Marching To The Beat Of The War Drums

[Iriah Caitrak]

((Part of the Irrakam Siege quests. Anyone wishing to join up with the Calerian and Oasis armies may post in here.))


Revor couldn’t believe he’d actually grumbled and complained when Gereint had come to wake him up. What an idiot he’d been! How could he have done something like that? He should have known that something was wrong, Gereint didn’t wake people in the middle of the night for no reason at all, but he hadn’t been thinking well. It didn’t matter anyway; things were going well and on time. By now the entire tribe was up and awake and running around getting things done as he commanded them, him! And who of all people had put him in charge, Ira, who wasn’t even here right now. She was already hours into her journey to Irrakam and he prayed to Suravani, a Goddess he barely believed in, for her safety.

It was harder to work under the cover of darkness too. Fires were set up in various areas to keep away the cool night air and to help light the area. It would have been a beautiful night if it wasn’t for the news that had awakened everyone to. He shouldn’t be worrying about such inconsequential things at a time like this but it all seemed so surreal. The Calerian tribe gearing up to go to war, he never thought he’d see the day. And speaking of getting ready he was far from ready himself.
Hurried footsteps took him through the mass of people running to and fro, avoiding each one of them carefully. Throwing back the flaps of the tent, Revor stepped into the armoury and looked around and what he could choose from. Their armoury was not a very vast one. Most of those who fought in the Calerian tribe had the ability to form armour over their bodies and no one ever suspected that one day they would be fighting a war and need physical armour. Still, there seemed to be just enough for them.

Looking over the different kinds, Revor finally took a bleach white leather armour vest, key vital areas covered in Cillu glass. There were matching armguards and shin guards as well that had Cillu glass on them. The set was beautiful and would protect him well but it was heavy and bulky. He wasn’t used to wearing armour like this. The kind he formed weighed barely anything and this was going to slow him down. There was nothing to be done about it though. He was just happy enough that his weapons still had the same kind of effectiveness against physical beings as well as spiritual ones or their whole tribe would be in a lot of trouble.

Leaving the tent was like stepping into chaos. Well, it seemed like chaos but was more in fact a well-oiled machine. Shouts came from many and the sound of hurried feet through soft sand was everyone. Everyone had a purpose and was quickly trying to fulfill it.

“Revor!”

He turned and looked to Messia as she ran up to him. Her red eyes having a slightly worried looked playing into the corners of them and her normally free flowing long red hair was braided down her back. She was dressed in armour similar to his only it was of a red colour. She was his second in command of this march across the desert to Suravani’s Oasis and then further down towards Irrakam. The enemy would probably attack before they got there but their intent was no to arrive beforehand but to come and attack the enemy’s force from behind. Hopefully, they’d never know what hit them.

“We’ve got most of the previsions for the journey ready. Six wagons full of food and water needed to cross through the desert, we’ll pick up extra in Suravani’s Oasis when we get there. Half of the army has already been suited up with armour and we’re still handing out weapons to those who can’t form them.”

He nodded his head. They still had a lot of work to do.

“Get the horses hooked up to the wagons and don’t forget to load extra weapons and armour into at least one of them. Make sure to load all of the bows as well and double check the provisions so that the tribe has enough to survive out here for at least three months, after that some of the harvests should be ready.”

In the name of Suravani, why am I in charge of this Army?

Messia nodded her head to him.

“Has Gereint already sent word to the other Shamans at the Oasis?”

“He’s in his tent right now communicating with him.”

Revor didn’t want to approach the Oasis an army behind him without informing them they were coming. The Oasis tribes were very fickle and protective of their lands, if they saw a large military force moving towards them they’d do what came naturally and start fighting back and that was the last thing Revor wanted to happen.

Patience was not a virtue that he was given at the time of his birth and he could feel the itch beginning to form just underneath the surface of his skin. They needed to set out and they needed to set out now, but he couldn’t rush them or things might get done improperly and that would be much worse. So he did the only thing he could aside from beginning to pace around the area, he began helping with the preparations.

