Honor, Glory and Mercy

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The skies were dark and thick with clouds. Nothing new for Salvar. At the mouth of an old and sleeping forest, the royal army was based. They had been there for months, engaged in combat with the Church of the Ethereal Sway. This was not a major front but a base for operations away from the public eye.

A man sat at a beaten up, broken down desk. The two mirrored each other perfectly.

The desk's surface was littered with papers and pens. Spilled ink and pooled at its edge just barely touching the tip of a large, open leather book. The book was on his right, but on the man's left was a metal mug filled with a dark liquor. The man sat in a chair which matched the desk, old and worn. Behind the man towered a great iron gate, rusted by the years and the worn by the elements. The gate turned into a large fenced wall, parted every so many meters by large square stone columns and stretching on as far as the eye could see until it reached the forest. An ocean of tents stretched out towards the horizon behind the passageway, filled with soldiers and weapons.

The old soldier behind the desk sat ridged and sturdy. He blended with his surroundings as though he came out of the ground itself. His features mimicked the harsh earth and stone all around. At first glance he seemed a war hardened veteran, his scowl told the tale of many battles waged and won. But one look at his eyes told a tale of sorrow, loss and pain. His head was home to many scars, scattered along the top and down his face. One scar sat symmetrically between both eyebrows stretching up to the top. Another crossed it at the peak diagonally and down to the middle of the left brow. The only bright part of his face was the bald spot which reflected what little sun there was. It stretched from his brow to the middle of his head, with many little strands of hair stretched across it. His clothes were stained, worn and ragged. He cared little for finer things or anything after a life of war.

Richard Mc'Hartt watched a stranger approach with eager indifference. He found the spectacle, as all others before it, a tiresome bother. They all came wide eyed and bushy tailed, looking for fame and prestige. None of them were ready for the reality of that darkness which they would find out there. Out where all sense and reason left men and they became something else. Something less, yet somehow more, then men. Where men became monsters, where terror reigned and death became a sweet release.

The man wobbled out of the forest, hand on his brow rubbing his temples. Richard could hear, but not distinguish mumbled words and phrases. A harsh sigh left Mc'Hartt's thin lips. He turned the page in his book and began scribbling a new line of text. The pages of his thick book were filled with names.

There weren't many men who could stand the company of this broken soldier. But those who either pitied or related to the old man often were an audience to his musings. Often did he call himself Death's secretary. He would prepare the names that death came to collect.

As the man approached, Richard began to make out his features. Jet black hair, slightly wavy, fell in front of his eyes and all around his head in no real style. He was a modest size, not too big yet definitely not small. Even a trained eye would have trouble telling if the man was a strong fighter or simply a drunkard. He wore a long brown leather coat over a dirtied linen shirt. A belt hung off his waist and one of his hands rested on it fully. His other hand swayed still rubbing his temples. Worn brown boots kicked up dust as he walked. But the man's eyes were his most notable feature. His eyes were red. Not a mix of light hues to give an illusion, but blood red. Not something that was common in many lands, which only increased the harassment one would receive for them. His red eyes were softened by an indifferent expression and what many called "dead-fish-eyes."A blank expression revealed his affect, or lack thereof.

"Nothing but a name to be crossed off," Richard rasped, shaking his head.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Hey, old man," the stranger began, "you look about as bad as I feel..."

Richard glared at the man without lifting his head. His stare would have startled the stranger had the old man's eyes retained their youthful luster. Mc'Hartt growled at the younger man, twisted his neck to release a flurry of pops and went back to scribbling.

"Eighty fourth," growled the old man.

"Birthday? You can't possibly be that old and still alive..." the younger man said with surprise, scratching his head. "Still, if there's cake... " he whispered longingly.

"That's the number of your squad you inbred dolt!" Richard yelled, slamming his fist on the table. "What the hell are you called, anyway?!"

"Usually? Useless Idiot," the man sighed, cleaning his ear with a pinky finger. Richard let out a harsh sigh and looked up slowly at the stranger.

The two locked eyes for a moment before Victor sneezed. He caught the spray and wiped it on his pants.

"So then, 'idiot,' will that be your first or last name?" Richard asked, easing back into his chair.

"You can call me Victor Valentine," the man said with some reservation before continuing, "if you must."

"Richard," the old man said, jotting down the name and closing the book. The heavy tome sent dust up when it shut and shook the table. "Now get yer ass in gear and fall in. This is a war front, not a day care, I'll show you where you'll be staying and your Commander will fill you in from then."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The large iron gates opened slowly and with an agitated groan. The heavy metal, once gleaming with pride, had abandoned its false sense of prestige. The once brilliant lacquered bars turned dark and rusted. Filth and dirt riddled the gate and all of the stone columns. It stood tall and ominous, holding true to the superstition many shared of it being the gate to hell. The road was easily distinguishable by the plethora of steps that had crossed it. There were many tents set up in a grid like pattern to either side of the road. Between the ocean of tents smaller, muddier roads zigzagged and dotted about.

The tents varied in color and shape, based on function, Victor assumed. Many tents were beige and stretched a full story up, housing many cots and beds. Some had tables and chairs , while some smaller beige tents where set apart from the rest and held only one bed, a drawer and a desk, 'privacy for the high and mighty' Victor reasoned.

"This isn't the main camp," Richard said after a while. His boots kicked up dust as he walked and the man cared not for walking with dignity. "This isn't some fancy high-to-do battlefront where knights in shining armor ride gallantly into battle."

"Well that's a bit of a shame," Victor began, scratching his head. "And here I was hoping to get to sleep in a nice bed."

"This is the eastern battlefront," Richard growled, turning his head just enough to see the lazy-eyed man. "This is not a place where great armies clash, the strategy here is to hit them where it hurts: their supplies, their recourses, their precious commodities and gather intelligence in any capacity. It's not pretty and most people never come back, but it needs to be done..." the old soldiers voice trailed off, his mind wandering to other times and places.

Other tents of a vastly different shapes were given room. Large black circles roofed the blacksmith tents, angled in an optimal way to allow for ventilation. The backs of the tents were usually covered by the same black tarp that was used to shelter materials sensitive to the elements.

The white tents housed the rare medical units that no army could function without. Although they could only be called white by prior knowledge and distinguished only by their pyramid shape, as a layer of dirt had long ago defiled their pure whiteness.

There were larger marquee's of various colors scattered among the sleeping quarters. Victor could see geared soldiers standing over various tables discussing something in whispered voices. Most likely squads preparing to go out on whatever mission their command deemed worthy of attention.

