone fortification, but still denying the swordsman time to ponder on the question. If they didn’t act soon and did so effectively, by the end of the night they wouldn’t have a head with which they could ponder.

“Alright, listen up, people!” he begun, descending down the flight of stairs. “Everything that can do damage, rocks, debris, anything sharp, I want it up on the walls and raining down their heads once they reach the walls. Once the battering ram comes to the gates, I want you in the center to make them sorry they tried to knock on our doors. Myrhianna, give me your bow.” he concluded in a silent tone, speaking to the redhead that carried the composite bow slung over her shoulder.

“Are you sure? I can fight, you know?” she stated something he knew all too well. But he had another job for her and she was grateful for it; both of them knew that. He trained her to fight, to kill effectively, but he could never train her to be a killer. And even if he could, he wouldn't because it would defile something so perfectly innocent, he would never forgive himself for doing that.

“I know. But I need you to get all of these people as far back as you can. Don’t go into the mineshafts. They don’t look safe.” he spoke. A handful of arrows managed to pass over the walls and hit the sand to their left, serving as a perfect announcement that the time is growing thin. “You keep them out of harm’s way. Take the blonde kid with you.” he nodded towards one of the two strangers that they met in front of the wall minutes ago. Next, he took off his backpack and gave it to Myrhia. “If anybody gets hurt, you know what to do.” he concluded, giving her a swift kiss on the forehead before taking the bow and climbing back up.

Mercenaries worked with trained prowess, unleashing arrows with precision, raining death on the infantry that walked under the cover of their shields. Letho didn’t use his bow immediately, but opted for his gunblade, leveling the weapon with the battering ram that slowly made its way through the ranks of infantry. The weapon roared inhumanly, like an artificial thunder as the barrel spewed fire, sending the bullet on its way. It struck one of the men in the chest, creating a fist sized hole before it proceeded to tear the leg of the soldier behind him. He wasn’t too worried about the battering ram though. Once they start stepping over their own dead, they would lose the morale to keep dying for a futile task. The two towers that rolled on wooden wheels, on the other hand, could be quite a problem with their lack of catapults or ballistas.

While the first blood was being drawn on the battlefield, Myrhia swung the large backpack on her back and scuttled to the boy that seemed more lost then her in this situation. And given the lass’ state of mind that was always in some sort of innocent upheaval, that was saying a lot. “Hiya, I’m Myrhia.” she said, ducking to the whizzing sound of arrows that passed overhead. In the midst of it all, she managed to procure a smile, soft and unblemished by the chaos that revolved around them.

“Letho said we should try to get people as far back as possible. Come on, we need to hurry.” she spoke, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the closest house that lay in ruins. Several mercenaries from the ramparts cast angered looks (captain Felix Arnauth being one of them), but they seemed to peer through the pair and look towards the frightened folk that hid inside the houses. They were women and elderly mostly, their eyes twinkling with just a shimmer of hope as they looked at the two teens. Myrhia thought it was natural given the siege and the enemy that seemed eager to bring them to justice for something they didn’t do. But why the harsh looks? That was no look that an employee gives to his employer, she knew that much. She saw looks like that before, but couldn’t pinpoint it with arrows buzzing above her head like insects and with the first screams of agony ripping the fabric of the night.

“We need to move back. Come, it’s alright. We’re here to help.” she spoke, letting go of Aleister and calling them out, her voice soft and sympathetic as she offered them a reassuring smile. Though they looked rather spooked, the innocence on her face seemed more then sufficient to brake through any barriers that they stood before them and they followed her. Letho knew they would. There was hardly a frown she couldn’t break with that infectious smile of hers.

[Aleister]

"How many are out there?" The boy looked paler, anxious of what he had heard. It had only now become apparent to the two just what was happening around them. A battle between forces they were unfamiliar with, ideals they knew nothing about, and an army that stood outside waiting to kill everyone within the ancient dwarven walls.

"Too many. I couldn't tell you really. Several thousand strong's my best guess." The guide leaned against the fortress' wall, sharpening his dull blade with a rock. Col tried his best to remain calm, his eyes staring blankly at his saber. He couldn't upset Aleister, he could only guess what that would do to the kid. "There might be a chance that we can leave. I'm a native, and maybe I could explain we're not involved in this mess." He lowered his eyes towards the boy, holding the sword limply for a moment. It was a fool's hope, but a hope that the boy could dwell on.

"And leave these people? When I can help them?" Aleister straighten up, those serious eyes staring right back at his guide.

"You know I don't want you using that..." Col remembered the first time he'd seen the lad's 'gift'. He hadn't believed Aleister at first, no one ever did. Who could honestly accept that one being can ease the pain of another, taking it into themselves, replacing it with a warm comfort. The tracker saw it first hand, however he wished he hadn't. The poor youth's expression of pain, clutching his leg when he tried to ease his mount's suffering early in their journey. The guide vowed he wouldn't let such a sacrifice be made again. "Just don't mention it..." The lad could only slouch back down on the wooden crate, uneasy under the man's view. "Promise me!" His voice, while quiet, held an authority that needed no sound. He laid one hand on the boys shoulder, and looked him straight in the eye.

"I promise..." Aleister was defeated, he couldn't win this argument. Col was far too forceful, and right. The boy knew that his ability would drain him, hurt him too much if he used it in the fortress. Like a child, he starred at the ground, unable to really accept his lose. "When is this going to start anyways?" His attention now focused on his growing boredom.

"A watched pot never boils Aleister. The more you want and watch, the longer it takes. Besides, when the arrows start flying, I want you in some sort of shelter with the others. These walls will be no place for you." The sound of Letho's voice nearby was of no concern to the two of them. The bloodbath was coming, everyone could feel it in the air. Animosity hung like a ripe apple ready to fall.

The first volley of arrows came falling from the sky like swift hail. Many plunged into the sand, raising a small cloud of dust where they fell. Col reacted quickly, his blade sharpened enough for battle. He climbed to the top of the wall, taking two steps at a time. All the while getting only a fleeting glance at Aleister, who now half stood up, trying his best to stay on alert. The tracker had no time to help him, he needed to focus on the matter at hand. " Protecting this wall..."

***

The arrows fell everywhere, hitting brick and sand alike. Aleister had never been in battle before, he'd never been in a real fight before. He tried his best to reason, to figure out what he needed to survive. He quickly remembered Col's bindle, where he precious violin was kept. But as the lad tried to lean and get it, an arrow flew over head, missing him by hair's length. His grassy field eyes opened wider, complete shock and awe filled within. Aleister shook his head, trying his best to remove any doubt in his mind. 'I can...I can do this.'

No sooner had he slung the bindle, then a strange young woman appear. Right away the boy knew her from the four strangers that had entered with him and Col. Her dark red hair reminded him of a grove of trees that grew outside his manor, her eyes a rich pasture of greens. She seemed unnaturally chipper for the battleground, not something Aleister expected of a woman. She introduced herself as Myrhia, a beautiful name if ever the lad heard. But soon she dragged him along like a rag doll. The boy barely had time to introduce himself as they raced through the hail of arrows to go and help people move out of range. 'This Letho must be the man from earlier...why else would she be so familiar.' Cries of main run through the air as the volley continued, the youth could only assume how many soldiers had already fallen. By the time they reached the run down buildings, he was out of breath, inhaling heavy, deep breaths.

The two walked inside, Myrhia still staying placid, and Aleister nearly out of breath. Her voice was soothing, and roused people to get up and move further back to safety. It seemed amazing how she did it, almost appearing angelic. Mostly women and the elderly, the boy wondered why so many mercenaries were needed for such a convoy of civilians. He pushed such silly thoughts for later on, when lives weren't at stake. The reality of the situation was only now budding into his mind, and he couldn't take another pressure to that.

More and more civilians congregated as the two moved further back. Their small group from the first building continued to grow. Even in the chaos he could hear shadowed chatter going on, most likely about he and Myrhia. "I think they only trusted us when they saw their friends do it, mob mentality isn't always a bad thing I think." He couldn't help but mention it to her, and the small snicker that escaped her lips caused his heart to miss a beat.

At last the reached the last set of buildings before the dilapidated shaft, half hearted attempts had been made to board it up. The buildings near it were mostly circular, some with dome roofs worn away with time.

"This will work." Myrhia said, examining the area. Soon the people moved into the small hovels, which at one time must have functioned at cook houses. As Aleister helped the last few stragglers inside, he couldn't help to pose a question to the lass.

"What's next?"

[Letho]

Though there were times, not so long ago, when he could hit the bull’s eye from the distances ranging over hundred paces, Letho’s archery skills have significantly degenerated from those times. Carelessness of what nowadays seemed like a completely different life was replaced with the life of a wanderer, and somewhere in the midst of all the conflicts he got himself into, he forgot the lessons that Denth tried to teach so ardently. Because people liked to take issues up close and personal and he was too bullheaded, too stubborn, too goddamn proud to pussyfoot around with a bow in his hands. There was something wrong in killing a man from a distance, something treacherous in taking something as precious as a human life without dignifying the victim with the face of its executor. There was no honor in that.

However, that kind of honor was a luxury he couldn’t afford himself right now. The roaring mass of Fallien soldiers poured in, unfazed by the comrades that fell at their side, screaming in agony. Letho’s hands worked almost like those of an automaton, taking the arrow from the quiver, loading, taking aim, releasing. Reloading, taking aim, releasing. His lack of precision was not an issue; with the ample enemy force at the foot of their ramparts, firing and missing was as likely to happen as if you threw a stone into the ocean and missed the water. He killed without thinking, detached himself from their ghoulish yowls and empty eyes that peered up into the darkness and just let his hands recall the lessons that seemed so far in the past by now, they sounded like a myth.

His temporary comrades – the bloodthirsty mercenaries that trashtalked down to the fallen foe, cursing their mothers and calling them names – were like a well greased machine, firing, ducking once the arrows showered the fort, then returning the favor. So far two of them were struck by an arrow, the wounds just bad enough to render them useless in combat, but just light enough for them to dodder down the stairs and make their way to the back. Myrhia and the frail lad would take care of them, Letho allowed a thought in between two steps of his rhythmic load-fire-reload pacing. Below, the huge tree trunk made its way to the front of their fortified gates, creating a first echoing boom as it struck.

“The ram! Focus on the damned battering ram!” Letho shouted, ducking under a volley of arrows and taking his gunblade again. The merc next to him – a rather youngish lad with curly brown hair and rather scrawny figure – failed to duck, taking an arrow into the eye and stumbling down almost in slow motion. “Too young to die!” was an random thought that his mind expelled before the Marshal stood up again, took aim and let his high-caliber weapon roar. The bullet sent one of the soldiers next to the battering ram spinning like a rag doll, then proceeded to create and explosion of splinters as it struck wood. Stones rained down, bashing skulls with sickening sounds, breaking the bones and creating a pile or fresh cadavers in only a couple of minutes. Yet they were persistent, fresh cannon fodder grabbing the trunk and proceeding to slam it into the doors. The gates held with barely a shiver. Praise to the dwarves and their sturdiness that reflected in every thing they made.

Letho ducked again, arrows swishing above his head. Two more swords for hire fell with a yelp, one taking it in the chest and freefalling down towards the interior. Number One and Number Two, the pair of mysterious Scarlet Brigade members, stood calmly at the ramparts, moving their bodies with uncanny, inhuman agility as they evaded the arrows, but refused to return fire. Their hands were tucked into the insides of their coats, their figures serene.

“Not ranged fighters, huh? Some special task force.” Letho’s mind commented with sarcasm as he rose again. This time there was more trouble then just the battering ram and the myriad of soldiers that seemed eager to drive it through what seemed like the only weak point of the citadel. The two towers, each pushed by a multitude of hands, approached them. They were crude things, obviously made with little concern for everything save the ability to provide solid cover and create a vertical bridge that would override the mighty walls. Letho knew he had to take them down. He scuttled over the length of the wall, reaching the two dark figures.

“We have to take down those towers before they reach the wall. Our arrows don’t do squat!” he spoke, but there was no reaction from the pair, the hollow blackness of their hoods mere peering back at him, as if pending for a coherent order. “I’ll take care of the right one, you two take care of the other! Can you do that?” he asked, his voice loud enough to rise over the ruckus that seemed deafening. There might have been a nod of confirmation coming from the two, there might have even been a smirk on their unseen faces. And then they simply leapt down into the crowd.

“What the...?” Letho wanted to lean over, but another salvo of arrows swept over them, making him duck. “And I thought I was crazy?”

He really was. Myrhia hated his tendency for suicidal plans, but inspired by Number One and Two, Letho came up with another and set it in motion instantly. He jumped to the ledge, dashing down its stretch until he gained enough momentum for a jump. Once he had enough speed, he let his gunblade fly towards the foot of the tower, the massive weapon tearing through one of the four wooden trunks that held it upright and stabbing itself into the other. By this time Letho was airborne, flying through mid air and towards the tower with his bastard sword drawn. His bulk took him straight through the hull, crash-landing in the interior packed with enemy soldiers. The swordsman wasted no time, letting his blade and his fists speak as the very close combat ensued. Through severed limbs and gallons of blood, he emerged at the foot of the tower, much to the surprise of the soldiers that pushed it.

To his side, the left tower crackled like a freshly-cut timber, collapsing onto the platoon of Fallien troops with a demented cacophony of screams. The two black figures ran for the wall, slashing through the rattled troops as if they were training dummies, moving with bestial vehemence, their every move surgically precise. They reached the foot of the fortifying wall with little trouble and then proceeded to run up the wall with their hands and feet somehow clawing at the vertical wall. “By the gods? What are these people?” The question nearly cost him his life. Swords and spears came at him double time, but even as they did, the adamantine blade swept them in a double motion, breaking them as if they were dry sticks.

“DOWN!” somebody shouted from behind the group with broken weapons, and the two rows of enemies that stood before Letho dropped as if mowed by a scythe. The swordsman knew what would follow. “Aw, hell!” A squadron of archers unleashed certain death at the swordsman almost at point blank range, bound to make a kill. But they had one tough nut to crack. Letho’s blade spun before him like a propeller, too fast for any eye (except maybe those of numbers One and Two) to see in anything save a blur, repelling the projectiles effectively. He lost no time after this. Instead of playing the role of the raging bull, he reached for the gunblade that stood imbedded in the wooden foundation of the tower. He yanked it out, made a circular sweep that cut through three of the boldest that charged right at him, and cut right through the wood. The tower above him swayed like a drunkard, then came crashing down at his head, but by that time Letho was dashing for the fort.

“ROPE! SOMEBODY THROW ME A ROPE!!” he shouted, realizing only now that he had no plausible plan how to return to the fort before he leapt for the tower. Luckily, a length of rope came down even as he reached the wall, unseen hands pulling him up vigorously. By the time he was up and safe, the forces below started to retreat gradually, carefully, holding their shields and backtracking into the canyon. Without the towers and a more effective battering ram, they were just meat for the grinder. Letho sat down on the cold stone with an audible sigh. He forgot how intense real battle was.