His eyes could only be described as uncaring as the man walked through the barracks. Following Richard down the wide dirt road was more of an exhibition then Victor would have liked. The tents stood high and wide open allowing anyone who walked by to have a full view of the scenes within. Many men sat in their bunks practicing some kind of menial chore: cleaning their boots, polishing metal or buffering armor. Some men sat together, groups playing some game or another. Several sat around a bed playing a game of cards that Victor had never seen before. Others sat at a table, talking quietly exchanging words harshly and feverishly until they all broke into laughter.

The new recruit passed by what was easily the largest of the many tents. It towered, almost three times as tall as those surrounding it, over the camp as a pungent aroma spilled out. There were no intelligible conversations coming from within the make-shift mess hall. Above the sound of rabid chewing and drinking no more than laughs and jeering banter could be heard.

Indistinct chatter flittered through the air from all directions except from the groups closest to the pair. It was almost as though there was a sphere of silence surrounding the two and as they walked the silence grew. It was almost deafening to Victor, a sound he had been all too familiar with from his travels away from home. He could always count on his family to break that silence, however. For as out of place as he felt in the outside world, no one made him feel more loved then all the family he gained at the orphanage. All the family he left behind and the family that had been taken away.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Almost there," Richard said, breaking the silence before he began to cough. His tone was tired, but a slight sense of excitement lingered at the end. The two men veered off the main road that continued to stretch forward until it reached a ruined section of the gate, around which many sentries stood. They walked for several yards before stopping at a red marquee, one larger than most others.

"Well if it ain't the 'Red-eyed Devil' hi'self!!" a voice boomed from within the tent, drowning out every other sound. A large, by dwarf standards, bulk moved through the crowd and hurtled itself at Victor.

The new recruit's eyes widened and his body reacted on instinct, expecting a devastating impact. Victor rolled out of the way just barely avoiding the muscular dwarf's lunge. The stack of supplies that stood in the path however, were not so lucky. The bulk shoved heavy crates and sacks off from himself grumbling.

The dwarf stood five feet off the ground. Thick black hair fell down to his shoulders, most of the hair at the front was slick back into a ponytail which started at the back of his head. Most of his facial hair was gone except a thick black goatee. Similar to Victor, his most prominent feature were his eyes, a piercing blue. He was nearly as wide as he was long, with muscles bulging out of his leather tunic. Two hand axes hung off his sides from a thick black belt. A wider than normal sword hung off his back in a custom sheath. The sword was long enough to scrape the floor as the dwarf walked. Dark gloves matched the dark boots the dwarf wore and both had seen better days.

"Good to see you too Boris," Victor sighed, lifting himself from the ground. "This time, however, I'd like to keep all my ribs intact..."

"Oh, indeed!" A shrill voice cried from behind the dark haired human.

Victor turned to watch a tall, thin, red haired man make his way from out of the crowd. Three long red locks fell down the front of his face to his chest. The rest of his hair was tied into one long braid which stretched down to the middle of his back. His black steel armor shined, strangely, even with hardly any sun. A black long sword hung off his waist and a red buckler was attached to his arm. His eyes were a sharp hazel but the look on his face was one of apathy and distaste. Besides his hair, the man was unmistakable for anyone other than an Urdonin.

"Asher," Victor said with a nod, acknowledging the red haired knight.

"And what a sight you are, certainly looking better!" Asher exclaimed, embracing the red-eyed man. "I hope you left the young ones in good care?"

"Well Nina stayed, and you know how she is," Victor sighed and both men shuddered. Even the boisterous dwarf twitched a bit at her name as he returned.

"Scary woman she is..." Boris grumbled, joining his friends, "I don't envy 'em what stayed with her..."

"And she, of course 'persuaded' the local militia to move their base closer to the house and help out. She's definitely from this family..." Victor finished, looking around for more familiar faces.

Out of the crowd of soldiers many curious faces peered at the friends. The soldiers who had fought many times alongside both Boris and Asher were interested by the strange red-eyed man who called them family. But some faces did not share the prying stares.

Two pairs of matching green eyes stuck out, just about chest level. The twin brother and sister, with matching leather armors and each with a pair of crossed short-swords on their backs. Their wide smiles matched their eyes which were wild and held back nothing. The two were covered in dirt and bandages, their armors scuffed. The two moved in synch, taking opposite paths through the crowd but mimicking each other perfectly. Their blonde hair looked brown with all the dirt in it, which fell off in every direction when they moved.

"Victor!" two voices rang out in unison from two directions. The voices sang out as the twins moved closer, soldiers shifted in unison as they were moved by the pair. The two forms burst from either side of the red-eyed man, arms open reaching for an embrace, but it was not to be. Victor moved quickly, getting behind the approaching dwarf and before Boris could realize what was happing, both children crashed into him. The three friends lost their shapes and became one writhing mass of discomfort and yells.

"You cheated!" two thin voices squeaked, as one of the two pinned the dwarf to the ground.

"All we wanted to do was say hi!" they said in unison. The dwarf began to move, but the second of the two pinned him down again.

"... Hi." Victor said apathetically, " happy now?"

The twins jumped up again in unison, laughing happily and embracing their red-eyed friend. Victor held his breath, his body being squeezed from both sides. Boris lifted himself from the ground, muttering angrily once more.

"Nadi, Nathan," Asher began, stepping forward to separate the three, "Victor needs to breathe just like the rest of us."

The brother and sister grumbled playfully and both blew raspberries at the slender man before running off into the crowd, laughing with each other.

"Good to see something's never change, at least" Victor sighed, straightening his clothes. The man began to breathe easy once more until a massive hand slapped him on the back and a booming laugh deafened him slightly.

Leslie was an effeminate man by name only. The massive Skavian wore nothing but pants and an iron breast plate. Two handed weapons, a war axe and hammer were crossed on his back, and many smaller axes and swords hung off several thick belts on his torso and waist. Victor hunched over, painfully reaching for his back, eyes wide with pain. Another earth-quaking laugh filled the air.

"Still small!" the mammoth bellowed, pointing at Victor.

"Still a monster," Victor coughed, shaking his head "good to see you in good health Leslie dear."

The behemoth grinned and made a motion as to drink to some of the soldiers in the crowd. They laughed and cheered as the barbarian ran towards the mess hall. The group ran after him and Victor noted they were all smaller versions of his simple friend. They all had barely any clothes and were covered in small weapons and muscle.

"Bane unit," a deep voice sailed in from the crowd. A figure in dark red robes came out of a passage made by wary troops. A dark elf emerged, removing a hood from his head. Lavender skin was covered almost entirely by dark clothes. His slender hands were covered by thin black leather gloves. Despite the nature of his surroundings the boots the man wore were almost magically clean. His features were soft with very few creases in his skin. His eyes were deep blue and if there had been a sky to see, they would have mirrored it. His silver hair was tied at the base of his neck into a long tail that ended at his waist. A design of the elf's own creation was on the breast of the robes and a scarlet belt split it into two parts.

"Petey," the red-eyed man said with a nod. The two old friends shook hands and watched the barbarians vanish from sight.

"It's not 'Petey,' it's Peter," the drow said with indifference.

"You should always have a friend you can call by a nickname," Victor said with equal indifference to the correction.

"They are not very refined, but they get the job done," Peter sighed, shaking his head.

"Taking after Leslie no doubt," Victor muttered, turning back to his dark friend.

"When you're done getting acquainted, join us inside," Asher called out, as he and the dwarf disappeared in the crowd.

"They do, just as my apprentices take after me," Peter smiled, lifting his hand to motion towards a group of twenty mages standing at a distance. "After we joined the ranks of this army, many of us were recognized for our potential. It took a few years but our prowess and determination paid off. And here we are, six years later and in command of our own units. I was asked to join the alchemic and anti-magic unit. I got promoted after a while and now I'm a part of this little group," Peter paused. The drow chuckled, "A lot like our home, back with Ro..." but his voice trailed off, catching his mistake. Victor's eyes dropped, pain reflected in their red stare.

"Victor, I didn't... I know you were closer to her than anyone else," Peter began, but a smile from his red-eyed friend stopped his words.

"You're gonna turn into an old man if you keep thinking like that." Victor laughed, turning to join with the others in the tent. "What's past is past, better to just leave it there."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Victor made his way through the crowd to a table in the middle of the tent. Boris and Asher stood over a map which covered the entire surface. The two did not notice their friend approach and went on talking about geography and enemy positions. Victor couldn't make out a lot of the names or locations but he understood the general gist of what they were saying: a raid.

"Hey," Victor said, nodding to the pair, "if this is a raid, I want in."

"Now that is splendid!" Asher exclaimed, "right to work! I've always liked that about you."

"Don' ye be takin me thunder now!" Boris laughed, elbowing the man in the stomach.

"Now, now" Asher said, motioning for Victor to look at the map. "There's a supply line that runs through the hills, here," Asher moved his hand over the map letting it hover over renderings of wave like hills.

The map was old, pieces of it were torn and other parts clouded by dirt. The map depicted, in detail the eastern region of Salvar. Its left side ended just above the city of Archen and the coast. A river divided the map into two sections, starting at the coastline in the north west and ending at the southern coast. The river split into two near the southern coast. There were mountains in the north, with a part of the river going into them and ending somewhere in their midst. To the north west was another mountain range with the original river curving around it. There were hills at the southeastern end of the river, with a forest separating them and the mountains. The forest to the east of Archen was home to the army Victor found himself a part of.

"The forest here, around these hills is where we suspect the base of the zealots is. There's no hard evidence just yet but, we're close," Asher sighed.

"So we what, raid a caravan?" Victor asked, nonchalantly.

"Tha's the plan!" yelled the boisterous dwarf.

"And who's coming?" Victor asked, turning from the map to the soldiers gathered around.

"Me an me men will be more'n enough!" laughed the dark haired dwarf, turning to rouse his troops. Laughs and yells echoed throughout the seemingly small space as men scattered to fetch armor or arms. The soldiers moved with not pattern or coordination but a definite flow could be seen in their actions. The movements of men who had been together for what seemed like ages.

"They have seen battle and celebration, victory and loss." a low voiced began, as Peter approached the black haired man. "At first they were just soldiers in someone else's unit. Then when Boris was promoted they all asked to leave with him. It's strange to think he has the ability to draw people to him the way you do. Through it all their bonds grew strong and they became one unit. The men were a force and with Boris at the head, you'd damn well believe they're to be reckoned with."

The men exchanged glances and laughed aloud, but their laughs quickly drowned in the shouts and exchanges between the hurrying group.

"Hey," the red-eyed man said, as Peter turned, "where's Alder?"

"Ah," Peter turned, "he is in charge of a scouting party in the field right now. For your mission I believe. Who knows, you might just run into him later."

"Yeah," Victor sighed, "maybe I will."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"And where would your gear be?" the Asher asked with a smile, putting a black gauntleted hand on Victor.

The red-eyed man looked himself over, "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Go to our smith, they'll give you what you need," Asher sighed. He pointed in the direction of the smoking forge before blowing one of the long hairs from in front of his eyes.

The man followed the beaten path to the indicated spot and was greeted by a young human and an elder dwarf. The dwarfs beard had grown long but was kept tidy in a well kept braid. He wore standard blacksmithing clothes, a dirty white shirt and a black apron. The boy was dressed in the same clothes and ran around the forge, clearly the understudy to the master dwarf.

"I suppose ye'll be needing a weapon then?" The dwarf asked, not looking up from his work. His veined muscular arms pounded hard at the metal. The hits were few, calculated and deliberate.

"And how would 'ye' know that?" Victor asked challengingly.

"I can smell the nakedness on ya," snorted the dwarf, "tha boy'll see to ya." The old dwarf went back to pounding, ignoring Victor's presence all together.

"Hi," the young man said, wiping some dirt on his apron, and holding his hand out to the black haired man. With a short pause to examine the boy's hand, Victor shook.

"I'm Victor," the red-eyed man said.

"Tony," the boy smiled, "and this is master Torain Waraxe, now what can I equip you with?"

The dark haired man looked around at the store of weapons, not sure which to pick. He admired the gleaming blades, looking each over before moving on to the next. The dwarf stopped his hammering and took a long inhale through his nose. Before the man could make a choice Torain's voice rang out again.

"Give him 'the bastard,' that'll be a good fit," the dwarf's nostrils flared, as he delivered a series of quick but powerful hits to the red metal. He held the steel up and snorted again, pleased with his work, Torain's smile was ear to ear and he placed the weapon into water to let it cool. Victor meant to complain, but was cut short by the young boy.

"Best take his suggestion," the boy sighed as his master bent to pick up a new piece of steel to work on. "He has a nose for picking good companions for warriors. Tony walked over to the far corner of the forge and took a long sword from the wall. The mental looked dull, nothing like the shining steel that was all around the room. He handled it with care, putting it into a long black scabbard and handing it to the red-eyed.

"It doesn't seem too impressive," Victor began but was again cut off by the dwarf.

"An' neither do ya, but looks can be deceiving, can'e not?" the dwarf grinned again, before once again immersing himself in his work and his slow, powerful strikes.

"It was made from the blade of Commander Valerian, before it was broken in battle," the boy went on, stepping back as Victor tested the sword with some swings. The weapon sang with each swipe, easily cutting the air. He held it up and admired its handle. The blade was long, sharp on edge and dull on the back. The shoulder of the sword had a diamond-like shape, thick around the middle and thinning out towards the handle and the blade, but its hilt was unorthodox. With no cross guard, there was only a long thin grip, with enough room for two hands to hold it and a pommel with a dull silver gem imbedded in it.