[Aleister]

Arrows continued to fall, screams of the injured echoed through the bastion. War cries bellowed in the air as the men at the walls unleashed their hatred upon their foes. But at the far back, away from the front, a relative calm had set over on the people. Fires had been set up in the decrepit huts, pots of meats and stews were stirred in preparation for all the hungry. The rations weren't large, but a well nearby the mineshaft provided a large source of water. Lying on blanket, people who hadn't seen one and other since they'd come to the fort caught up on conversations and gossip. Myrhia went swiftly around to each building, checking on people's conditions. The old were sore, the rushed migration irritating their joints.

To keep spirits up, Aleister had begun to play Violet. He tried to work her as best he could, strumming the most cheerful tunes that came to mind. The violin was able to let people forget about the battle at the wall, drowning out the sounds of war. If for only a brief moment, the people could be themselves again, happy at life, enjoying the sweet sound of the music played.

The first of the wounded came into the mineshaft’s plot, eyeing the ancient domes wearily. There were only two of them, both with arrow wounds to the upper body and both with looks of distress on their faces. As the first of them entered, Aleister couldn’t help but feel their resentment, angry that there were so many safe back here. Their slow, cautious looks at Myrhia and him sent a shiver down the boy's spine. One of them grunted, nodding his head towards the helpful lass. He clutched his shoulder tightly, a trickle of fresh blood leaking out from under his studded, leather armor.

"I 'ear this's where we can get fix up?" He spoke in broken trade speak, a deep, throaty accent perverting his tongue. Not even acknowledging Aleister, he lumbered over to the nearest unoccupied stool, awaiting a quick treatment from Myrhia. As he removed his hand, torn flesh and spurts of blood were revealed that sickened many of the civilians.

"Did you remove the arrow youself?" Concern grew over her face as Myrhia gingerly looked over the wound, careful to incite the man's agony. All he could manage was a subtle nod as he was biting too hard to speak. She searched Letho's bag for the healings herbs inside. What she withdrew was a deep green plant, dried from age. It was ground into flakes like basil, and the faintest smell of menthol flew through the air. The soldier took it greedily, stuffing it into his mouth quickly, swallowing it without even a thank you. "That was going on your wound you know..." She seemed slightly agitated now, the warrior's frank behavior more than a little trying to her patience.

"And you could ke'p quiet, but ya' don'." Those deep black eyes of his were like pits, relentless in their stare. Myhria left him without a word, instead searching for something to bandage his wound.

The second soldier to come in was young, having a light chestnut hair illuminated by the fire. A gushing wound was on his neck, his former pale skin stained by red. He moved slowly, his wide eyes hollow in a dream like state. The pain was getting to him as his steps became more labored until he finally collapsed at Aleister's feet. The lad was shocked, astonished that a young man could suffer such a wound. He quickly put down his violin, looking around for any sign of help. The civilians around were stunned, their pleading eyes were of no help. Myrhia had left to another building, frustrated in her search for bandage, and the other wounded soldier was out of it from the medication.

The lad kneeled down near the fallen warrior, the blood flowing more rapidly as he'd hit the floor. The fighter could only look up in Aleister, his up turned eyes filled with pain. Empathy flooded the boy, he had no time to remember the words of Col. Without thinking, he placed his hands over the soldier's wounds, concentrating hard. Slowly, a degree of warmth left his body, transferring to his patient. And then the pain his Aleister himself, like a hot it seared inside his neck. The Soldier began to grin slightly, amazed at his recovery despite the blood lose, all while Aleister hit the floor, writhing in pain.

He had no time to hear Myrhia's gasps as he passed into unconsciousness.

[Letho]

For a couple of moments Letho just sat on the ramparts with his back against the wall, breathing heavily and keeping an attentive ear on the lessening shuffle on the other side of the wall. After the clamorous hustle of the battle, the night seemed to sink back to the graveyard silence until there was no sound except the occasional leathery shuffle of mercs in armors, words spoken in low voices and a dash of wind so gentle he could barely feel it on his blood-stained visage. Most of the hired swords congregated in small groups, some keeping a watchful eye on the canyon that gave of a rather good impression of what just happened, some making their way off the walls and further in the interior of the fortress. They all had one thing in common, one detail that was painted on all their faces, Letho’s included: they were all relieved that the lives lost on this night weren’t their own.

All save one. The weathered man that they met outside the walls just before that attack gazed down on the aftermath of the battle with a doleful expression if Letho ever saw one. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes surveying the littered bodies across the blood-drenched sand below. The Savion prince understood that grief. He felt the same way years ago, when the Dram barbarians stormed the Savion Hill. So many lives lost, squandered, destroyed by a dispute that most didn’t even remember anymore. Letho pushed himself up to his feet and approached the man, joining him in the gaze. His eyes were as keen and strict as always; emotions were not something a leader could afford in situations such as this one.

“How did it come to this?” Col asked, keeping his eyes on the sea of bodies below.

“They attacked first.” Letho coldly answered. Mercs weren’t his favorite people, but they were Coronians and they were attacked without a warning, and that was more then enough for him to know which side to take. “A group of Fallien ships attacked a merchant convoy. They sunk two ships, the other two made it to the shore and the survivors fled to this fortress. Must be some renegade tribe that isn’t too fond of the outsiders.”

“No.” the man simply replied. “The Fallien people don’t do that. Not even the most violent tribes don’t attack without a reason. And this isn’t just somebody asking vigilante justice, Marshal Ravenheart. Their leader abides to the rules of warfare, asking for your surrender before the attack.”

Letho’s head snapped sideways, monitoring the man that refused to return the inspective gaze. “How do you know that?” the swordsman finally said.

“Because they are my people, and their laws are my laws.” the man responded somberly, finally returning the glance. There was steel in those eyes, Letho thought, the kind that was forged by years of experience and miles of road. How couldn’t he recognize eyes like those when he saw them in the mirror every day?

“Then why did you fled from them? Surely they would have spared you.”

“Me, yes. Aleister, I’m not so certain. He’s an outsider and given the current situation, I think he would be considered just as much of an enemy as the people within this fort.” Col spoke, his eyes moving away, but this time peering over the bodies and into the night.

“What were you two doing in the wilds anyways?” Letho asked again. He wasn’t usually this inquisitive, but being trapped in an unknown land with people you knew nothing about certainly surfaced a fair share of questions.

“I was supposed to guide him through Fallien. The boy is from Salvar. I’m afraid he’s not overly in tune with this environment. But it seems I’m not as good of a guide as I thought.” There was a bitter smirk on his lips as he finished, the kind that spoke clearly of his fondness of the boy and the regret for this misstep.

“He’s alive, he’s safe for the time being. Seems like good guidance to me. Come on, I think Myrhia is cooking a late dinner... Or is it early breakfast? I’m not sure how long the nights in Fallien are.” Letho spoke, leading the way down from the ramparts. Col looked towards what must’ve been east.

“I think early breakfast sounds about right.”

“You two, keep watch!” the swordsman ordered to the pair of cryptic dark figures that were already doing the job anyways, their dark hoods turned to the sandy passage filled with lifeless corpses.

Though the crumbling buildings formed almost a maze in the back of the fortress, Letho navigated through it without a hitch, led by the scent of the freshly-cooked stew. Not that he was particularly hungry. Or rather he was, only his hunger couldn’t exactly be sated by the regular meals anymore. But his amplified vampiric senses led him to the series of huts and humble fires around which the soldiers and the civilians assembled in small groups. Not mixed though. Swords for hire huddled with their own kind and the rest didn’t seem too eager to break that circle. In fact, most of the others looked genuinely miserable, looking up at him with the eyes of a mutt that just got struck for entering the house. Closest to the largest bonfire, standing next to a large pot and surrounded by the wounded, Myrhia was serving meals into crude pottery that seemed to barely withstand the pressure of the stew.

“Please, sir. You have to wait until everyone gets their meal.” she spoke in her endlessly patient, gentle voice to a soldier that looked at least twice her size.

“I ain’t gonna wait for them, missy!” he responded, pushing a rather elderly-looking man that failed to oppose him. Dared not to oppose him, Letho thought as he caught a glimpse of his frightened eyes. The brassy soldier reached for the spatula that Myrhia held in her tiny hands. He only got half-way before an iron grasp caught his wrist and twisted it vehemently, forcing the man to take a knee or wind up with a few fractured bones. Letho’s other hand caught him by the collar of his sweaty shirt, his face crimson from the blood of his foes, peering down at the mercenary.

“She said to wait. Now, if you or anybody here gives her a hard time, I’ll personally make sure you regret it! GOT IT?!” the swordsman growled. He got it alright, stumbling like a knocked out boxer once Letho released him. The redhead only shook her head gingerly and put on a mirthless smile.

“Don’t you think you overdid it a little bit? They are just edgy and tired.” she spoke, pouring the stew into the old man’s bowl at which he thanked her with a gentle bow of his gray-haired head.

“Hey, I’m edgy and tired, but I’m not being a jerk.” he spoke, and this time managing to extract a genuine smile from her tiny lips.

“Well, maybe just a little bit.” Myrhia added with an innocent wink that made him roll his eyes before taking a seat beside the fire. “Are you injured?”

“Nah, not this time.” he replied, pulling the gunblade out of the holster on his back and placing it beside him, then proceeding to do the same with the bow and his sword.

“I’m surprised.” she replied and he made a false attempt to hit her scrawny behind after her jest. She flinched, giggled a little bit and he thought that all was well with the world once again. Because all the strain and fatigue and stress, everything seemed to get erased once he could see her smile in the middle of it all.

“What’s with the kid? Aleister, was it?”

“That’s the strangest thing.” Myrhia said, finally done serving all interested and approaching the boy’s laying form with a small bowl in her hands. “One of the soldiers came with a wound on his neck. It was so bad I thought he was a goner for good. And he just... placed his hands on the man and somehow, poof! The man relaxed and the wound stopped gushing with blood. And then he just collapsed. I thought an arrow struck him or something.” she spoke in her simple, sweet, mousy voice as she knelt beside Aleister and looked down at his serene face. He reminded her of a specific somebody, a boy she once maybe even loved – if a thirteen year old slave could know what love was, that is.

She remembered it as if it was yesterday. Her father just sold her to the slavers for a measly sum and they slapped the rusty iron on her wrists and ankles, shoving her into the line of kids with similar age and fate as her own. They all wept in disbelief, and cried when the whip cracked over their backs, and in the midst of it all Myrhia stumbled, weak and weary and hopeless. It was Aleister that helped her up, or rather a boy that looked just like him. And even in the midst of all that agony, he smiled at her, smiled at a thirteen year old redhead that looked like a stick figure and was never even kissed by a boy. He died later that afternoon, the slavers beating him to death for opposing their bestial urge to punish their merchandise for every wrong move, every wrong look. But his face remained with her, a still frame etched into her mind, and it only came alive once she saw Aleister.

[Aleister]

((Some minor bunnying to help us get to morning. I hope I didn't screw up Myrhia))

Aleister's unconscious form lay nearby a roaring fire that had burnt for nearly an hour, the smoke billowing high into the dark morning sky. The timbers cracked under the flame and small embers floated into the air, joining the ranks of the morning stars above. The flickering light played with the shadows on the boy's face, guiding his dreamless sleep with comfort. However, soon the burning wood awoke him, his eyes opened only to feel the pain in his neck. For a moment all he could do is clench his teeth, trying his best not to let out any sound. The lad thought back to what could have happened, what could have caused this grievance that now plagued him.

"Aleister?" A warm female voice caught him off guard, his eyes desperately searched for the source. There he caught the sight of a kneeling Myrhia, the warmth in her smile only matched by the fire herself. A worn bowl was in her hands, steam rising from whatever contents it held inside. "Are you alright?"

"Wha.." He said in a weak tone just above a whisper. The pain caught him again as he tried to rise up a little to meet her.

"What did you do, what happened between you and that soldier?" Her look was inquisitive but honest, she wasn't in the least hostile. Aleister could tell that if he kept silent now, she wouldn't prod out of respect. Still, the lad believed he owed her some explanation, if only to satisfy her curiosity.

"It's nothing really..." As he began to explain, the youth rubbed he sore neck, the pain spiking with each motion. This pain wouldn't go away with such normal measures, and he knew that only time could alleviate it. Myrhia seemed captivated by ever word as he talked about how he'd used it in his youth. She seemed to like him, a fact that slowly dawned on him as the lass moved the stew closer to the boy, all the while still giving her full attention to the story.

"So you can really ease pain by taking it into yourself?" A weak nod for him was all the answer she needed. "It seems like a very selfless ability."

He couldn't help but blush at that, and for the first time he moved his eyes away, looking towards the ground where he lay. Myrhia took this as a cue and walked back over to Letho and Col, who had already taken a around a nearby fire. Aleister didn't want to follow, couldn't follow. Not after he'd broken his word to Col about not using his ability. Lying back, he could only stare up at the night's sky, the same sky he'd looked up at only hours ago before this whole ordeal began. It would be morning soon, the stars would fade and the sun would rise above the desert sands. He was too tired to really to think deeply about where he was or who he was with, and he didn't really care. The pain would subside soon with a bit more rest. Col had yet to reprimand him for the reckless use of his "gift". The smell of stew filled his nose, but he just wasn't hungry right then. All he wanted to do was fall back into the blissful ignorance of sleep and to see what the next day held.

[Letho]

By the time Myrhia’s palaver with Aleister was done and she returned to Letho’s side, the swordsman managed to remove the blood from his face and was now sitting with the titanic gunblade in his hands. The butt end of the weapon rested on his shoulder, the tip in the soil below as he ran a sharpening stone down its tawny edge, each sharpening grind of his hands producing a myriad of sparks. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked in a rather indifferent voice once the willowy redhead took a seat beside him. It was a trivial question - he overheard the gist of the conversation – but it seemed like a good topic for chit-chat.

“Yes, I think so. He did a brave thing today.” Myrhia replied, her eyes still on Aleister’s laying figure. Letho eyed her with a cryptic indefinable look that stood somewhere between perplexing and stewing, then directed the same gaze towards the blonde lad. He did a brave thing? He saved a man that was careless enough to get hit and that didn’t fit into the Marshal’s definition of brave. If he did that on the wall tonight, then he would’ve earned some respect. This way all he awoke in Letho was a fragment of jealousy, a thorn that was barely noticeable in the swordsman’s side.

“How about you? You faring well with all of this?” he finally tore his keen gaze from the boy and returned it to the Lawmaker and the process of sharpening.

“I guess. As well as I can be given the fact that there is horde of people out to kill us.” Myrhia shrugged her shoulders and responded rather distantly, her shoulder leaning onto Letho’s as she let out an audible sigh. “I don’t suppose it’s over?” she added, though the hopelessness of her voice was a good prediction of an answer.