"Commander who?" the red-eyed man asked, still focusing on the blade.

"Commander Edward Valerian?" the boy said, raising an eyebrow at the man, "the one who oversees the activities of our regiment. He holds rank of Commander, but even the general leading his part of the war effort asks his advice before making a decision."

"Oh," Victor said apathetically, "I guess I should thank him for the blade then."

Before the boy could respond a horn blew, calling for the raiding party to gather at the gate. Victor sheathed the blade and attached it to his belt. Thanking the two as he left, the red-eyed man followed the hurrying soldiers at his own pace, joining them and his friends at the northern gate. Making his way through the crowd of fifty men under the dwarfs command, Boris and Asher met their dark haired brother with eager smiles, talking with another man, one Victor had not seen yet.

The man stood taller than Asher, clad in gray steel armor. Unlike the black steel Asher wore, this man's armor did not shine, it was scuffed and had many cuts in it. His posture was perfect and had a degree of elegance to it. A full, well kept, short beard covered his face and shared the salt and pepper hue of his short hair which covered his forehead. Clearly older than most people there, Victor could tell the man had the respect of every man who looked upon him. A long blade hung from his back and a short one rested at his waist. Asher motioned to Victor, who was just making it out of the crowd, tripping as he went.

"So this is the famous Victor Valentine I've heard so much about," the man said softly but with presence, holding a hand to meet the man. One look into his sky blue eyes and Victor was charmed. They were kind but, in the red-eyed man's opinion, held a secret. The two shook hands, and the older man continued.

"I've heard very much about you, son. These boys sing song of your wit, skill with a blade and quick feet. I look forward to being impressed. My name is Edward Valerian, and I believe that is my old blade re-forged at your side," the commander winked with a warm smile. "I see that old dwarf finally found someone worthy of it. Asher here had his eyes on it since my old blade broke, but I instructed the smith to find someone appropriate for her and I see you met his approval."

"I suppose I did," Victor said, letting his hand rest on the gemmed pommel. Asher groaned, signaling the two to cease their talk which was putting the knight down. Edward smiled and with a wink to the red-eyed man put his arm around Victor's shoulder to lead him back to where the others stood.

"So then kids," Edward began, moving past the threshold and motioning for the rest to follow, "shall we misbehave?"

[Good for Nothing Captain]

I like him, the red-eyed man thought, staying on Edwards heels.

The group made their way through the forest. Their march was slow and deliberate, keeping a steady pace, trying to blend with the sounds of the forest. Behind the steel knight, waves of men washed against the green and gray of the forest. Asher could not help but wince anytime the men made too much noise behind him. While Boris Grumbled to himself that this pussyfooting about was bad for their masculinity. But Victor was focused on the leader of the small contingent. The gray knight walked ahead, his steps careful, his knees as bent as they would allow for easy mobility. His sky blue eyes darted from side to side, looking for any signs of life, for anything that would indicate the enemy was in the area.

Victor walked at the border of the group, staying away from everyone else. His eyes were fixed on the commander, although he was not sure why. As the group made their way through the forest, the commander made care to take everyone's movements into account. After a quick movement of the gray knight's hand, Boris made is haphazard way towards the leader. There was a brief discussion, and shortly after the dwarf made exaggerated gestures to his men. The group split into three, two moving to two sides of Edward and the third disappearing into the forest. Victor looked forward and, past Asher, Boris and Edward to where the commander had last looked. There was the faintest hint of smoke. The red-eyed man made his way to his friends, now keeping as quiet as he could.

There was a music to the forest, that no man could capture. Victor admired it as he approached, but noticed a subtle change. In the faintest way, the voices of men had been added to the mix.

"I will approach, with Victor," Edward said, as the red-eyed man joined the other three. Asher and Boris nodded, first to the gray knight then to Victor, acknowledging the plan.

"What's the plan?" Victor asked, expecting no answer.

"We're going to accept their unconditional surrender of course," Edward chuckled.

"Do they know they're giving up yet?" Victor asked without much interest.

"They will soon enough," Edward said, motioning for the black haired man to follow.

The pair made their way through the brush to a road at the bottom of a hill. Their walk was made quick by the steep of the hill, and as they neared its end, the guards of the caravan drew their weapons.

Three horse drawn carriages took up the road before it curved around the hill. A dozen guards, four for each wagon stood ready to meet any foe. Each wielding a spear, with a sword and shield at the ready, watched every direction. The wagons themselves were covered by a high tarp, concealing anything they held. The men holding the reins wore hoods and heavy robes, making no attempt to conceal their nature. Empowered Priests.

The robes and armor each man wore bore the insignia of the Church of the Ethereal Sway. The moment Victor caught sight of it, his blood started to boil. His pace increased, but a tender hand touched his shoulder and a look from Edward said Not yet. The men approached the caravan, slowly, making their presence know. Four of the rear-guard stopped the pair, all of them shouting in one voice, the content unintelligible. Edward smiled, raising his hands and waited for the men to give him a chance to speak.

The noise was broken by a yell from a robed man, who had dismounted his wagon. The priest walked with control, and the armed men surrounding the duo gave him a wide birth. A sense of foreboding befell the guards who began murmuring to each other.

"Don't worry about the priests," Edward whispered, while the robbed man was out of ear shot, "focus on the guards."

The priest removed his hood, revealing a gleaming balled head covered in tattoos. Not a single hair cluttered his face, from chin to forehead. His deep set eyes sat above dark circles, accentuated by the multitude of lines that adorn his tired face. His scowl greeted the two, who felt its intense disdain.

"You are trespassing," the priest growled, stopping in front of Edward.

"I don't recall the road belonging to you," Edward said, still smiling.

"The road, maybe not yet, but the area around my caravan is mine," said the priest, motioning around, " and you are trespassing."

"Ah," Edward began, as if not expecting the response, "well I suppose you're right." Victor looked at the knight with some surprise, hoping that wasn't the extent of his plan. "In any case my task here is a peaceful one, I assure you."

The man seemed to make a face as though he were raising an eyebrow, but Victor could hardly tell with no eyebrows to indicate so.

"And what would that be?" the priest asked, with no discernible emotion.

"To accept your unconditional surrender to the royalist forces, re-posses anything you might have in your caravans and escort you all into our camp as prisoners of war," Edward said without a break, the smile never leaving his face, "Please."

The face of the priest twisted into a wicked smile, his yellow teeth protruding from the gap. "And why would we do that?"

"Because I said please?" Edward asked, with a sincere confusion, as if the possibility of disagreement had never entered his head.

"These lands; this war, will be ours," the priest hissed, with obvious venom in his tone. "You royalist scum and your 'leaders' will bow before our might before the war is through. And you," the priest paused, his expression growing dark, "will scream for mercy before this day is through."

"Well damn," Edward sighed, "I really hoped that would work," Edward said apologetically, as he turned to Victor and shrugged.

Before the wide eyed soldier could breathe a word in response, on the cue of the shrug, an arrow flew from the forest behind them, and found its place to the right of the priests nose. A bloody gurgle rose up from his mouth and before he fell, another arrow sailed through the air, killing a second Empowered Priest.

Edward flew forward, his long blade already in hand, drawing his second. A boisterous yell sounded from behind them as Boris and Asher charged down the slope with the bulk of their forces in tow. Victor did not hesitate long, for a spear was already heading for his body. The man swerved away in time to avoid a fatal stab. Instinct kicking in, Victor grabbed a hold of the weapon and used the full force of his kick to crush the balls of his opponent. The man fell to his knees in pain, but his cry was stifled by the end of his own spear, now in Victor's hands, crushing his nose.

"A word of warning would have been nice!" Victor yelled at the gray knight, flinging the spear into the back of the guard about to strike Edward from behind. The knight parried the blow from his opponent with his long sword and drove his short blade into the man's throat. His blade emerged quickly, blocking an overhead strike from the remaining guard, and with a speed Victor could hardly keep up with he cut across the man's chest with his short sword and stabbed with his longer blade. On hearing the dying cries of the enemy behind him, Edward gave a short bow to Victor who came running towards him, drawing 'the bastard.'

"I was curious," Edward laughed with a wink, "and was not disappointed."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Well," Victor said, with some disappointment of his own, "this seems a bit like overkill if you ask me," pointing to the wave of soldiers easily overtaking the few guards that surrounded the caravan.

The two remaining priests had dismounted their seats and hid behind the wagons. They were both murmuring beneath their hoods when four of Boris' forces came around the corner. They did not have time to scream as a line of fire erupted from the hands of one priest, as their upper bodies vanished in a blaze of flame and blood. The second priest came around the other side of the wagon and let loose a brilliant barrage of magical projectiles. The countless missiles spread out and crashed into the crowed of soldiers surrounding six remaining guardsmen. Six men fell to the ground, laying motionless as the church forces pressed a counter-attack. A roar resounded as an enraged dwarf launched himself through the tarp of the wagon the fire-wielding priest hid behind.

Boris, both axes in his hands burst from the other side, atop the fire priest, his hands working blurring zigzags. Blood sprayed in all directions as the priest fell, his innards spilling out on the ground ahead of his body. The remaining priest made to make distance between himself and the wrathful dwarf as he began casting another spell. But the loss of his comrades gave Boris strength. Both axes flew, one landing in the priests shoulder and another in his thigh. A terrible shriek filled the hair as he dropped to his knees. Victor couldn't tell, but he could only imagine the look of pure terror the man must have had as the bulking dwarf roared again, his wide sword in hand, before the kneeling priest was decapitated. The remaining royalist forces roared in unison, taking after their leader, pressing in on the remaining guards. At the sight of the carnage, the five remaining men dropped their weapons and begged for mercy.

"I would only say overkill," Edward began, his eyes scanning the forest, then the soldier on their knees all murmuring under their breath, "if this wasn't an ambush," he whispered, realizing the truth too late.

"AMBUSH!" Edward roared, racing to Boris' forces, "They're all priests! Don't let them finish!!"

But his warning came a second too late. Before the men could realize their plight five walls of fire rose from the ground before the disguised priests and enveloped the ten men who could not move quickly enough. The men towards the back scattered in every direction, desperately trying to avoid the flames. Some received burns on their hands and legs, while others managed to escape. Victor, keeping behind Edward once more, was surprised at the speed with which the soldiers recovered. Eight men surrounded the priests and executed them with great discrimination.

Another battle-cry cut through the air, but this one came from the forest opposite the one Victor came from. Nearly thirty men were charging forward, weapons in tow, towards the shell-shocked group. Edward dashed forward with all speed, hoping to at least break the charge of the enemy through their flank. Before anyone else could react a form blew past the gray knight. Boris stood atop the wagon's ruined top, shacking the doubt from his mind. He began to yell to support his men but a mounting roar drew his and everyone else's attention. The roar was followed by screams and chaos as Victor began to plow through the men making up the first row from the left side.

The first of the men heard the roar and turned his shield in time. After 'the bastard' connected with the shield the soldier prepared for his counter attack, raising his sword to strike. But his wide-eyed expression was only matched by the equally shocked look of the man next to him when they collided.

Victor's charge did not let up, with 'the bastard' sliding off the shield and planted in the Church soldier's armor he pushed forward. First two, then three, finally six soldiers were knocked over. Another came at Victor with a spear but he was slow as well. The red eyed man moved under the stab and took hold of the gaps in his armor. Before anyone knew it, the body was launched at the remaining four members of the first line of assault. Turning to face the enemy, a terrible grin slid across the red-eyed man's face.

"If you guys want to join in," the look of a wild beast danced its way to his face, "I'll need to see your invitations."

A tremendous bursting laughter erupted from the bulking dwarf. Boris rose his wide blade and waved it from side to side. Without another pause a wave of arrows flew out from the forest. With no clear line of sight, the archers used Boris as a reference point and took their shots. Many of the arrows hit the ground as the Church forces shouted to take cover. Three of the wounded men at Victor's feet took an arrow each, while victor danced around the arrows as they fell. Several other men received arrows as they scattered.

"Fret not!" Asher shouted from the trees, "we won't leave you in the wind!"

"CHARGE!!" Edward yelled, raising his blade as he came up behind Victor.

The royalist forces rallied, raising their weapons and began their offensive.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The charge came quickly, but the Church forces were just as fast to regroup. The clashes of battle resounded in the air, drowning out the cries of men laying on the ground dying. In the middle of the melee, Edward and Victor were back to back, each contending with their own opponent. It was hard for Victor to go as wild as he wanted with allies close by, so holding back his attacks, he clashed blades with his enemy.

A roar from Boris raised moral, as the dwarf cut down an enemy. Men fell, on both sides as the seconds went by, but another battle cry from the woods broke the warriors' concentration. A group of Church scouts were re-joining the main unit. Try as they might, Victor and Edward could not make it in time to support the troops that fell before them.

A blade came down above the black haired man. He blocked it and countered with a stab into the stomach of his assailant. When he fell, two more took his place. The men stabbed and cut savagely at Victor, who could do little but defend. The red-eyed man took numerous cuts while avoiding fatal strikes, keeping his feet moving to keep the men in one line. He blocked, then countered but was stopped by the other's shield. No one was doing much better, as Edward contended with three enemies of his own. Boris ran through the blades defending his men where he could; resolved not to lose anymore comrades. But Victor thought the notion impossible: this was a losing battle.