“No. We took out their war machinery so they called it a night. They’ll make new ones and keep on coming until they get us. For some reason they want these people dead badly.” the Marshal spoke, his eyes surveying the civilians that sat huddled around their little fires, some whispering amongst them, but most just sitting there with an empty hapless look in their eyes. It was a look that asked: “What have we done to deserve this?”, seeking desperately for an answer that didn’t exist. Or at least, that’s what Letho thought at the time being.

“Speaking of that...” Myrhia spoke, her eyes snapping back into focus and making a fleet cautious sweep over those closest to them before she leant closer to Letho, her lips almost touching his ear. “I think there’s something strange going on here, Letho. I don’t think these people are merchants and that these mercenaries...”

“THEY ARE COMING!!!” a panicky bawl from the wall cut her short, making the dark knight jump back to his feet and place the gunblade in the holster on his back. The suspicion that she spoke off was gone at the time being, filed under unimportant for the time being.

“Stay here. Get them back in the huts.” Letho spoke to the redhead before he dashed between the decrepit shacks and towards the wall. He didn’t expect them so soon, didn’t expect them at all until tomorrow night. Could it be that they already managed to regroup and come up with a tactic that would be more then a bullheaded charge at the ramparts? He hoped because if they came at them now, not even his ludicrous antics and the acrobatics of the One and Two would save them from being overrun.

Luckily, once he made his way to the crown of the wall, he saw that there was no need for alarm. There was only one rider coming at them and in his hand was a white flag that fluttered wildly as he approached. “Steady your weapons!” he commanded to the handful of mercs that already had arrows knocked into their bows. The rider advanced well within the range of their archers, riding carefully between the corpses, and soon he was standing before the gates.

“We ask permission to collect our dead!” the voice came from bellow, strict and dauntless. It took a set of brass balls to ride to the walls in situations such as this one, regardless of the white flag. Because there was always a chance that one of the people above was antsy or trigger happy and that went double for mercenaries. But Letho’s commandment was adamant, unmovable, and they all stood at ease for the time being.

“You have permission to take the dead, but not the war machinery.” Letho spoke from above. They could make good use of the wood from those towers, maybe make a trebuchet if they were lucky enough. Gods knew they would need something other then their bows to repel the next wave. The rider below seemed to contemplate for a couple of seconds before he responded.

“Very well. Whose word do we have that no harm shall be done to us?” the rider asked, his attire a bright white contrast to the night that slowly gave way to the morning. It might’ve been perfectly white once, but crimson stains were prominent on it now.

“You have the word of Marshal Letho Ravenheart.”

The mounted warrior below seemed to nod, then spur his horse and disappear into the darkness. A couple of minutes after his departure, about a dozen carriages rolled in, bringing the dawn in their wake, pale and horrid, appearing in the east as a minute deviation from the darkness of the dome above. They worked wordlessly, picking up the corpses with profound respect and delicacy, folding their hands on their chests and closing their eyes. They didn’t seem like vigilante murderers that pursued their own goals to Letho, not with such tranquil demeanor and respect for their dead. This was enough to trigger the rewinding of Myrhia’s words from before, about something being strange here. Col cut his train of thought though.

“You don’t have to worry about them until nightfall, Marshal Ravenheart.” he spoke with reverie, his eyes watching over the collectors of the deceased. “They will burn their dead and pray for their souls for the duration of the day. And when the desert wind takes away the ashes of their comrades, they will come at you twice as hard. Fallien people are not quick to anger, but they are fierce warriors, proud warriors. They won’t yield.”

“Then we have to take this time to get ready for them.” Letho said decisively, throwing his coat around his figure as he turned away from Aleister’s guide.

“Maybe you should try to negotiate with them.” Col spoke and his words halted the swordsman. “There were five thousand tonight, there will the seven thousand tomorrow. How long do you think these walls can stand against such tide?”

“We tried to negotiate!” Captain Arnauth spoke up, scorn obvious in his tone as he eyed Col maliciously. “They shot our emissary down.”

“They would’ve never done that.” Col replied nonchalantly, his tone irking the mercenary captain who made a move towards the Fallien native. Letho’s hand caught him by the shoulder before he could cause any harm. By that time Col’s hand was already on the hilt of his saber.

“Are you calling me a liar?!” Felix Arnauth growled. Letho thought that if the captain showed such vigor during the battle, they would’ve ended it much sooner. As it was, he barely noticed the captain in the midst of the turmoil.

“Easy now.” the Marshal spoke, pulling the sword for hire away effortlessly. “Nobody is calling anybody anything. But Col is right, we should try to negotiate.”

“It’s no use! I’m not sending one of my men...”

This time Letho cut him short with a rough steely voice. “I will go and negotiate. And just in case that doesn’t get us anywhere, we need to be prepared. Order your men to haul in as much lumber as possible and to collect the arrows from within the fortress. Gods know they threw a torrent of them at us tonight.”

[Aleister]

“Does this mean peace?” Aleister’s hopeful eyes brightened at his very words.

“No, The Marshall’s just allowing the enemy to collect their dead. The more honorable soldiers usually allow it, or the more foolish ones.” Col couldn’t help but growl a laugh bitterly. “But, I think this Letho still made the right choice. No one deserves such disrespect in the afterlife, friend or foe.”

The rampart was quiet now, the sun hanging his in the noon sky. Aleister surveyed the damage from the night before, the battle he had not been a part of. Col had not once brought up last night’s incident, when the boy used his ability to alleviate the pain of one of the soldiers. In truth, the lad was relieved, fearing any reminder might spur the empathetic pains that he had felt for his act, although even those were quickly dying away. Below the walls, near the waning piles of enemy corpses, carts worked tirelessly to drag the fallen back to the enemy positions. Aleister let out a small sigh, growing bored of the entire affair.

“What can I do now?” He asked in a meek tone. His day was spent with little sleep, counting the food supply and dividing rations while Myrhia went around to make sure the civilians were settled. She had gone off right before him, an inquisitive look on her face. The boy took it as a sign that a break had come. And gone off in search of his guide, hoping to make amends for his oath breaking.

“You could always find that girl Myrhia, she seems to have taken a liking to you.” The tracker’s response was rather unsettling, sounding too friendly for his facial expression.

The youth’s eyes seemed to twinkle at the assumption as he let out a rather loud. “You think?” He quickly regained some level of composure.

“Well, go find out. Anyways, I want to find out more about our marshal, make sure he knows what he’s doing.” Said the guide in a rather vague voice, as if he were almost looking past Aleister. Finally remembering the boy, he gave a close smile and a pat on the back as he left as swift-footed as ever.

”I guess I can go find her…Myrhia must be around here somewhere.” Even Aleister didn’t understand why he felt so anxious.

***

The camp had turned somber. Many of the civilians had had a chance to look over the carnage that resulted from the siege, telling those back at the far end of the same. Few people were outside, the midday sun roasting flesh like fire and over exposure leading to rather painful blisters. Clouds of dust rose from the occasional horse’s hoof trot or footstep by a grim faced soldier. The shamble of the fortress was far more noticeable than last night’s hurried scene. As Aleister headed further and further back, he head the distinct sound of yelling. At first he brushed it off to no more than a soldier’s quarrel, but as he got closer he realized it was more frantic, and the sound of Myrhia’s voice quickly flooded into his ears. He dashed off almost without realizing it, too curious to see was all the fuss was about.

“Lis’in wench. All’em questions might jus’ get your pretty lil’ tongue cut.” A rather boorish man now stood threateningly close to Myrhia, the stench of alcohol on his breath even reached Aleister three yards away. The side of the face the lad could see was scarred, monstrous, even demonic. How one many could obtain so many war wounds was beyond him.

“I was just asking a few questions, that’s all! And if you don’t back up, you may end up with another scratch on that face of yours!” She seemed unintimidated by his threads of violence, and not event he slightest tremble ran through her body. Still, Aleister could tell this situation would not end nicely, and someone could end up dead. He dashed the distance between him and the two as quickly as his feet could take him, the two opponents surprised by his arrival to a scene they thought empty of spectators. He separated the two with his arm, his emerald eyes glaring straight into the grizzled face of the soldier.

“I believe she doesn’t want you here.” Despite his words, the noble knew his tone was betraying his convictions.

“An’ who’re you boy?! ‘Er damned protector?” Aleister nearly passed out when the noxious breathe of the man rained down upon his nostrils. He even flinched a bit at the word boy.

“No, but I do know that her protector would rend you in two if he heard you talking like that. I’ve heard of and seen the damage caused by the Marshal, and I have no doubt he’d so the same to you.” A grimaced smile appeared on the boy’s face. Normally, he thought threats of violence juvenile, but this case just suited it so. The man backed off, his eyes going blank. It was apparent he’d seen what Letho did during the battle. A prowess like that was not to be dealt with lightly. Mumbling something inaudible, the mercenary left without further incident. His face changed as he met Myrhia’s already elated expression. “Normally, I think threats are beneath me, but it’s better than adding more scars to an already ugly face.” He said with a faux causal smile, as he was more than a little proud of himself. And then he saw something he hadn’t expected, a smile, and not just any. The lass returned a smile that was rare in the word, full of sincerity and real happiness. Something one would only see a few times during a life.

Her smile faded soon, there was much grimmer news on her mind.

“I don’t think these people are normal mercenaries, or mercenaries at all. I was trying to tell Letho…but…”

“I’ll help you find out.” The boy said it all too eagerly, and he blushed again for his youthful mistake. A quick nod from her almost sent him into an ecstasy as they both left, her hand dragging him along yet again.

”Maybe I will have some use after all.”

[Letho]

((Sorry about the delay. I’ve been away from home.))

Despite the concourse of Fallien folk that made camp a bit further in the sandy canyon that led towards the fortress, sun was Letho’s greatest foe once the day advanced towards noon. Sure he was a Daywalker, a unique vampiric hybrid that could sustain sunlight, but the blazing orb above was still the reason for this eerily discomfort that made the Marshal restless and cranky. He tried to rationalize this emotion, tried to compare it with something and the best he could do was to equate it with having a pebble in a shoe on a long trek. A jagged pebble. That always poked at the sole of your foot, no matter how hard you tried to push it aside.

Still, despite this mental chafing, he kept a stone-chiseled face as he stood on the crown of the ramparts, gazing towards the tower of smoke that reached for the bleached sky dully. So far Col was right; they collected their dead, burned them once the shadows were short and the sun was at the peak of its power and, even though he couldn’t see it, Letho was certain that they would pray for they departed. He respected that, especially once he witnessed the manner in which the mercenaries buried their comrades. A shallow grave and a drunken, barely comprehensible salute was the full extent of the dignity their brothers-in-arms got. That consequently made the knight once again think about the Fate’s knack for irony. By all rights, he should’ve been fighting alongside honorable people, and yet here he was, a former First Knight of Savion, with a bunch of scallywags fighting an already lost battle.

In turn, all that mulling reassured him that he had to negotiate. Sooner or later the assailants would breach the walls and then not even his superhuman might would be able to save the day. And while he didn’t particularly care about the swords-for-hire, the misfortunate civilians should be granted a safe passage out of this bloodshed. Myrhia being one of them, of course. The first of them, as a matter of fact. He cursed at himself for allowing her to tag along once again, but in all her benevolence, there were times when the fiery redhead could be as hardheaded as he was. So now he had to arrange some sort of a deal that would get her scrawny ass out of this strife unharmed.

It was about an hour past noon, when Letho made a white flag of his own and got ready for his visit to the camp of his opposition, that he was approached by Myrhia again. The willowy redhead had a serious expression on her face, her smile giving way to a nervous bite of her lower lip, as she stood before him with Aleister in tow. Her hand held on to the boy, a detail that struck the swordsman as uncanny and inappropriate, but he decided to brush it aside for now.

“You’re going out there to negotiate with them?” she asked, her fingers finally releasing Aleister once she became aware of his strict observation. Letho didn’t respond immediately though, but rather whipped the blonde lad with his keen eyes once before settling them on her face.

“Aye. If there is a chance to prevent the slaughter of the innocent, I think we should take it.” he responded in a sensible, thoughtful tone.

“That’s just it, Letho.” Myrhia spoke again, her green eyes surveying the proximity swiftly before she leant closer to him and spoke in little over a frail whisper. “I don’t think everybody here is an innocent. I asked the merchants some questions, mostly about their trade and the goods they worked with, but they didn’t know what I was talking about. And then one of the mercenaries warned me not to ask any more question. If it wasn’t for Aleister...”

“Who did this!?” Letho’s eyes flashed ardently, his frown thickening in an instant as his gauntleted hands grasped her shoulders as tenderly as possible.

“It doesn’t matter. I just... I think there’s more to the story then we know.” Myrhia responded with a gingery shake of her head. He looked into her grievous, sad face for a couple of moments, reading the sincere concern in her eyes. And while he had to agree with her – for he too felt that something was seriously amiss, especially after counseling with Col – he had to postpone dealing with it for after the negotiations. If because nothing else, then because of the fact that only then he would have both sides of a story.

“I believe you’re right. But unraveling it will have to wait until I return. What I want you to do is to heed that warning while I’m away and leave the matter be. I’ll look into it when I return.” Letho spoke before planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. His eyes looked at the unremarkable boy again, sending a clear message that there was close and there was too close when it came to Myrhia. He concluded with a nod towards the pair of dark nameless figures that now sat at the foot of the wall, as serene as statues. “Stick close to them. They’ll keep you safe”

With that said, the main gate moaned once again in a rusty ancient tone, releasing the Marshal from the citadel with a white flag in his hand.

***

“HALT!!!”

It didn’t take long for Letho to hear the bawl coming from one of the numerous guards that secured the perimeter around the encampment. Bows were readied in an instant, strings taut and fingers itchy, just as were the swords that were unsheathed with brisk movements. And before the Marshal even got a chance to speak, about fifty men were gathered around him in a half-circle, all waiting for a single act of enmity that they could counter. Their sunburnt faces were deadly stern, their eyes spewing hate with each glance. They knew who he was. Endeavors such as the one that he did last night were a rumor that spread through the ranks like a bad odor. But there was no fear on their faces. Only determination fueled by patriotism that borderlined with insanity.

“I need to speak to your leader.” the swordsman stated sedately, his hand holding the pole with the white flag calmly at his side. They all looked like warriors in their matching uniforms and Fallien tribal insignia, but compared to him, they seemed like children out to play war. He was a warrior born, warrior honed, a weathered veteran whose every movement spoke of battles prior to this moment. Because of that, though they didn’t fear him, they respected him.

He was led to a rather large tent without a single word spoken. The weapons were holstered, but their eyes attacked him like invisible arrows as he walked through their camp. The man that was probably the captain of the watch pointed towards the tent flap with his outstretched hand. But though his escort moved wordlessly around him, murmurs, incomprehensible to the Marshal, could be heard throughout the entire bivouac, whispers spoken in the native tongue that undoubtedly commented on the appearance of the captain of the fort they tried to conquer. Letho paid no heed to it though. Instead he reached for the gunblade on his back, unsheathing it in a smooth movement, and just as the guards around him ascertained this as an act of hostility, he stabbed the sizeable tawny weapon into the soil. With that deed done, he tossed the flagpole aside and entered the tent.