Just then another attack came quickly, a horizontal slash that Victor parried. He moved inside the man's defenses and smashed his chin with the pommel of his blade. Moving quick he blocked another attack and, before his initial target could recover, planted his the tip of his blade in his throat. A cry came from his side and he thought it was too late to defend. Rolling from his place he turned to meet his opponent but there was no need. A blade protruded from the chest of the Church soldier.

"Getting rusty?" a familiar voice asked, as the blade disappeared and the body fell.

There stood a blonde man with angular features and eyes the color of an alder tree. Adorned in leather armor he stood with two short swords in his hands, one covered in blood. A sly smile ran across his face as he helped the red-eyed man to his feet.

"Running late, Alder?" Victor asked as though they stood not in the middle of a battle but a peaceful park.

"My invitation must have been lost," the green-eyed man shrugged.

"Shall we clean this mess up?" Victor asked, turning his back to his comrade.

"If you feel up to it," Alder said, taking a fighting stance, "I wouldn't want stress you while you're on the rag. I know how touchy you can get."

There was a slight pause between them, as though they were silently acknowledging the other. Then, without a word they broke off into the battle, with Alder's men joining the fray. The tide of the battle turned quickly, with Victor and Alder joining Boris's wild movements. Edward took a step back, after falling the last of the three. He watched as the three made their way through the battlefield, their opponents falling one after the other. The ground ran red with blood, and after what could only have been a few moments the battle was over.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Victor sheathed his blade, standing over the body of a Church soldier. A hand on his shoulder woke him from his trance and Alder joined him.

"They're just kids." Victor sighed, looking away to another fallen soldier.

"They are soldiers," The green-eyed man said with conviction. "They gave no more thought to killing ours, and they give no more to killing you, that's what war is."

"That's what war does," Edward corrected, joining the two.

"Commander," Alder nodded, "and what do you think of our boy here?"

"I'm no more a boy than you," Victor countered, then added a solid "ass."

Alder laughed, patting his friend's back. The three of them regarded the ground, each silently taking it for something else. A tragedy, a victory, a thrill.

"We will be loading our fallen onto the wagons," Edward said, breaking the silence as Boris approached.

"Lost good men, we did," the dwarf sighed, "there will be lots'a drinking tonight."

The road back was somber. Asher rejoined the group with Boris' archers and they led the wagons back after inspecting the cargo. Victor did not bother with the inspection but walked ahead, eager to be done with the whole affair. He was joined by Alder, who broke away from his own men after issuing orders of formation for the trip back.

"So you were there from the first ambush," Victor remarked, not yet looking at his friend.

"I couldn't reveal our forces till they made their move. You know how risky that-" Alder began but was cut off by the red-eyed man.

"I know how risky that might have been," Victor started, regarding Alder with a disdainful look, "I also know how bad it was without you, and can't help thinking it could only have been better with you there earlier."

"Victor," Alder began, then stopped, choosing his words carefully, "it's not the same as back home. This is war, war is loss. It's tragic and terrible, but we didn't start this war."

"You don't have to tell me who started it," Victor said harshly, "I remember it well enough."

"I know you do," Alder said, both men thinking back to a different time, "I know how much harder it was for you. But we all lost something irreplaceable."

"Yeah," the red-eyed man sighed, "but we're not all fighting for the same reason."

Alder stopped briefly, watching his friend walk ahead. He had grown up with Victor, alongside Boris and Asher and all the others. And of all of them, the bond between the Alder and Victor was strongest. They regarded each other as brothers and friends. But no one, not even Alder could always tell what that man was thinking.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Night fell when the group returned to camp. They were greeted but cheers from the rest of the army as they paraded the caravan to the inside of the camp. Other gave quite condolences to Boris and the members of his group. Victor saw none of it, but simply asked the first person he saw where to drink and walked silently in the direction he was pointed to.

Back at the mess hall, Victor made his way through the boisterous ranks till he got to the bar. He dropped into a seat and was served a large pint of a foaming yellow liquid that he drained half way in one go.

"Yer good with yer drink," a familiar gruff voice slurred, "That's good, you'll need that."

"Didn't know that senior citizens were allowed to drink," Victor remarked, not looking in the direction of the man who gave him his drink.

"Fuck off!" Richard yelled, but it was quickly drowned by a cheer from Boris who took on two pints at once atop a table near the middle of the large tent. "I'm plenty young to drink a toddler like you so far under the table they could water you!"

"Well I guess we'll just have to see about that," the red-eyed man said, as he wiped the foam from his mouth and planted an empty glass on the table. Richard smiled and ordered two more drinks and the forgetting began.

The night went on in much the same manner for hours, Boris was the first to leave after starting a fight with a table. And winning. Brutally. His men left with him, singing songs of victory and loss. Alder and Asher sat at a small table in the corner discussing something quietly over glasses of wine and as the crowd slowly spilled off to their tents, so did they. By the end Richard and Victor were a few of the last to still be drinking.

"So," Richard said as the bartender handed him back the same old dusty book Victor first saw him with, "how did ya like yer first taste of this war?"

"It wasn't the first," Victor sighed, draining another glass, "and it's kept a bad taste in my mouth ever since."

"Well booze'll clear that taste right up," Richard garbled, finishing his glass and asking for two more.

"There isn't enough booze in the lands to do that," the red-eyed man remarked, taking the pint passed to him.

"Is that a challenge?" Edward asked, joining the two and motioning to the barkeep for a drink.

"Commander Edward," Richard began, trying to look a little more presentable.

"Here is your list," Edward said with a sigh, passing a piece of parchment to the old man.

"Thank ya sir," he sighed, opening his book and getting to work, matching the names on the list to those in his book and crossing them off, one by one. "I think I'll be taking my leave then, sir," Richard said, once his work was done.

"Rest well," Edward said, bidding a somber farewell, "tomorrow's another day."

"Right," Richard said, holding his book in his arms and walking away, "tha's what the booze is for..."

"Lose your invitation too?" Victor asked, as Edward turned back to the bar.

"Not too happy with how things turned out i take it?" Edward said taking a drink.

"Just not sure if Alder made the right move today," Victor sighed.

"He made a hard choice," Edward began, "it wasn't easy for anyone, losing men like that."

"Not sure it was very hard for him," Victor said, regard Edward for the first time.

The older man looked drained. His blue eyes looked more like gray in the dim light of the tent. His face seemed to have more lines on it, and he no longer wore his armor. He was dressed in formal military garb, the markings of a commander riddled it's front. A long vein throbbed on his temple and the remnants of a scowl left Edwards face with every sip of the golden liquor. From his waist hung a holster, which held a long metal weapon.

"Is that a super special pen for you commander types?" Victor asked, motioning to strange weapon.

Edward looked at the man, confused, then realized his fault. He removed the weapon from its holster. It seemed light in the older knight's hands, but demanded respect for its quite power. Edward easily spun the cylinder with his thumb before flipping the revolver over in his hand and handing it to Victor. The smooth ivory handle was heavy in the red-eyed man's hand, with an engraving of a wolf decorating the hilt. The black steel of the barrel gleamed in the dim lamp light, reflecting tedious care. The barrel was long, and thick, a weapon unlike any Victor had ever seen before. A wide cylinder sat above the engraved hilt, still spinning from the commanders movement.

"That would be a revolver," Edward said, noticing the spark in Victor's eyes, "I've carried it with me for a long time now. But I still have a hard time using it."

"Why's that?" Victor cut in, turning the gun over in his hands as he admired the detail.

"I'm no marksmen," Edward laughed, finishing his drink and motioning for two more, "it fires bullets, that look like this," the old knight said, taking a small cylindrical metal piece from his pocket. The yellow metal looked gold in the tavern's light as Edward let it play on his fingers, "it is basically like firing an arrow, but at hundreds of times the speed. It can go through just about anything."

"Interesting," Victor said, handing the weapon back to its owner, "if it's all that, why don't we all have one?"

Edward laughed, "many think that's exactly where things are headed, in time. But for right now, the skill to build them is not readily available. It is said that only very few blacksmiths know the technique, and even fewer are willing to use it."

The old night sighed, running one hand through his hair and holstering the gun. "Plus, I hear this ammunition is really dangerous. It uses some kind of powder that is hard to make and tough to handle. I have something of a stash from the gun's original owner."

"Huh," Victor breathed, raising a glass and toasting, "to the end of an era?"

Edward smiled, "to hope."

The two men drank heartily, finishing their respective glass as they talked.

"So what brought you here?" Victor asked, setting an empty glass to the side.

"Ah," Edward sighed, breathing out the crisp sting as the alcohol went down his throat, "well that would take a lifetime to tell. I guess it started with the owner of this," the old knight patted his revolver, "I suppose it would be appropriate to start there."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"My father was a... difficult man to love." Edward paused, considering how best to tell the story of his youth to the young man who walked beside him. The pair had left the mess hall with freshly poured drinks, and enjoyed the semi-quiet moonlight. They walked towards the gates, and made their way to the top of a watchtower. Sharing the moonlit view of the land imposed a kind of serenity.

"He came from nobility," the knight began after some time, "yet there were few things honorable about him. He married my mother, who gave him me and my younger sister. But that was not enough; he remarried, so I had many mothers and many siblings and, for some reason, we all fought for his attention. Through his blood, there were ties to the highest echelon of the royal court. Life at home became an endless political game. My mother tried to shield me from it, but it was no secret that she was his first, and favorite wife. He cared little for notions of love and valued power above all else. The only shelter I had was in books, and my private tutor, Klaus Furian. He taught me to handle a blade, to respect life. My books told tales of heroes past and the value of honor and glory."

Victor's eye were set on Edward, but the knight looked far past the land and the stars.

"My family had enemies, not only within themselves but from other noble houses. Violence was not uncommon. When I was young, there was a raid on our house. The assassins attacked in the middle of the day and slaughtered anyone they could. My tutor fought at my side and I defended myself as well as I could until..." he paused with a hard swallow, "I watched as my mother was stabbed through the heart and my little sister had her throat slit. Most of the assassins were dispatched at this point, and I fought with all the rage in my heart. Finally, I stood over the man who killed my sister... She, was the most gentle and innocent person I had ever known... When I looked into the cold, indifferent eyes of her killer... My hand moved on its own to kill him. That was when my tutor taught me the greatest lesson he ever could. He stopped me, staying my killing blow. He told me, 'mercy is the mark of a great man.' Then he killed the assassin. He told me that a sword swung with vengeance is dull, and should just be thrown away."

Victor stirred, smiling. He looked out with the same stare Edward had, to a different time.

"I never forgot that. I could no longer live in that place. With that man. When I was old enough, I left and he almost seemed glad to see me go," the knight chuckled, "I never understood why until he was on his deathbed. I had joined the army when I left and rose through the ranks quickly. When I received word my father was dying, I considered ignoring it... 'let the bastard die alone,' I thought. But I was compelled to go, as the sender of the letter was my old tutor. I arrived at the house to find it empty. The few servants who remained where the ones my mother employed. I saw my tutor for the first time in years, and nearly cried to see how he had deteriorated. He was thin, almost feeble. He told me that soon after I left, my father turned on the other family member. The whole time I stayed there after the massacre, I thought he cared nothing for the loss of my mother. But I could not have been more wrong. He tirelessly searched for her killers. He learned that some of his other wives planned the attack to target my mother, my sister and myself. He executed those responsible and banished the rest. I learned that he had wanted nothing more from life than to ask my forgiveness, to beg, on hands and knees for absolution. I ran to his room, nearly knocking the door off its hinges to find him motionless in his bed..."

"He died?" Victor asked, solemnly.

Edward smiled, "No. I took his hand and he opened his eyes. 'I refused to die,' he said. I told him I was sorry, that I did not understand. That I forgave him. And for the first time in all the time I had known him, he smiled. We talked for hours, I told him of my life in the military and he beamed with pride. He spoke of his own parents, losing them to sickness, along with his siblings. For the first, and last time, we were father and son. I did not leave until he did. When I left the room, Klaus met me with his will. He left me everything. I stayed for a week. Deciding what to do. I left the manor to Klaus and his family, as well as the servants. I took only a few sentimental items, this gun included... Then I came back."

The wind, and noises of the wildlife filled the silence. Victor was almost scared to look at Edward. But when he did, he saw a smile.

"I don't know if you've heard my nickname."

"Raukorad," Edward acknowledged, nodding.

"It's elven... It means red demon..." Victor sighed, picking his nose and flicking it off the gate. His trademark indifferent gaze seemed set on some distant place. The older knight looked surprised at seemingly random bit of information.

Raukorad finished his mug, letting out a hard sigh, "Booze always tastes worse with sad stories. Let's keep that conversation for another day..."

The two stared at the starry horizon as dawn started to break, empty glasses in hand. Birds flew, horses stirred and the youngest of recruits set about the mornings work. When the two walked along the beaten path once more, Edward stopped at a fork.

Tomorrow when you wake," he began, "report to me."

"I didn't think you were old enough to need help getting dressed," Victor cut in, kicking the dirt.

"We begin training tomorrow. We'll make sure we don't lose anyone else," the elder man said as the sun rose behind him.