“You come under the white flag and yet you discard your weapon? Such a strange custom.”

The man that spoke those words sat behind the table with a tranquil expression on his face, his arms folded over his chest tranquilly. He seemed like a rather young fellow, around Letho’s age perhaps, though the pigmentation of his skin and the wrinkles around his eyes made him look older somehow. His eyes though, the clear azure eyes, displayed his youth fully. He was still clad in the same pearly white attire, and still the remnants of the battle marred the surface of his armor with crimson streaks.

“In my homeland swords always spoke louder then any flag ever could.” Letho replied in his regal, kingly voice as he advanced through the cool interior of the tent until he stood before the man. A handful of scrolls (that must’ve been maps of the fortress and the surroundings) stood on the table, neatly rolled and arranged. Beside the desk was a simple tidy bedroll with a book that rested on pillow.

“Isn’t it so in every land these days?”

“It certainly seems that’s the case in Fallien.”

“You judge harshly, Letho Ravenheart. Ignorantly even. The only reason why the blood is soaking the Fallien sand is because your people were the first to invade the sanctity of your realm.” the man spoke, trying to maintain the solid serenity and indifference in his voice, but Marshal’s words seemed to strike him greatly and it made his brow furrow.

“I didn’t know that being a merchant and a sword for hire was against Fallien law.”

Letho’s words, though deadly serious, provoked a cynical acerbic grin on the face of the tribal as he shook his head. “Merchants? Swords for hire? What in Jya’s name are you talking about?”

((So here’s what I thought. I set it up so the tension is up and the truth behind the whole deal is to be revealed. However, it would be cool that it’s discovered in your post first, by Aleister and Myrhia. The way I see it, Myrhia goes against Letho’s advice and she and Aleister manage to get some of the “civilians” in one of the mineshafts so they can talk in private. The “civilian” tells them that the mercenaries are in fact slavers and that they were mere slaves that were being transported with the newest batch from Fallien. Or something like that. :) ))

[Aleister]

High noon was always a time to be in doors, the sun above ravaging fair skin like a plague. Still, Aleister sat on a long empty crate near the high walls, the telltale signs of battle all around him. Broken arrows carpeted the ground, their heads either missing or shattered into metal and flint shards. A coating of dust covered the discarded missiles, Fallien's famed desert wind proving itself again. Aleister found himself ignoring this evidence of human hostility, instead his mind was wrapped around another enigma. Marshall Letho Ravenheart.

There was no secret that the man had an amazing prowess in battle, talk had been circling camp on his exploits during battle. But the question remained for Aleister; Why is Letho so unpleasant with me? In truth, the lad knew the answer. He just couldn't believe that a man of Letho's stature, a man who mirrors the very image of the heroes of old, could actually be jealous of his time with Myrhia.

Myrhia, the very thought of her brought a euphoria in him. He enjoyed talking to her, reveled when he said something to impress her, cursed himself when he said something stupid in front of her. He was on the verge of manhood, yet felt like a young schoolboy again. The youth heaved a breathless sigh, feeling his muscles slowly relax. Myrhia had went to the back of the keep to see if the civilians were in need of anything, another gleaming example of her nature. It gave time for the boy to muse, to think, and most of all, the plan what he'd say to her next. The war, it seemed, was nothing more than back a backdrop, a problem barely noticed by Aleister. A sudden noise rocked the boy from his day dream, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. It as Myrhia, her swift footed ness catching Aleister off guard and her very presence flustering the lad. She looked anxious, even a little freighted, a look he'd never seen on her face before.

"I found something out..." She said in a rapid tone, bending down a little to help gather air. "These people aren't merchants, not merchants at all. They're slavers!" She quickly lowered her voice at the end, as not to alert the nearby "mercenaries".

"Wha..What do you mean?" Aleister was shocked, "How did you...?"

Myrhia quickly raised her hand to silence him, regaining her upright stance. Slowly, picking her words just right, she began to speak. "I have my ways." She said with a weak smile. "Some of the civilains gathered in the abandoned mines. They were talking in private when I entered. Aleister, they were slaves, and these mercenaries are just slavers who captured them from other lands and planned to do the same with the tribes of Fallien. That army outside isn't attacking unprovoked. That means..."

"It means that Letho's out there with an army that believes he's a slaver hero..." Aleister tensed up all over again at the thought that he'd stumbled into something bigger than himself. A meek nod from Myrhia was the only answer he needed. "Listen, Myhria, lets not talk aloud anymore about this. We should just..I don't know..."

"We should just wait for Letho.." Myhria said, standing closer to Aleister, a small pat on the shoulder for comfort.

[Letho]

“I don’t know what kind of game are you playing, but it won’t help you and your slaver friends.” the man spoke callously, his bitterness unsuccessfully concealed, his eyes at the verge of eruption of hatred. But Letho failed to detect this upheaval of emotions within the Fallien tribal leader, and his lack of acknowledgment came as a direct result of his usurped train of thought.

“Slavers?” he inquired, but he realized that the man just dropped a big piece of a puzzle in his lap, forcing him to see the big picture. And the ominously cold gut feeling that he had back in the fortress, the one that claimed in a whisper that something was amiss, seemed correct right now. Of course. Slavers. That would explain their harshness towards their employers[//I], the vehement retribution of the locals, the insistence on [I]not negotiating. That bastard. That slaver bastard. If there was one thing that Letho hated beyond reckoning it was the slaver scum. Ever since he rescued Myrhia from the hands of such sadistic men, there was a passion in him, a drive that made him want to eradicate every single one of these inhumane bastards. And now he wasn’t just considered one of them. He fought for them.

“You can hardly be surprised that we know.” the man spoke, uninterestedly, merely stating the obvious.

“I... No, I’m not. I’m surprised that I didn’t know.” Letho responded, his eyes distant, already seeing Felix Arnauth and feeling his neck snapping beneath his fingers.

“I’m rather confused. You say that you didn’t...”

“I didn’t bloody know.” the dark knight said, controlling his tone despite the anger that boiled within him, whistling like a teapot. “I was sent to rescue a group of Corone merchants and their hired swords, arriving here last night.”

“Well, let me tell you something about your merchants and hired swords. They disembarked due north along the shoreline, pretending to be merchants willing to trade with the nearby tribes. Only the next morning they were gone and so was half of the Fessin tribe.” the man in white spoke, his eyes keen and prone to split Letho’s head like a melon, his hands slowly balling into fists. “And when our ships tracked them down, do you know what they did to throw us off? They took their newly acquired slaves and threw them overboard with a sack tied to their legs. We saved only eleven out of hundred. My wife was one of those eighty-nine that now rot at the bottom of the ocean.”

Silence that followed was like a living entity in the room, a lively shadow that fell over them and proceeded into their minds, grievous and ominous. “My condolences...” Letho spoke in a low voice, but the man cut him short with a tone that seemed forcedly snide and acerbic.

“I don’t want your condolences or your pity, stranger! I want the heads of those responsible for the death of my people. And tonight or tomorrow night or the night after that, I’m going to get them.”

The hatred in the man’s eyes wasn’t concealed anymore; it was a prominent mar that tainted his face, turning him into a maddened avenger out for blood. Letho could sympathize. He too lost a wife in a trite war, and at that time he too was insane with anger and desire for vengeance.

“There are still innocents in the fortress. They held on to some of the slaves from other lands, mostly women and children, some elderly. Would you grant them at least safe passage? There will be a boat waiting for them tomorrow night at the shore east of here.” the swordsman finally said, his voice regaining a significant amount of steel and sternness. The Fallien battle commander looked at him long and hard, like a poker player deciding between folding and raising the stakes.

“Fine.” he responded in a flat, emotionless voice. “But if you try to smuggle through some able men, we’ll smite them down, you included. You’re maybe not a slaver, but you have Fallien blood on your hands.”

“Fair enough.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s the way of this land, the way of our laws. Blood for blood.” the man spoke, his lack of sympathy lost in the bitterness of his loss. Letho didn’t blame him. He knew that if the roles were reversed and it was Myrhia who drowned, he would unleash hell and keep doing so until he would be neck-deep in corpses. So the black knight merely nodded, then turned on his heels and left the tent.

[Aleister]

"Myrhia, you can't be serious..." Aleister would never have questioned Myrhia normally, he was far too infatuated with her. But to think of doing something before Letho came back was absurd. She'd actually suggested taking action, actually suggested, at the very least, gathering the former slaves for a meeting. The boy didn't think that would accomplish anything, and without the protection of Letho it would be dangerous.

"I can handle myself until Letho returns." She said her line with faux forcefulness and a mock smile. She readied her arms into a strong man position, causing a weak laugh for Aleister. "Beisdes, it's not like I'm thinking about taking the ramparts with recued slaves. I just think we should plan for something. Once he tell Letho he'll want to take action.

"Yeah, I guess. But don't you think it may be a bit risky to do that without him here." An unsure look blemished Aleister's face and it was obious his emotions were battling between caution and willingness for Myrhia. Normally, he'd never place his trust in the marshall. It was obvious Letho felt some hatred towards the youth, and Aleister though it'd be best just to stay clear of him. But after hearing stories from both the men and Myrhia, he was sure that Letho could easily do the right thing.

"We'll be fine. We just need to lay low and head over to the quaters. And if worst comes to worst, we've got.." Myrhia pointed to the wall, where only the gleam of the sun was. The two elite guards weren't around, and, perplexed, she scratched her head. "Well, we'll be fine. Just don't talk too..." She was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of heavy feet.

" 'Ear ya' be'n askin' a might too many ques'ions." That butchered speech could only be the work of brutes, mangled words contracted out of speed an nessecity. Atleast five of the slaver soldiers now formed a half circle around Myrhia and Aleister, pinning them against the wall. Their faces were weathered and their beards looked as if razors had never graced them. Gruff beasts of men, who now seemed to move in on the pair. "Can't hav'ya' talkin' to the mars'all, now can we?"
These were men of action, and the pair could tell that words wouldn't help in this situation. Aleister cursed under his breath whichever frieghtened slave had talked, standing behind Myrhia in an almost comical fashion. As soon as he realized his postion however, he quickly moved to her side, puffing out his chest to appear more menacing. The sound of warm steel unsheathed bealowed in the fortress as daggers and swords were presented in a threatening manner.

The boy couldn't believe this was how his life would end, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fortunes changed suddenly, as Myrhia's look of ill omen changed to shock. A piercing sound swirled through the air as an arrow embedded itself right into the middle soldier, his forehead split by the iron tip. And in an instant, those two darkly clad wraiths of men were upon the mercenaries. In hand to hand, it was easy to see who the more well trained were.

Without thinking, Aleister grabbed Myrhia's arm, like she'd done so many times, and dragged her quickly away. The slavers had no time to react as the were dispatched. By the time the final of the five fell, the two dark faces were near Myhria and Aleister, watchful of any danger.

The youth breathed deeply, his heart pounding from the scare they'd just had. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the rumbling screech of the gates open again. There was no guess needed. The Calvary was here.

[Letho]

Letho’s boots plowed through the sand ardently, making him traverse the canyon at a hasty running gait. He could feel the eyes of the Fallien warriors on his back, satisfied to see him run, but he didn’t care if this little detail would further underpin their morale. Because Myrhia was locked in a place filled with the same scum that brought so much anguish to her already, so much pain, and she was bound to be in danger. The swordsman strode under the relentless Fallien sun, his face a furrowed grimace, his usually fatigued eyes now enflamed as they peered at massive fort gate. He didn’t see the citadel, however. What he saw was the face of Felix Arnauth, the wretched slaver scum that had only minutes left to live.

“If he touched Myrhia, I’ll rip out his innards.” was one angered thought plucked from the hurricane of them that raged in his head. The bastard must’ve foreseen that Letho would find out the truth in the Fallien camp and chances were that he would try to eliminate both the swordsman and his allies. That was why, when Letho reached the effective archer range, he brandished the Lawmaker and picked up the pace even further. Sweat dribbled down his spine, the heat dissipating the energy from his limbs gradually, but he couldn’t stop now. If his assumption was correct, slavers would try to kill him before he set foot inside the fortress. However, despite the sun that stood above the ramparts, disabling a clear view, Letho could see no sentries on the walls.

“Strange. Maybe they have an ambush prepared inside.”

There was only one way to find out. His gauntleted hands pushed against the heavyset gate and surprisingly they yielded and swung inwards with a loud screech. In an instant the eyes of an entire fortress were upon him, the scattered mercenaries gathering around with menacing looks on their gruff faces. To the right of him, surrounded by half-a-dozen fresh corpses, the two dark figures stood with their weapons drawn and dripping with blood. A bit further behind them, Aleister and Myrhia were taking cover, once again holding hands.

“Myri! You alright?” Letho asked, his voice strong and resonating through the fortress. The redhead moved, pulling the blonde boy behind her as she scurried to Letho’s side. The pair of benighted figures did the same with agonizing slowness. Col approached from the other side, descending from the ramparts with his saber drawn.

“So that’s it, Letho Ravenheart?” a voice, bold and jeering, emerged from the crowd, the predecessor of Felix Arnauth who stepped in front of his men with his hands stuck in his belt nonchalantly. “After all the big stories of chivalry and the right things to do, now that you know the truth, you’re just going to walk away? The Fallien piece of dung must’ve offered you quite a deal.”

Letho would walk away without thinking twice if the circumstances were different. If there wasn’t a price on his head as well and there weren’t some fifty-odd slaves still captured within the fortress, he would’ve turned away that instant. As it was, folding was not an option, not for him anyways. Because of the trickery, he would have to fight – and probably perish – for something he couldn’t stomach. So instead walking away, Letho turned around and slammed the gates shut.

“He did.” the Marshal spoke, his back still turned, his fists balled at his hips. His muscles expanded, growing like yeast, nearly breaking the seams that held his clothing. And even as the first shimmer of the while aura became visible around his transformed bulk, he moved so fast that even the pair of Scarlet Brigade members saw him only in a blur. He swooshed past Myrhia and Aleister, covering the ground between himself and the slaver captain in a flash, and by the time Felix realized what was going on, Letho’s hand was holding him by the neck, lifting him above the sandy soil as if he was a stray kitten. The Marshal’s eyes were now blank, their pristine whiteness peering at Felix’s face.

“Letho, don’t!” Myrhia screamed in dismay, but he ignored her plea.

“Only the innocent get to walk.” Letho growled through his teeth, his clutch around the captain’s throat preventing the feeble attempts of his lungs to draw breath. The slavers around them responded, pulling out their weapons, but numbers One and Two were already taking Letho’s flanks with their blades drawn.

“Don’t kill him, Letho!” the redhead shouted again, and then added in a whimper: “Don’t... Don’t be like him.”

“He’s a slaver, Myrhia. They all are.” he finally addressed her, his voice callous and patronizing as Felix Arnauth squirmed in his hands like a fish out of the water. “And because of him we all have to stay and fight. Because we helped them.”

“Well, we’ll need their swords then.” she tried to rationalize, but his bitterness overruled her benevolence right now. His left hand squeezed a bit stronger, on the verge of snapping the neck of a man as if he was a hopeless chicken.

“Not his.” Letho muttered and just like that, with one effortless spasm of his arm muscles, the neck of Felix Arnauth snapped like a twig. Myrhia screamed, the turned her head away and clung to Aleister’s side. She couldn’t look at it, couldn’t look at Letho discarding the lifeless body of the slaver as if was not a human being seconds ago.

“I’d gladly do this to all of you.” the Marshal addressed the slavers that now didn’t seem too eager to move against him and his sidekicks. “But there is a force outside those walls that would do that one way or the other. You can fight them or you can fight me, it makes no difference to me.”

Letho spoke no further. His aura quelled, his bestial muscles subsided and he walked away from the crowd.

[Aleister]

The air had grown quiet as the sunset neared. Ever since the Marshal had cracked that slaver' neck like a rag doll, no one had ben in a talking mood. The soldiers were fearful of Letho's wrath and the civilians were just afraid in general. And as the sun began its red decent into the ocean of sand and cliff, Aleister couldn't help but look from the ramparts. He'd been shocked by what he had seen earlier, not just the taking of that life but the rage and power Letho had used. The boy could tell how it had affected Myrhia as well, sickening her when it first happened, the Marshal crushing the bone like he hadn't heard her pleas. Aleister let out a breathless sigh, thinking of how hurt Myrhia must've been from that, and how big of an ass Letho was for doing that to her.

"Myhria, even now your helping the civilians get ready for their exodus. Selfless." His thoughts were still plagued by her image, her beauty. She could do no wrong in the lad's eyes. "Letho doesn't deserve her, not one bit. He should just..."

"Aleister!" Col's sudden intrustion frieghtened the youth, cleaning his thoughts up at once. He didn't want it getting out, not after the show Letho put on earlier. "They're about to start pulling out. You need to get ready to leave." Aleister hadn't engaged in fighting, and not a single soldier would call him able bodied for battle. He was an innocent in all of this, and that was his ticket out of there. "I need to tell you how to get to an old friend of mine in the capital. He can secure you a boat quickly enough." It took the boy a second, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Aren't you going to show me through the city when we leave?" Said Aleister in a questioning tone, hinting at seriousness. Col was silent for a moment, another of those Fallien winds kicked up and swirled sand around the fortress. The lad could tell now that something was wrong, Col's face gave it away.

"Aleister, I can't leave. I have blood on my hands and haven't been an innocent in a long time. I can't leave this keep." Col's eyes grrew dark as he saw the lad's swell with tears, each hidden behind a screen of water.

"What are you talking about...you can't stay here. We didn't come here to fight!" Aleister reached out his hands in a half thought out gesture, almost trying to capture Col and hold him down. The guide's face grew angry for a second, but quickly settled.

"I still killed. And even if that wasn't the case, I am a warrior. They would not let me leave." Said the guide in a monotone, recalling his old adventures. He hadn't called himself a warrior in many seasons.

"Then I'm not leaving either!" His voice had all the qualities of a stuborn child, throwing a tantrum right there on the rampart walls. That anger of on the trackers face came back, now more grave then before.

"Don't be stupid. You have a chance to leave. You're neither a warrior nor guilty of anything. You'll throw your lif..."

"I was sent here to become a man." Aleister belted as he rose on his heels, trying to puff out his chest in a vain attempt at manhood. "Leaving would ruin the whole point. If you fight, I stay. I'm not going to leave you here to die by yourself. I've made up my mind." Col saw the determination in the lad's face, and he knew there was no point in more arguing.

"If this is how you prove yourself, than so shall it be. But if you stay I do want you fighting. You can be handy, fetch and prepare food, sharpen weapons. But you could wield a blade to save your life. And in this battle, you'd have to." The guide's seriousness was betrayed by a single, stray smile. He didn't want Aleister fighting, but there was a joking nature to it all.

"Then it's settled. I stay here with you." He spoke in a whisper before he closed his eyes. "And Myrhia..."

[Letho]

“How could you do it, Letho? How could you?” Myrhia asked, her eyes moist but not crying as she sat on the hot sand next to the swordsman. Her knees were pulled close, embraced by her pale arms, and she looked into the dirt below as if she could decipher the answer from the grains of sand. Letho didn’t seem terribly disconcerted with her doleful tone. He sat on one of the empty crates, once again running the sharpening stone down the edge of his gunblade.

“He was a slaver, Myrhianna.”

“I know. But...” she said, bowing her head a bit lower and making her mahogany red hair hide her gentle face.

“Did you forget what his kind did to you in Scara Brae?” he asked, his tone still irritatingly callous. It was more then enough to snap her from her sorrow.

“I didn’t. How can you even ask that?” the redhead snapped at him, her emerald eyes piercing the curtain made out of hair strands and peering up at him in defiance. “I have this...” she pulled her hair from the left side of her face, displaying the scar on her cheek... “...and this...” she pointed to the black tattoo that ran around the foot of her neck. “...to remind me, Letho. But it wasn’t done by Felix, and even if it was, I could never kill him in cold blood.”

“You care too much, kiddo.” his smirk said, his hand repeating the perpetual motion down the edge of the blade. “There are monsters in the world and somebody has to take care of them.”

“What if he tied a sandbag to your feet and threw you overboard? Could you do it then?” he asked, not looking at her. “Because that was what he did to the Fallien slaves once the local navy was about to catch up with them. That’s what all this retribution is all about. That man was a monster...”

“But you were no better then him!” she exclaimed, and then looked away once he whipped her with his eyes. “Don’t you see that, Letho? How can you just kill a man so... so effortlessly, so easily?”

“It’s not easy. It’s never easy. They all come back to haunt me eventually.” he responded, pausing the sharpening motion with a heedful expression. It lasted only for a second though, long enough for him to see the face of Felix Arnauth all over again and feel his bones crunching beneath the steely grasp. “But somebody has to do it.”

“Maybe you can do it, Letho, but I can’t. And I... I can’t be around so much death. I thought I could, I thought I could adjust, but I can’t. It’s too horrible.” Myrhia spoke, her voice coy and shaky, her chin resting on her knees once again. “I wish we never came here. I wish you never took that job as a Corone Ranger.”

His hand dropped the stone and found its way to her shoulder, giving her a tender squeeze. “I know, Myri. Tell you what? Once we’re back in Corone, no more of these expeditions and rescue missions.”

“You promise?” she asked, her tiny red lips still unsmiling, but her eyes tinted with a spark of hope as she looked up at him again.

“Aye.”

“Alright. We have to get out of here first though.”

“I have to get out of here. You’re leaving with the slaves.” Letho said, and even as he did, Myrhia got to her feet. Her hands pushed the Lawmaker away, her big green eyes looking into his own with a slight frown.

“I’m not leaving without you, Letho. I can fight.”

“I don’t want you to. No need to risk both of our lives.” he responded in a rather level manner, but her eyes were unyielding.

“But... But there are so many. You need all the help you can get. I... I can’t just leave you here.”

Her eyes were begging him not to send her away, her irresistible fair face almost crushing his adamant resolve. He would do anything to erase that sorrow from her face, that desperate expression of hopelessness and fear, but the first step to taking it away was to make sure she stayed alive to smile that dazzling smile of hers again.

“I’m going to be alright.” he spoke, his voice falsely intrepid and she could tell. He needed to use another approach, another method of persuasion and it included something he swore he would never do again. He would have to lie. “I spoke to Col and he told me that we can get out through the mine tunnels if we are overwhelmed. But it’s a dangerous path and I don’t want you to take any unnecessary risks.”

Myrhia looked at him long and hard, unmoving, her studious eyes trying to decipher what stood behind the fatigue in his own. She suspected that he was lying. When he smiled – a thin, uncertain kind of smile – she knew he was lying. And it made her cry. Not because of the fact that he lied to her though, but because he did it to save her. It was his sacrifice, a message that clearly said: “I would die for you.” She threw herself in his arms, whimpering and feeling guilty for calling him a monster only seconds ago, and kissed him fervently.

“Promise me you’ll survive.” she spoke, their noses touching, their eyes catching what might be the very last glimpse of the other. “Promise me you won’t leave me alone.”

“I promise.”

***

She walked in a long line of the formerly enslaved and Letho could distinguish her clearly from where he stood on the ramparts. How couldn’t he when she was the only one that turned around every five seconds, casting doleful glances over her shoulder long after he couldn’t see her face or her eyes or her hair that seemed enflamed in the dusking sun? He hated himself at that moment, but not for sending her away, not for the promise he probably wouldn’t be able to keep, not even because he would never kiss her blissful lips again. He hated himself for his inability to cry. Years hardened him, numbed him, made him so deft in concealing his emotions that he couldn’t express most of them anymore. And now when he found something worthy crying after, he was unable to do so.

Once the convoy was out of sight and all that was remained was the orange color of the sand and the lifeless canyon, Letho moved his eyes away and turned his attention to the matter at hand. It might be hopeless, but at least it would keep him distracted from thinking about Myrhia. Aleister was sitting on the ramparts not so far away from him and the swordsman reckoned now was as good time as any to have a talk with the boy. The lad was somewhat of a weakling – which ultimately made Letho wonder why did Myrhia like him so much – but he refused to go with the slaves for some reason. The Corone Marshal respected that. Not a lot, but some respect was better then none at all. Picking up a spare suit of armor and a long sword – both taken from Felix Arnauth – Letho approached Aleister and dropped both items at the boy’s feet.

“Mighty foolish of you to stick around, boy. You want to play a hero now?” Letho said, folding his arms over his chest, his face iron-clad and strict. “Forget what you read in fairytales. People die in situations like this all the time, as we probably will. But you can choose to meet the death with your tail between your legs or face it head-on. And you’ll need this if you decide to do the latter.”

[Aleister]

Aleister sat on the fortress wall, staring out towards the sunset. It was there, where the glowing horizon and burning sand met and mixed into a color all their own that the boy found some solance. He knew what he was doing was stupid, even dangerous, and what he wouldn't give to spend more time with Myrhia. who he thought would be staying as well. But the lad just couldn't abandon Col to his fate, not after all he'd taught him, and the thought of going back to his father and claiming manhood after turning his back on this battle turned his young stomache. This battle, this upcoming fight would be the crucible for the youth. A testing ground to see if the week's time had done anything to aid his growth into a man.

The thought of doing menial jobs was on his mind now. Cooking, cleaning, tending wounds, and for the more serious injuries, using his gift. It was a daunting task he would need to complete, but a task he was up for. He knew Col wanted him to stay away from the battle for his own safe keeping. Aleister had different reasons for not wanting to be a part of the upcoming bloodshed. He had never taken life, not even animal life. The thought of ending any human's was sickening.

His thoughts were interupted however, by the heavily armoed steps of Marshal Ravenheart. He threw some equipment at the boy, and gave him a pesimistic speech about meeting one's end. Aleister couldn't comprehend the meaning of this.

"What do you expect me to do with that?" He said in a some what bratty tone. The idea only fully reached him when he saw the look on the marshal's face. "You can't be serious. You actually want me to fight, to kill! I'll have no part of it." He was offended, rising up from his wooden seat and stamping his foot like a misbehaved child. There was an immature tone to him, but it was the only way he knew how to react to the situation.

[Letho]

There was an urge in Letho to slap the boy across the mouth. The reason to this might’ve been his upbringing back in Savion that taught of respect for the superiors that Aleister clearly lacked. Then again, it might’ve been simply that the Marshal simply had an aversion towards the boy and his pacifistic demeanor. In the end, it might’ve been simply the remnant of the jealousy that kept prodding at him, reminding him how Myrhia held the boy’s hand. What did he ever do to deserve her touch? He didn’t rescue her from the slavers, he didn’t take her under his wing, he didn’t love her the way Letho does. And yet she held his hand as if he could save her from the anguish.

But the swordsman stayed his hand and allowed only a condescending grin. “Are you done, whelp?” he asked, leaning his back against the crown of the ramparts and maintaining eye contact with unyielding callousness.

“If you so firmly believe in dovishness and cowardice, then why did you stay? Out of some foolish, nonviolent protest? You think that they will give a damn about your pacifism once they break through those gates?” Letho said, and even though his tone was rather indifferent at the beginning, it ended with a tinge of disdain. It wasn’t Aleister that he disliked, but rather the philosophy that the boy tried to upheld. As a Savion Prince raised in the Seven Isles that people often called Warlands, bloodshed and death weren’t occasional, they were a part of every single day. And in such environment there were two kinds of people; those that fought and those that fled. And he despised those that fled. And while Aleister refused to flee from the fort, he was still running away from the battle, blinded to the fact that battle would be upon him whether he wanted it or not.

“And they will break down the gates this time. They won’t make the same mistake again. So tell me, what will you do once that happens?” the Marshal said, his tone once again sinking to the unsympathetic hue as he observed the boy’s reaction.

“I’ll tell you what I would do.” Letho added, picking up the longsword that rested next to the full suit of armor. His hand spun the sword once, feeling its weight and balance, before thrusting it forward in an ardent manner. “I’d take my blade and strike down anyone that gets close. Not because I hate them, not because I like doing it, but because if I don’t do it to them, they're going to do it to me. And even if you fail in doing that, at least you died like a man, with honor and a sword in your hands. Not like a dog, whimpering in some corner.”

The blade spun once again, this time making only half a circle and allowing Letho to extend it towards Aleister butt first. “The choice is yours.”

The Marshal could read people quite well, but even he couldn’t predict what the lad’s response would be. Teenagers were frivolous, utterly unpredictable and oftentimes surprising and not in a good way. Not even Myrhia was an exception to this rule, but her little quirks and flaws were something that Letho took in stride, something he adapted to. Aleister fit the profile as well, a snotty patrician that got lost in the woods and grew and attitude, probably out of spite towards his parents and the world that is always against him. He could swing both ways, the swordsman thought, but in a couple of hours he would have to pick one side and stick with it. Because the sun was descending more rapidly, ticking away the minutes until the horde of Fallien soldiers would knock at their door. And it was up to Aleister to decide who would answer; the boy or the man.

[Aleister]

The boy couldn't help but stare at the hilt of the blade that Letho now extended out towards him. It was ornate and a bit unpractical, a show of wealth more than of force. With that handle came the terrible choice that the marshal was laying before him, to fight or die. Aleister had met men like him before, the warrior ignorant to choice. They had always dressed in a dramatic flair, talking of dire circumstances and consquences. And always they laid out black and white choices of good or evil, bravery or cowardice, and fighting or death. The lad had learned from an early age in his house to take their advice with a grain of salt, as they were always blind to shades of grey.