[Breaker]

Honor, Glory, and Mercy Quest Judgment
Participants: Good For Nothing Captain

Current Mood: Lackadaisical
Current Music: Charlie Winston's Hobo

Plot ~ 19.5/30

Story ~ 7/10 – This was quite straightforward but well done just the same. You introduced the conflict between Royals and Sway right off the bat, and introduced many characters, most of which had backstory attached to them. I felt like you were being intentionally non-specific about Victor 'till the end, which did succeed at creating some suspense surrounding him. However, you want to be careful how you go about this. I think you missed your goal by just a little here, because through most of the first 5-7 posts I was thinking "why is there so much more backstory surrounding everyone other than the main character?" Whereas the question you want me asking as a reader is "what information am I not getting about Victor?" In order to accomplish this I would recommend adding more conflict to the story, and I'll talk about that more later on.

Setting ~ 6/10 – I felt aware of the setting at most times, and there were a few occasions where it fleshed out into a full mental image, but those moments were fleeting. Try to get away from the cut-and-dry method of explaining things. I'm noticing that usually when you want to describe a new character or piece of scenery you tend to devote a small matter-of-fact paragraph to describing it/them, and then move on with dialogue/action. While having separation between the two is good from a clarity perspective, it makes the story more like a series of snippets than an integral whole which would captivate my attention. Try combining your matter-of-fact descriptions of things with your dialogue and action. Rather than just describing what things look like, use your characters' five sense to explore them. Just taking the time to have a character run a hand along something they're passing, to notice the feel and the sound it makes, will root the reader in the moment and make the imaginary world seem real.

Pacing ~ 6.5/10 – The main issue with the pacing, I felt, was a lack of conflict. Telling a story effectively is all about building and releasing tension, and doing so in a way that keeps the reader glued to the page is what we call "good pacing". While you did introduce elements that created some tension through expectation (the mystery of Victor, his red eyes, the fact they're at a war camp), you also missed quite a few opportunities. The fact that so many people knew Victor from his old life, but none of them disliked him, rang false to me. Having even one soldier take a disliking to him, even if for something he didn't do, would have promoted a more realistic tension at the camp. As it was, this was the most peaceful and happy-go-lucky representation of an all-male grouping of combative individuals I think I've ever seen. Which was actually really interesting at times, but overall I felt like the story lacked discernible tension, or a sense of risk that would have kept me a bit more interested in the outcome.

Character ~ 19.5/30

Communication ~ 7.5/10 – Easily the strongest area of your writing - you consistently used multiple speakers who had personalities of their own to embellish the story, and that's something a lot of people struggle with. There's two reasons this score didn't quite "make the eight"... first, there were times when it was unclear who was talking. I would recommend controlling your scenes a bit more so there aren't so many speakers at a time, and try to avoid big paragraphs that are nothing but dialogue. Breaking conversations into smaller chunks with more physical actions from the characters makes it easier to understand and stay interested in, from a reader's perspective. The second reason is that on certain occasions your characters used specific "Earth-based" turns of phrase. While you can get away with some of these, I usually recommend thinking about what you want to say, and finding a way of saying it that represents the character's upbringing. So for example, where a modern earthling might say "Fuck off", a Salvic man might say something like "Go ice your balls." I don't mind seeing modern swear words like fuck and shit used in the correct context of their definitions, but allowing fantasy-based characters to use our own idioms is one of those things that creates a hole in the continuity.

Action ~ 6/10 – Overall the description of action was decent but not overly impressive. Consider my comments on setting (having your characters interact with the environment more), which will generally bolster your action score, and check out some high-level Althanas battles to get inspired around combat descriptions. I will very un-humbly recommend you check out the Ella Chamber from this year's Cell, which demonstrates a massive spectrum of combat from standard weapon-on-weapon to magical casting to ridiculous flying attacks. I felt like the combat was well-represented in this story, but it didn't stand out or really get my adrenaline pumping, which is very possible and the mark of excellent action.

Persona ~ 6/10 – All I'm going to say in this section is, give your main character more. Even if he's being all mysterious, the reader still needs to feel a connection with the protagonist, and I felt much more connected to the lesser characters who I actually got information on. One technique you might consider here is having people drag stuff out of Victor, having memories be brought up unwillingly by events, or having him get drunk and talk about stuff he wouldn't otherwise. (As another side-note, while I thought you represented the kind of drinking soldiers do quite well, the effects of alcohol on Victor and Edward should have been a little more pronounced. Even professional drinkers slur a little after a night in their cups).

Prose ~ 20/30

Mechanics ~ 7/10 – About 90% of the errors I spotted were issues of either capitalization or punctuation that a spell-check doesn't catch. This tells me you are using a spell-checker, which is great, but that you could use a little more proofreading. For solos, I recommend trying to read through all of your posts out loud at least once. Reading out loud will help you catch unnecessary commas and run-on sentences, while also making the aforementioned errors glaringly obvious. The other option, which I think you should definitely consider, is co-writing with someone. While I understand the appeal of soloing (I've written more solos than most, and hold some of the highest scores on the site with them), there are massive benefits to working with someone else. You get to experience elements of writing which you may lack, which I always find inspiring, and you also get a peer-editing buddy built into your thread who will probably let you know when you're making small errors. Consider recruiting someone in the RPC to help with your next thread! You also might want to try a battle or two, which will force you to focus more on action and combat writing.

Clarity ~ 8/10 – At times this thread sacrificed content or pacing for clarity, but I see that as no reason to penalize this score. The only times where I wasn't totally clear on what was going on were near the beginning before the full picture developed, and when the long conversations devolved into talking heads. Other than that, great work on keeping this readable. IMHO, you already have the single most important skill for a writer, and that is knowing what happens in your story. A lot of people will know what their main character is doing, but everything else becomes generic and lacking detail. You kind of did the opposite, which means you have fewer things to work on improving. Well done!

Technique ~ 5/10 - The only attempts at including literary devices I noticed mostly came out as stereotypes. I would recommend studying up on the function and use of metaphors, similes, hyperbole, personification, and any others you're interested in incorporating more. Again I'd recommend reading a few posts from the Ella Chamber to see examples of developed writing technique in action. Myself and Roht Mirage in particular seldom write a post without hitting at least one metaphor that adds "an extra something" to the prose.

Wildcard: ~ 8/10 – I am super impressed by this thread overall. While your style doesn't have a lot of the snap and sparkle we tend to see around here, your fundamentals are extremely sound, and in my opinion that's more important than a thread where a bunch of "epic stuff" happens but there's no backstory or basis for the events. You set yourself up for much greater things going forward, and I'll look forward to reading them.

Total ~ 67/100

In case you aren't aware, I want to point out that the Salvic Civil War is over - it's now a historical event. That doesn't mean you can't keep writing this saga - in fact, I encourage you to because it's very interesting - but be aware that from a chronological standpoint, these events are "in the past", so you can't change the outcome of the war.

Good for Nothing Captain receives 1000 EXP and 120 GP

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.