Aleister knew that bravery was not just fighting on the battlefield, not just upholding some inventing code of honor. And as continued to look at that blade, he was dumbfounded by the idea of taking a life to save his own. Life was something that no one should take, at least not willingly. He was too much of an optimist to believe that any conflict had to end in violence. He quickly pushed the blade away, trying his best to put some force into it for Letho to feel. He wanted to get something off his chest, something that had been bothering him for a while.

"Are you done marshal, because I want to inform you of something." He said in a hushed tone that hinted at dark intent. "What you're asking of me is animalistic, brutal, and completely inhuman. Killing each other to survive is something only animals do marshal! I don't need a sword to show my manhood. I stayed here because I couldn't leave Col, not after the love he showed me." He was angry now, his voice breaking at certain points. His hands were balled up into tight fists held at his side. He wanted to hurt Letho, not just for the proposal but out of envy for what he had. "Myrhia..."

The boy turned his back from the warrior, and began again, softer than before. "How can she love you marshal?." He turned slowly, his eyes swelling up with tears. "How can a soft spirited creature like Myrhia love a brute as yourself. I saw how she turned from you when you killed that slaver! You hurt her, you hurt her with those shows of anger. You know no remorse, a beast like you can show no mercy!" He threw up his hands into the air, his voice now nearly screaming. "You don't deserve her!"

Any soldier nearby could here Aleister's tirade. Col would be on the scene soon enough, to find the boy within striking distance, under the setting sun.

[Letho]

Letho couldn’t stifle a chuckle at Aleister’s claim that he stayed because of the love that the Fallien pathfinder gave him. Love was truly a magical thing, the Marshal knew, a wind that could send a man flying just as easily as it could bring him down to his knees. But while it could do miraculous things, it couldn’t defend a person. A man that chose love as means of defense instead of a good armor was a misled, sentimental fool. Offense, however, was a completely different issue. Love couldn’t be a shield, but it could be a weapon, a drive that pushed you beyond your limits in its name. It could be that last fragment of hope that you cling to as you fight the odds. But you had to fight, that was the rule and that was what Letho would do in a couple of hours. Fight for love, for freedom and for Myrhia.

He never got a chance to explain this to the boy because he was flapping his gums again and this time his words were acidic. The urge to slap the boy turned into a need to pop him in the jaw. “Insolent brat! Don’t you dare give me lectures on life, you prick! Don’t you preach me from bellow your glass bell!” Letho’s mind ranted and it took every bit of willpower to steady his tongue and wait several seconds before replying. He didn’t ordinarily do that, but Myrhia trained this perk into him, calling it his Cooldown Time. It rarely did the trick, but today it saved Aleister from a broken jaw and a couple of knocked-out teeth.

“I don’t deserve her?” the Marshal spoke, then reiterated in a louder, more sinister tone. “I don’t deserve her? And I suppose you do? What did you do that makes you worthy of her?”

“Where were you when she was enslaved? Where were you when they beaten her, and ravaged her, and raped her, and did it every single day!?” Letho’s voice was growing in power with each word spoken, his figure slowly towering over the disrespectful lad. “And when you would face these men, boy, what would you do? What would your pathetic cowardice do then? Don’t you lecture me on life when you know nothing about life!”

Myrhia’s voice in his head was screaming Cooldown! and it was probably what tipped the scales away from taking Aleister by the collar and slamming his frail body against the stone. Letho’s face was a forbidding grimace now, frowning and slashing the boy with his enflamed eyes. The metal of his gauntlets crunched under the might of the clutch of his fists. “Maybe I am a beast, but at least I’m not a dog that hides in the bushes at the first sign of trouble. Personally, you sicken me, but by all means, do what you want. Just don’t expect me to protect you when the other beasts start rattling the cage.”

With that said, Letho let the blade drop on the stone of the ramparts and before the clattering was done, he turned and strode away from Aleister. It was probably for the best. Enflamed arguments such as this one, where cheap shots could be counted in dozens, were bound to have anything but an amicable conclusion. He made his way down, passed by Col without even a glance and made his way to one of the crumbling huts. He needed to prepare. He needed to be at his best if he wanted to get out of this alive. And a nagging spoiled richboy was bound to only thwart his focus.

“He’s just scared, you know.” a voice spoke and once Letho lifted his head from where he sat, he could see Col’s figure.

“I’m scared too. We’re all scared. But I don’t hide behind pacifism, hoping that it would save me.” the Marshal responded, leaning against the stone wall and scribbling nothings in the sand.

“What do you hide behind, Marshal Ravenheart?” the Fallien native spoke softly. “Your courage? Your battle prowess? Your honor?”

“I don’t play defense.”

“And yet here you are, defending this fort in spite the odds.”

“It’s not like I have a choice. But it doesn’t matter. Once they break down the gates, I’ll charge through them and whoever wants to get out better stay close and have a sword in hand. Because that’s the only way out of here.” Letho paused and looked up at Col callously. “My way.”

((Make Col return to Aleister, chat a bit and make the sun fall and the Fallien troops move towards us. :) ))

[Aleister]

Stunned and defeated, Aleister couldn't help but turn beat red from anger and embarassment. There was no way the lad could muster a rebutal for the points the marshal had made, not in his state of shock. As Letho walked away, having made his speech, the boy could only sit back down and look at the setting sun. A familar sound of boot steps came from behind, a new wind blowing on the ramparts so that the intruders clothes loudly flapped in the breeze. Aleister knew who th man was even before he spoke. "You shouldn't have done that."

The youth turned his head, greeted by the vision of Col en garde. His sword was out and his forehead was beaded with sweat, as if he'd been practicing only moments ago. It took a minute for some kind of come back, some sort of explination for what had just transpired. "I know Col, I know." He said to his tracker, annoyed that the subject was brought up. "But he's wrong. The marshal is just wrong."

"Wrong about what? Aleister, you're not angry at him for his views. I know you. You'd never start such an argument if that was just it." Col walked closer now, his face unreadble as the wanning sunlight reflected off it. The guide knew the real reason behind the resentment. But before he could speak, the boy started again.

"He doesn't deserve her. He might have done that all in the past, but he doesn't deserve her. He hurt her with his anger, his brutallity. He's a savage Col, it's not right calling me a coward when he's a savage. I'm not afraid to fight. If I was I wouldn't be here. I'm afraid to kill." He spoke in a passion filled tone until the end, where it dropped into something sorrowful.

The guide could only sigh. "You may not think he deserves her, but she does. And as long as she does, she'll stay with him. It's that simple." Aleister could say nothing more. The two only stood there, watching the fall of the sun and the rise of the moon.

[Letho]

By the time the sun was down and an orange moon peeked above the horizon, the preparations for the attack were done. The ramparts were manned, arrows collected and spread equally through the ranks. There was less then a hundred of them now, barely enough to cover the entire length of the wall in a single file, and most of them had a disbelieving look on their faces. Some of them expected a speech from the Marshal, needed some empty words of reassurance from their leader, but Letho offered none. His resentment towards the slavers went far too deep to be reversed just because a bunch of them were about to die deservedly. The massive gates that seemed genuinely impervious were further reinforced by the remnants of the collected battle machinery, wooden beams and stone rubble piled rather sporadically to enhance already admirable durability. All things considered, they were as prepared as they could be given the situation.

As it turned out, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Letho stood on the fort wall with his chronically frowned eyes peering into the rapidly growing darkness. He could hear the commotion within the Fallien camp, the sound of hasty feet and shouted orders carried to his amplified hearing sense by the mild lifeless breeze. He could hear thousands of people moving with a sole purpose to end his life. And all he could think of was that damned promise to Myrhia. And now that he thought about it, he realized that he wanted to renegotiate. He wanted to stand in front of their leader and beg for mercy, beg for freedom, beg for another day with her. And he remembered how once Myrhia asked him – in an innocent coy way she always did – if he would beg for her and he couldn’t imagine a situation in which that would be necessary. He knew now and he knew that he would break the pride in his spine for her.

Eerily silence reigned on the fort wall when the first line of Fallien troops could be seen under the moonlight that now shone with pure silver. They walked in perfect square formation, stacks of spears protruding skywards like an uncanny forest, the metal of their swords and armor gleaming like broken mirrors. They marched slowly, the sound of their feet rising in strength gradually until they became the only hearable sound. However, they came to a full stop at a safe distance, well beyond the arrow range. Letho expected one last call for surrender, a banal speech that was bound only to postpone the inevitable, but no such ting happened.

Instead, five figures stepped through the gathered swarm of shields and helmets, isolating themselves from the rest. Attired in silvery robes with hoods drawn despite the still prominent heat, the five priest-looking figures raised their hands towards the night sky, commencing a gentle chant. “Priests?” Letho thought, observing the ritual studiously. The five figures called forth a bright ivory aura that swallowed their bodies completely, and even as that happened, a spark of white light appeared some ten feet above their heads. The chant continued and the spark vibrated with power, pulsated like a living heart, and when the priests struck their staffs against the sand, the spark expanded abruptly. In less then a second there were five huge spheres of energy levitating above the invading army, illuminating the landscape like miniature suns.

“Nay. Mages!” his mind corrected the initial though, but by that time it was too late. The five orbs were flung towards the fort, uplifting the sand like water as they scudded towards the heavyset gates. Even in all his inhuman might, there was nothing Letho could do to prevent the collision. The projectiles struck the gates in rapid succession, each one exploding with enough might to disrupt Letho’s balance and throw some of the weaker slavers on their behinds. The light was blinding, the detonations deafening, uplifting enough sand and dirt to create a solid tawny cloud all around the gates. The Marshal didn’t have to wait for it to settle. He knew very well that they just took out their only advantage, making a hole in their sturdy defense. It seemed that the last hurrah was going to come a bit sooner then expected.

“This is it, gentlemen!” he commanded, pulling out the gunblade from the holster on his back and making his way down from the ramparts. “We move out in a single column! Either we break through or we die trying!”

The remnants of their barricade and the sturdy gates were scattered within the diminishing mist as Letho stepped down from the wall and prepared for the charge. Numbers One and Two were already at his flank, the Scarlet Brigade members staying true to their obedient speechless idiosyncrasy and merely waiting for the cue to act. In all honesty, beside himself and the two mysterious figures, the Marshal couldn’t see anybody else surviving the onslaught that was waiting for them beyond the broken gates. And out of all of those who already had a toe tag in Letho’s mind, he only felt sorry for Col. He was the only innocent that would perish today it seemed. Because Aleister wasn’t innocent, but rather just oblivious to the obvious and that made him foolish. And Letho shed no tears for fools.

The frenzied sound of advancing Fallien troopers was the harbinger of the bedlam that would follow in less then a minute and the Marshal stood like a cocked gun, ready to rifle himself towards either freedom or damnation.

[Aleister]

((Better idea))

Aleister sat in silence towars the back of the fort, surronded by the crumbling ruins of a once fine barracks. He'd made a promise to himself in anger not to even be near the battle, especially avoiding Letho. Something about the man and his smugness made the boy's blood boil, and thinking of the marshal's rough hands touching Myrhia only made it worse. He deicded it was wiser to stay far back and leave the fighting to those who knew no better. The night held a silence that even the day time murder of the slaver captain couldn't bring. The desert air seemed desolate, as if there weren't to armies about to slam into each other.

The youth was glad for the silence. It gave him time to tune Violet and more importantly, to think. He was a dreamer in this case, his imagination unrealistic. He thought of the battle being one, the tribes of Fallien growing weary of war. Perhaps no one more would need to die, except maybe Letho. With him gone, maybe Myrhia could finally see the light. Maybe she could even fall in love with Aleister.

But these were foolish thoughts. He knew Myrhia would be broken with Letho gone, and imagining her so depressed was too much for the boy to deal with. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't wish the marshal dead no matter of his wrong doings. So deeply enthralled in this train of thought, he didn't even notice the glowing like outside a nearby window, the silver pouring into the hovel. Soon, however, the booming sounds of those lights smashing into the gate caught the young boys attention. As he looked out the window he could see the sky light up to an almost blinding light, the stars vanishing for only an instant.

Something told the boy he should see what was happening.

***

The gate had been breeched and lay in tattered ruin. Col, Aleister's guide, now stood looking out over the sand dunes, right where the gate once stood. The men from the keep's wall had run down quickly to at Letho's word, who now called out for them to meet the enemy out in the open. Each man had fear on their face, Letho himself looked unsure with those two cloaked figures on his sides. The guide couldn't help to think how foolish their attack sounded. The marshal planned to charge the enemy of thousands, with only their pitiful force of not even one hundred.

Col knew of a better plan as he pushed his way through the slavers to get to Letho. The warrior was prepared, a grizzled look on his face and his sword ready to rend flesh from bone. The tracker made his presence known, standing with a look of deep concern on his face. "Marshal, this is madness." He said staring directly into Letho's brown eyes which appeared black in the darkness, darkness that had returned now that the magic had faded. "The spider does not risk the open, instead it waits in its borrow for any thread. Our numbers are small, but if we could choke them at the gate, we may have a chance." He ended his sentence almost pleading.

And over the wall came the war chants of Fallien, each tribesman prepared to give his life to end another's. The heavy footfalls of armor began to sound over the sand as their march on the stronghold began.

[Letho]

“A chance at what?” Letho growled at the man, not even regarding him with a glance. The Marshal’s eyes were fixated on the dissipating mist in an attempt to penetrate it and see the oncoming force beyond it. His majestic voice overruled the ruckus of marching feet admirably. “Postponing our death for several hours? There were five thousand of them yesterday. There are seven thousand today. Tomorrow it will be ten thousand. You said it yourself that they won’t stop coming. No, if we stay here, we’re nailing ourselves into a coffin. So either keep the pace or stay behind.”

Letho’s hand pushed Col away rather indifferently, as if the tracker was a child that was intruding into the grown ups matters, before returning to the wooden handle of the gunblade. Col’s proposition would’ve made sense if they were making a stand and waiting for reinforcements, but the Marshal knew that nobody would be coming. The officials back in Corone made it rather clear that if this mission were to fail, they would deny any connection to the incident. That was why they sailed under Raiaera flag, to enable the brass back home full deniability. And in turn that didn’t make them a spider that weaved a web. No, they were cornered animals and Letho was about to show them what beasts did in such situations.

A firm hand clutched to his shoulder in an attempt to spin him around, but all that it succeeded in was drawing the swordsman attention. “Not necessarily, Marshal. There is a chance at redemption. There is an unwritten law amongst the Fallien warriors, an oath that each honorable warrior upholds.” Col started, sustaining Letho’s irritated glance. “If an adversary shows himself worthy on the field of battle, his life can be spared. And I assure you that if you stop this tide tonight, there will be plenty of worthy men in the morning.”

The sound of feet plowing through sand was dangerously close now, close enough for the metallic clinking of the chainmails and shields to be heard, close enough for the first barrage of arrows to come flying over the walls. Luckily, given their current position at the inside foot of the wall, the swarm of projectiles passed high above their heads harmlessly. It was a clear sign that Letho had less then a minute to make his decision. If Col was speaking the truth – and the Marshal couldn’t think of a reason why he wouldn’t, since his life too was connected to the success of this strife – then maybe his suicidal hurrah was a needless risk. The gates were wide enough to let ten people abreast walk through, less if they were in full battle gear and charging forwards like lunatics, and even less give the scattered rubble. And now that he thought about it, the nailing themselves into a coffin didn’t seem like a bad idea, especially if the persistence buys them a way out.

“Alright. We’ll play defense.” Letho finally said with a smirk before turning to the troops. “I want fifty people on the wall now! Focus your fire on the center! The rest of you make two squads! One fights at the gates, the other replaces it after five minutes! MOVE!!!”

The scurrying footsteps of the slavers were lost in the advancing storm and slowly the Marshal could see the outline of the first line of Fallien troops. Their eyes were enflamed with anger, their faces stern and resolved, their muscles as tight as if they were cramped as their hands held to their weapons. They were true warriors alright, proud and chivalrous, fighting for their homeland, for their way of life. And Letho had to take each and every one of their lives to ensure the continuance of his own. It was a bitter bargain, but for Myrhia... for love, he was willing to pay it.

Letho brought up the Lawmaker and lined it up with a random face in the crowd, pulled the trigger, splattered a face, reloaded. He managed to repeat this three times before the first Fallien warrior came charging through the shattered gates. The gunblade moved in a swift diagonal slice, clipping off the man’s head and left arm with a clean cut. The arterial blood splashed over his face, inadvertently provoking the taste buds in his mouth, making him taste the warm crimson liquid. It was the first drop, a harbinger of the crimson tide that followed. Letho and his two benighted sidekicks formed the front line, the six foot gunblade swooshing in horizontal arcs that mostly resulted in decapitations and disembowelments. Whoever ducked or evaded bought himself an extra second before one of the two dark warriors cut him down mercilessly. The pair of Scarlet Brigade members wielded what seemed like a pair of daggers, but their movements were inhuman, even more eerily then Letho’s. There seemed to be a constant shadow around them, weaved and following with a slight delay, making them move in a faint blur. Few passed the first three, usually wounded and helpless against the steadfast slavers.

And then, after the sand was turned into dark scarlet mud by the spilled blood and there were some five hundred corpses piled around the gates, the invading forces paused and spread, revealing a throng of archers with readied bows. The slavers ducked out of the way. Letho didn’t. His left hand pulled the adamantine bastard sword from his back and spun it with what seemed like incomprehensible speed, effectively deflecting the arrows. The pair at his side didn’t even block. Their bodies seemed translucent somehow as they moved like ghosts, their minute movements dodging the missiles. A couple of screams rose from behind Letho’s back, horrible bawls of slavers that were too slow to foresee the projectile onslaught, but they were irrelevant. Col was right, they could hold their ground here and pile enough corpses to bar the gates with them if necessary. Letho couldn’t resist and mischievous grin, feeling the fresh blood circulating through his vampiric system. His right hand placed the gunblade on his shoulder loosely, his right holstering the bastard sword before gesturing to the soldiers on the other side of the gates to come forward. The night had just begun.

[Aleister]

Aleister's hurried breaths were silenced as he ran through the fortress, the sounds of battle up ahead downing out any noise the boy could make. Even a yelp of shock when a hail of arrows flew near him was unheard by any soldier near the ramparts, the fragile kid just barely able to hide inside some rubble. Had the boy been more attentive and just a little less frieghtened, he may have heard the commotion behind him. The sound of men's voinces and heavy footfalls coming from the mine, the troops of Falliens preparing a surprise attack from behind. The tribes were not fools and wouldn't take on a full frontal assualt again without some sort of plan. Little did Aleister know that as he reached the gate, men followed closely behind to decide the night.

When the land finally reached the battle he found only complete chaos. Men fell all around as the troops of the marshal clashed in tight ranked fighting, trying their best to choke the enemy troops. Aleister hid out behidn a building out of site. He couldn't help but notice Letho and his two guards, who tore through the enemy ranks like a hot knife through butter. Blood splattered all around him, like a summer's rain spraying anyone nearby. It became apparant all too quickly why men praised the warrior battle prowess. He was more like a maestro there, conducting an orcestra of of carnage. His movements were so fluid, running purly on instinct.

Nearby stood Col, who had taken a disgarded spear up and used it to impail any enemy foolish enough to come near. He fought with a grace one only obtains my crossing the desert sands, sure footings used to stay stable on dunes. The guide saw the boy whose wide emerald eyes were wide in fasination. But slowly another sight caught his eyes, and filled the expirenced vision with terror. "Aleister!" He called to the boy, who had only just heard his danger. Throngs of soldiers were just being him, all the lad could do was flee in terror towards the battle. He convinced himself in unconcious thought he was safer among the slavers. But Col's vigiliant eyes earned him only pain as a club slammed down hard on his head. The tracker fell dead without even a sound.

The youth didn't even get a chance to see this as he ran to the slaver group. One by one, each man realized they were surronded on all sides. But something strange happened then. The fighting slowly subsided, the fallien troops moving back a little to prevent further clashes of the sword. Fear was on every face of the slavers, the Fallien troops had only a chizzled ressovle like statues. Soon, a call cried out from the troops that came through the mines, a harsh mixture of command and hate.

"Marshal Ravenheart!" It cried. One by one, the troops of Fallien made way for their despot.

[Letho]

It was a morbid dance, an irrational life expenditure at its worst, and Letho enjoyed it more with each second that passed. Sure he promised Myrhia that they would settle down, sure he decided to opt for an easy, everyday life with the girl that loved him. But just as sure was the fact that this was what he was made for, what he was trained for, what his nature craved for. In the heat of battle Letho Ravenheart showed his true face, a face of a gambler that put his life on the table like a bargaining chip and rolled the dice. Sometimes he did it for justice, sometimes for the sheer thrill of the battle rush, and sometimes because he was pinned down with no way out. But regardless of the reasons, the underlining was always under that same calculating, hawk-like eyes that stared into the ones of his opponents and watched the life departing and leaving a void. There was determination in those eyes, cold and stoic and emotionless, and it placed him on a throne of invincibility.

Tonight, however, the invincibility wasn’t as absolute as Letho thought it was. They chocked the attack efficiently and with minimal casualties, but their destiny came at them the way destinies often did; treacherously and from behind. The Marshal first attributed the waning of attacks from the front to battle weariness, but before he got a chance to reconsider that thought, he and a pack of remaining slavers were surrounded in the courtyard of the fort. Hateful faces stood around him, looking at him with ravenous looks that alone seemed enough to pound him into the ground and feast on his pain and anguish. They didn’t want to kill him anymore; they wanted to make him pay with dividends in blood and tears. But, for the time being, they remained stationary, as if waiting for a command to overrun their foes.

“Bastards! The mines. They came from the mines.” Letho thought, his eyes ascertaining the situation while his hands did the trained reloading ritual, ejecting the empty cartridges from his gunblade and loading a fresh batch. Unlike the slavers around him, the Marshal didn’t seem surprised or startled by the sudden turn of events. There was no despair visible on his contours. He knew he would get out of this. He knew because he made a promise and he was a stubborn oak when it came to fulfilling promises.

“Marshal Ravenheart!” the voice called out from the gathered mass of armored infantrymen. The circle made out of men made a small passageway, letting through a familiar figure. His studded leather armor was once again pearly white and spotless, covered only by a cape that was thrown over one shoulder. The longsword that stood dormant on his hip was calmed by a hand that held the hilt as the white man approached. The second he entered the circle, the pair of black figures at Letho’s flanks made a move, but Letho steadied them instantly.

“Stand down!” he said to the pair before addressing the Fallien leader. “You come here to renegotiate? If so, you picked a strange time to do so.”

“I come here to stop this slaughter.” the man responded, stopping inside the circle. The remaining slaver troopers moved out of the way, enabling a clear eye contact between the white and the dark warrior. Letho’s eyes peered at his foe, but the Fallien leader couldn’t prevent himself a look at the pile of corpses of his compatriots that started to clog the gateway. “You and me, Marshal. We end this now. Too much blood was spilled needlessly already.”

“If I win, you let us walk?” Letho asked. The white warrior nodded solemnly.

“And if I lose, the rest die?” again the dark swordsman inquired and his opponent responded affirmatively. Letho lined up his gunblade with the man in the ivory attire.

“So if I shoot you right now, this thing ends?”

The Fallien tribal leader smiled, his free hand reaching for the clasp on his shoulder that held his cape attached. He pulled on the leaf-shaped brooch, letting the white cape fall into the dust below. “You could try.”

Letho tried. His finger pulled on the trigger and the Lawmaker roared once again, but before his mind even managed to register the fact that the splattered head belonged to some random soldier that surrounded them, his right hip exploded with pain. The movement of the man in white was but a gray blur to Letho’s eyes, taking him away from the bullet trajectory, down the side and straight past Letho in roughly the same time that it took the bullet to traverse the distance between the two. The swordsman turned abruptly, disregarding his wounded side, which brought him down to one knee. In front of him, the man in white stood with a bloodied sword in his right, his face emotionless.

“Impressive. But you can’t dodge forever.” Letho spoke, pushing himself back to his feet and transforming once again. His muscles expanded, his dark-attired figure now shimmering with a white aura. The wound on his flank responded in accord with the enlarged bulk, oozing substantial amounts of blood down his side. Letho paid little heed to this nuisance though. He lined up his gunblade with the man once again, made a move to pull the trigger again, but when the white warrior moved to dodge and charge again, Letho steadied his finger. The blur came at him again, but this time he was able to parry a diagonal slash aimed for his neck. Before he even got a chance for a counter though, the man moved past him and behind his back. Letho reacted without thinking, spinning his body around and swiping the Lawmaker towards the Fallien leader. The titanic weapon swooshed above the man in white that managed to duck.

The counterattack followed instantly. The ivory man same straight at Letho, launching an overhead attack aimed to cleave the Marshal in half. Letho brough his guard just in time to block the attack and force a weapon lock. There were no sparks between the metallic edges, but the eyes that peered over the blades made it up for the lack, both enflamed and caught in the heat of battle.

“I won’t have to.” the man in white said through his clenched teeth. Before Letho managed to put his powerful physique in work to overwhelm his foe and push him back, the Fallien leader spun away from the block and down Letho’s left. His blade first sliced through the tendons of the Marshal’s knee, making him kneel once again before he continued his fleet spin and brought his blade from behind, aiming it for Letho’s heart.

[Aleister]

((I hope some sort of Croatian god strikes you down in wrath, Letho.))

Col lay dead, his corpse a silent testiment to the madness that now surronded Aleister. The soldiers were all surronded by the troops of Fallien, who'd used their knowledge of the lands to come from the minds. The frieghtened boy thanked his curiousity that led him away from the covert assault. He stood with the defenders now as the awaited the next move. Their king seemed in check and all that was needed was the final enemy blow.

From Fallien's ranks came a strong-willed voice. A great figure, who must have been the enemy general, emerged from the melee in a costume of white that mocked the sully of the blood-soaked sand. Soon he and marshal Ravenheart traded words, Letho trying his best to discuss a peaceful resolution. A deal was met, the two leaders would engage in combat to decide the day. Aleister's wide eyes could only watch on in disbelife at the barbarism. If the Fallien leader fell, than Aleister, Letho, the two guards, and the slavers would be spared. If their marshal fell however, they were all doomed to face the blade.

Letho wasted no time as he fired the first shot from his monsterious weapon. The lad covered his ears quickly, the sound was almsot deafening to him. The hubris that carried his face left it quickly when his bullet struck another target. Soon the two were in a fast paced duel that seemed to defy the very laws of Althanas, speed and strength melded into a maelstorm of power between the two champions. However soon the tides turned against the marshal, as the blademaster of Fallien cut into the tender knee flesh of his opponent. Cheers were heard from the enemy ranks, from the slavers and Aleister there was only stunned silence. The darkened sky above was as dreary as any of their faces.

The enemy general stood triumphant, preparing to deliver a finishing blow. He raised his arms like a showman, encouraging more and more shouts from his men. To Aleister, time itself had slowed down. He could see Myrhia, that horror stricken face when she heard the news that Letho had died. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew there was no way Myrhia could truly be happy without the brute. Deep inside, he could not care that idea. If he could not have the girl, than he wished her some happiness. The youth couldn't bare the though. As his eyes welled up with tears, his feet took a step his mind hadn't thought of yet. Like a pale flash the boy took off towards the waning duel.

In truth, Aleister and the other men were not too far from Letho. Few however, even considered the act that the boy had commited. The Fallien General's eyes grew wide in shock, his careful sword stroke hit something besdie armor and war tested flesh. On the groud, only a foot away, lay the bloodied form of Aleister. Weak cries of pain escaped his mouth as red mingled with the black-yellow sand. All sounds had ceased. The wind itself had stopped as if in awe.

((Now have them go away, letho says some words.))

[Letho]

Letho could hear the deathblow coming and yet the scream of pain that followed wasn’t his own. Next to him, with his face cringed in shocked agony and rapidly losing blood from the gash across his chest, Aleister lay on the blood-soaked sand. There was no sword in his hands, no armor on his unremarkable body, the foolish boy remaining true to his pacifism to what seemed to be a bloody end for him. The Marshal wanted to deliberate about the reasons for this sacrifice, but there was no time. The suicidal move of the weak lad was the perfect distraction, an unexpected surprise and paused the white warrior and his execution. Aleister bought Letho a ticket out of this mess and the swordsman embraced it instantly.

In his lowered position, Letho spun on his healthy leg, swiping the dull edge of his gunblade in an arch through the dirt. The tawny weapon connected with the feet of the Fallien leader, knocking both of them aside and bringing the dexterous fighter down. The perfection of his white attire was marred instantly, but even as his body struck the ground, the Marshal was on top of him. His knee pressed against the man’s chest, pinning him down as his right gauntlet produced a talon that bit into the surface of the skin on his foe’s neck. Letho’s face, frowned and ominous, loomed above the man like a visage of the grim reaper.

“Yield.” the swordsman growled. The Falien foot soldiers recoiled at the sudden turn of events, some of them making a move towards their leader. But even as they did so, Letho’s left gauntlet produced another talon, crisscrossing it with the brandished one on the other side of the man’s neck. The threatening move stopped the infantrymen in their tracks.

“Yield, and let this end without more death.” Letho spoke again, but the pair of eyes that looked at his from below refused to concede to his will. There was still hatred in those eyes, and righteous anger that still wanted to crusade against the people responsible for the death of his beloved. The Marshal decided to continue with the diplomacy. “The man responsible for the gruesome deaths of the captured is dead. I snapped his neck with my own hands. If that’s not enough of a revenge for you, then tell your men to advance. Otherwise, yield.”

It wasn’t enough of a revenge and Letho knew that. If Myrhia was dead and he had people responsible – however remotely – for her death, he would want their heads. But if the roles were reversed, he would see the reason, he would know that this would have to suffice. It wasn’t the voice of his own intelligence that was telling him that, it wasn’t the whisper of his heart or the reflection of his good soul. It was Myrhia’s voice, Myrhia’s reasoning, Myrhia’s desire for him to live despite everything that transpired. And Letho hoped that this man’s Myrhia was telling him the same thing.

“Back off.” the Fallien general finally said to his troops, his visage still as prideful as ever. “This battle is over.” and when some of the surrounding fighters refused to move, he reiterated. “I said, back off! Those that remain here are not responsible for the mischief.”

Letho waited for a couple of seconds, long enough to witness the retracting of the Fallien warriors that slowly sheathed their weapons and backed off from the entire scene, then pulled in the pair of talons. With his blades gone and his knee not pressing against the man’s chest, the white warrior could breathe properly again. The Marshal kept him in his sights for a couple of seconds still as he moved away from him and towards Aleister, but it was clear that there would be no more fighting tonight. Instead, it was time for healing and the blonde boy was the first on the list.

“You’re truly a remarkable man, Marshal Ravenheart.” the defeated leader spoke, wiping the trickle of blood from his neck and getting back up to his feet.

“I’m not.” Letho responded, leaning over Aleister and inspecting his wound but still remaining on guard. Old habits died hard. The gash was large and messy and bound to leave a nasty scar diagonally across the boy’s chest, but it didn’t seem life threatening. “I’m just fighting for what I love.”

“Freedom?” the general asked.

“A redhead.” the swordsman replied evenly.

“Well, then perhaps we’re not so different, Marshal.”

It was something that would usually draw a smile on their faces, but the jest was lost in the gallons of spilled blood and hundreds of freshly stacked corpses. Letho merely acknowledged it with a nod, tearing a piece of his coat and making a rather rough makeshift bandage that he tied around Aleister’s chest.

“Come on, boy. On your feet.” the Marshal said to the youth, helping him up to his wobbly feet and putting his shoulder beneath his arm as support. “Why would you go and do something as dumb as jumping in front of a sword? You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

He didn’t wait for a reply though. The Fallien legion that stood outside of the fort gate parted, creating a path for Letho and the rest to walk and the swordsman didn’t want to lose any more time on palavering. With Aleister at his side, they made their way thought the desert and towards the ship that would take them way from the sandy dunes of Fallien.

[Aleister]

The desert winds were harash for open wounds. No matter what bandage covered it, Aleister still felt the sting of hot sand on his cut. Walking was brutal for him and each step felt like his last. It seemed even after the troops of Fallien parted ways for the remaining survivors to leave, the boy's ordeal would not end. Trecking through miles of sand, the marshal took the keep's survivors to the Coronian ship. There his beloved Myrhia was waiting along with a crew to take them all back to Corone, covertly of course.

The band that survied the harrowing night soon arrived at the Fallien shores. Night had given way to brilliant sunrise that shimmered golden off the sands. Several rowboats waded in the water, the gentle sea splashing against their hulls. And from one ran a lone figure whose auburn hair shimmered like the sands. Small and swift she dashed through the shallows and sand with open arms. Myrhia, beautiful as ever engulfed Letho's form with her tiny arms, wrapping them tightly around the warrior. Her energic demeanor soon ended however, when she caught a glimpse of the wounded Aleister, whose hand clung tightly near the wound.

"What happened?" She said in shock, moving towards the wounded lad. Aleister stood with two former slavers at his sides helping him stay on his feet. Basic first aid had been applied, his body grew numb from a number of natural herbs some of the Fallien troops had provided.

"Myrhia..." He muttered in a half consious tone. The two soldiers at his side ushered the girl away in a hand gesture, mentioning how he was too weak right now and would be more conversational on the boat. They escorted him quickly to the rower without even a word. But as he was nearly carried away, Aleister shot a smile at Myrhia and a glare back at Letho.

And as he recieved a smile back, even the marshal's embrace with her couldn't spoil his mood. He reached sleep quickly in the boat.

[Letho]

It was a cold and mournful trek back to the shore, each of the survivors plagued by their own set of thoughts of the events that transpired. Most of the slavers couldn’t believe their luck, thought it was rather clear that they weren’t out of the woods yet. A Corone Marshal and his two invincible friends were walking beside them and it was highly unlikely that they would let them off with a slap on the wrist. But for the time being they were content that they weren’t pushing daisies like a good number of their pals. Aleister, even though not threatened by the probably prison sentence, didn’t seem in a better mood, still giving Letho the silent treatment which made his sacrifice that much more peculiar to the swordsman. As for the Marshal, he walled up the way he usually did, and behind that wall remained all the gruesome faces that lay dead in the dirt, all the horrid cries of the wounded and all the wrongness he might’ve done. It was his burden, his cross, and he bore it the way he always did; in seemingly emotionless silence.

At least until they reached the shore. The natural light was still dim and gray, but it was definite who was running towards him, stumbling over the rock in the shoals, nearly falling, but ultimately getting to solid ground and throwing herself forcefully in his arms. Letho’s hands – murderous, bloodied hand – embraced her gently, fearfully almost, and for a moment he just allowed the closeness to establish itself as an undeniable fact. Her warmth, her kisses, her tiny hands that could barely reach around his bulk, her scent of sweat, he needed all of it, he needed to believe in its reality. And only then he was free from the battle, free from the shackles that coffined him to that damned fort and the scallywags that he defended. Because Myrhia was his world, his reality, his freedom and only with her Letho truly lived.

“It seems that there’s some guts in that boy after all.” the Marshal responded to her question, his eyes looking at the wounded lad that was being placed into one of the rowboats. “He took a hit for me, jumped in front of a sword as if he was going to stop it with the power of will alone. A foolish thing to do.”

“He saved your life.” the redhead said the thing that Letho seemed reluctant to admit. Her green eyes – moist and somewhat bloody from the crying – looked up at him for a second before turning towards the blonde lad. Myrhia, who has been crying ever since she saw the bulky swordsman approach on his own two feet, squeezed out of Letho’s embrace precariously, wiping the tears from her cheeks and approaching the boat in which Aleister was seated. And without a moment of pause or deliberation, standing almost waist deep in the cool ocean water, she threw her hands over the edge of the boat and hugged Aleister as tightly as she embraced Letho.

“Thank you.” Myrhia whispered, just holding onto the wounded boy for a while and once again tears just slid down the pale skin of her face. She kissed the boy’s lips then – something that sent another jolt of jealousy through Letho’s mind – with strength of platonic love instead of true passion before she looked into the eyes that were so alike her. “Thank you so much, Aleister.”

“For you...” the boy muttered in return, his eyes drifting between weariness-induced dreaminess and true affection for the girl. “I did it for you... Not for him... For you, Myrhia.”

The words didn’t stun Letho, but they certainly had a shocking effect on the redhead who gently released Aleister from her arms and allowed the rowers to take him towards the ship that stood anchored not too far from the shore. She stood alone for what seemed like the longest time, pondering on his words, on the affection that was within them that she couldn’t return. She liked the boy, she couldn’t deny that. She liked them in that melancholic, first love kind of a way that reminded her of the times when she was a tyke with no great concerns on her mind. And if the fate shaped their destines differently, she could even see him as her beau.

But then Letho stepped towards her, embracing her minute, scrawny body from behind, leaning it on his own and she felt, in her little heart, in her gut, in her head, that this was where she wanted to be. Despite all his defects and quirks, Letho was and always would be her one true love, her prince, her knight. She had to iron out some creases in his demeanor, but they were both young. There was still plenty of time for that.

“No more of this, Letho. No more of these endless battles. I can’t stand waiting to see whether or not you’ll return this time.” Myrhia said in a hushed, woeful tone, slipping her hands beneath his substantially larger ones.

“No more.” he whispered into her ear. “I promise.”


((SPOILS: Uncanny Projectile Blocking – Letho took his ability to parry to a whole new level. With his vision and reaction times amplified by vampiric blood, Letho can now block incoming projectiles with his blade. There are some prerequisites though. The weapon in his hands has to be a longsword at the very least. Also, because of the focus needed, Letho can’t use this skill when severely injured or exhausted. Note: This is not an ultimate skill. Letho can’t block every projectile, especially if there is a myriad of them coming at him, and especially if they are coming from multiple directions. This skill merely states that he can block projectiles in certain situations. I’ll run this by a RoG mod at my next update.))

[Witchblade]

Introduction: - 8.5 Both of your introductions were good, giving enough information to the reader as necessary. Letho’s opening post set up the quest very nicely, giving you exactly the information he knew and yet leaving you knowing there was more to it than that. Nothing in Althanas is as simple or cutthroat dry as that seemed to be in the beginning.

Aleister’s opening post was nothing spectacular, but gave reason for him to be in Fallien and reason for the Fates of Althanas to have Letho and Aleister meet up.

Setting: - 8 The surroundings were beautifully rendered throughout the entire quest, an amazing backdrop to an impossible task. Surroundings were also used in the battles and used well. Though I did have a hard time picture Letho manoeuvre around and take that tower out by himself, I know it’s within his ability to do so. Just remember that sand is hard to fight in when you’re not used to it. Col was the only character to take note of this; where as the other characters never mentioned the sand unless it was a picturesque setting. They would have a hard time fighting in sand, especially if it’s their first time to Fallien.

Strategy: - 8 You two used your characters well throughout the story. Coming up with in-character strategies on how to beat back the enemy and also out of character in terms of the strategy of the storyline. It was interesting how you set things up for Myrhia and Aleister to find out about the slavers before Letho did, putting him in a very tight situation considering where he found out about it. The war strategies were both really good, Aleister’s idea to clog them at the mouth of the fortress was much better than a foolhardy attempt to just run through a force of seven thousand and expect to come out the other side alive. Letho’s good, but he’s not a God.

Dialogue: - 8 Character dialogue was interesting, true to each character, gripping at times and it just fit the general mood of the quest. I’m not too sure about the dialogue going on between Letho and the Fallien General, it would have been interesting to see them having a hard time understanding each other. After all, he may have some grasp of Tradespeak if Letho was lucky, for the most part he’d probably only know Fallien. It would have been an interesting aspect you didn’t use.

Character: - 8 Ahh, character. Well, both of yours, actually all four of your characters came out extremely well in this quest. Bunnying was a frequent event that mostly occurred between Col and Myrhia, who despite changing hands quite often seemed to keep the general fabric of their characters. Myrhia was at times a more vibrant character than Letho was, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing considering she is part of Letho’s character and helped advance the storyline and Aleister’s character himself in many ways.

Col seemed to just be there for the sake of it and his death was extremely abrupt and not very well written out either. He just gets hit in the back of the head and dies and doesn’t seem to be mentioned after that, a great disappointment.

There was development with Aleister’s character, you can see him somewhat maturing but he still needs a lot of work before he reaches his ‘manhood’. What was interesting and nice for a change was to see the two main characters not even get along or like each other. It doesn’t happen too often in quests and though Letho’s jealousy over the child was a little over the top it played in nicely with the storyline.

Rising Action: - 8 The rising action really set you up for something big at the end of this quest, something that wasn’t entirely delivered. The seven thousand Fallien warriors verse the hundred slave traders and Letho, Col and One and Two. Even the moment where Letho is trying to negotiate the safety of the slaves helps bring about the tension that is to come when you realize that they want blood and they want it now and nothing is going to get in their way. They almost barely care about the fact that some of their people are still trapped within the fortress, they just want heads to roll. I certainly didn’t see the surprise attack from the mines coming since it was mentioned somewhere in the middle of the quest that they were dangerous and might collapse, after that I forgot entirely about them. I was effectively distracted from an obvious surprise attack from behind.

Climax: - 6.5 The climax of the story really is the battle between the Fallien General and Letho. It was nicely set up and it started out good, even the idea of Aleister jumping in to take the blow for Letho was a great idea. However, the post where Aleister does this is lacking the action and the pain of the moment. There is no description of Aleister doing it, just the after thought that no one had suspected it and his bloodied body in the sand. It missed the dramatic moment. There could have been so much more to that post that Aleister didn’t bother to add. The moment before the blade hits flesh where the thought of ‘what the hell am I doing’ comes into the mind. The reason behind it seems sound enough for a lad smitten with a pretty lass and making a rather quick decision in the heat of the moment, but the action of it was lacking and therefore left me disappointed.

Conclusion: - 6.5 The conclusion of both your characters has left something to be desired. I con honestly say the conclusion was the most lacking aspect of this story. I wouldn’t say that either of them was forced, perhaps premature. There was other stuff you guys could have put in there and I know it. For starters, Aleister, Col died right around the end of the quest and Aleister never even contemplates this fact, not once does it appear within his inner thoughts and you’d think that someone who felt so attached to another person would care. After all, the only reason Aleister stays behind is because of Col and Myrhia, and then Col dies and there’s no emotion.

Letho, what Aleister did for him was a big sacrifice. And though it is mentioned that he only did it for Myrhia perhaps a little more thought from your character on the situation besides the surprise and ‘woe that was stupid’ would have been appropriate. There was a little conversation between Letho and Myrhia about how the kid had guts but how about some conversation between Letho and Aleister? I’m sure neither of you wanted to drag this quest along any further than this, but because of the sudden ending it ruined something.

Writing Style: - 8 Each of your writing styles is different and very good in and of itself. Aleister you have to watch out for spelling and for changing about certain words, like here and hear, where and wear. You did that a few times throughout the quest, as well as things like disbelife. That should have been picked up by spell check; the other ones won’t because they’re spelt right. Sometimes going over a post once or twice after you read it is the only way to weed things like that out.

Letho, you had a few instances where something was used incorrectly or spelt wrong as well. There were also a few times when words were missing though easy enough to place into the sentence. It wasn’t like you missed a key structure of the sentence just a forgotten ‘to’ or ‘the’ or ‘it’. Not everyone is perfect and I don’t expect you guys to be in your writing, but try to watch out for those.

Wild Card: - 7 Hmm, almost eights right across the board here. This story was good, it had a nice flow, it had nice interactions amongst characters and I enjoyed reading it, despite the fact that some of those posts were freaking long. The only thing I’m left wondering at the end of it all is if the Fallien were portrayed correctly in this quest. Now, I’m not the Fallien writer and they’re not my creation, but I do rp as a Fallien on another account and I’m just left wondering if the tribes who barely get along with one another would really rally forth an army to fight an enemy? It is possible and I really couldn’t see why not, but I still find myself wondering. I also wonder where the Hell Fallien got seven thousand well-trained fighters. The tribes are small and Fallien itself doesn’t have much of a military.

Total Score: 76.5

Rewards:



Letho receives 3,500 Experience and 100 GP!

Uncanny Projectile Blocking is fine with me and as stated will need to be further approved by an RoG mod.

Aleister receives 900 Experience due to level difference and 100 GP!

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

EXP and GP added!