A cool desert night…

Hours later, Revor was leading a force of over three thousand well trained warriors through the desert and towards Suravani’s Oasis. Looking back at Astaka and seeing the how empty and few people they had left behind twisted his heart. How many of the people he was now leading would not make it through he didn’t know. But if they failed and The Keep was overrun, Jya killed; there wouldn’t be much of a home to return to even if anyone did survive.

Fighting a war and killing was a hard truth the army he was now leading was going to have to swallow, one way or another. Calerian’s didn’t kill, they helped those already dead and he was quite positive that almost every single person he was now leading had never killed another living human before in their entire lives. He knew he hadn’t. And he knew when he did kill someone, because there was no if in this matter only a when, and when he killed whoever met the end of his sword he’d be haunted by the image of their soul being torn from their body for the rest of his life. He could live with it, he had to. But was there strength enough for every Calerian behind him to live with that kind of guilt? He didn’t know and those were answers to questions he wished he didn’t have to contemplate. But he had to, because they were marching to the beat of the war drums now.

[Slayer of the Rot]

The thin slip of the moon hung low like a descending sickle in the night sky, hours away from bowing it's benevolent head to it's brother, a terrible being who burned at the people's skin like a tyrant. The coming of the sun didn't seem to bother the lone man in the wide stretch of the dunes however, as he stared down at the mangled harpy at his feet. Ren frowned, poking at its arm with the blood smeared zanbatou held in hand, the appendage twitching, the fingers flailing open. A katar tumbled onto the sand; a curious thing to find in such a beast's company. The harpy itself was nothing more than a ragged torso and head, which twisted around uselessly, it’s eyes rolling around in it's skull until it locked onto the slayer's own gaze. "What exactly were you doing armed? You harpies have never lugged around weapons before." The beast arched her back, sucking in a deep breath before releasing a sputtering, wheezing screech.

"Choke on your own spit, groundling!" Ren scratched at his head, giving it a curious look. "Oh, come on now, that's an awfully rude thing to say. Can't you just die with some grace and answer my question?" The harpies snapped her jaws, wriggling the stumps of her body and struggling to pull closer to him. "I'll bite out your tendons! I'd never help a man who’s killed so many of my sisters! I'll-" He sighed, shifted the grip on the sword, and thrust it down, pinning her to the sand. Blood spattered from it's scarred lips as it died, arching it's spine again and rising up the blade. Scowling, Ren lifted both the weapon and the corpse up effortlessly, flinging both body and blood from it in one quick snap of the wrist.

It was such a trivial thing, probably only a trophy from some poor warrior it had killed, but still, that katar lying in the spot of dark sand weighed heavily on his conscience. Even with doubts, it was far too suspicious to just dismiss as a passing curiosity. The chill air creeped into his open cloak, tingling his flesh, and after a few moments, simply standing there, staring at the weapon, he sheathed the sword over his shoulder and pulled the dark garment closer around his body. Ren turned around and rushed up the side of a tall dune, for something else had caught his attention; the sound of a great many voices reverberant in his ears.

Cresting he hill, he found himself looking down at a curious sight; an army of glass and leather clad men and women with oddly colored hair. Ren crouched, squinting down through the dark at them, watching each strangely colored head pass by. This night was quickly becoming filled with oddities. Not wanting to startle them (though the way some of them behaved, they would be alarmed at any rate), Ren shifted his body weight forward, sliding down the dune, darting towards the front of the army. In his passing, he caught the glances of these soldiers...with such strange eyes. They seemed to shift colors even as he looked at them, like quicksilver.

Reaching the front, Ren spotted a man dressed in white leather reinforced with cillu glass, and he approached him, matching their paces without trouble. They were all evidently in a hurry, but even a rush like this put forth little effort for his legs. "If I may ask, what is it that you march to," he asked, pulling down his hood, in respect, to show his face.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Revor was not surprised when the man came down to ask what was going on. He already knew he was out there. Inexperienced he may be leading an army but he wasn’t stupid and neither was Messia, his right hand woman, marching right beside him. Both of them had decided it was a good idea to have four groups of three scouting ahead and to the sides of the army to spot any potential danger before it descended upon them. Therefore, he’d already been flagged to the man’s presence before he’d slid down the sand dunes. The fact that he had been killing a harpy at the time his warriors saw him had probably saved his life, but Revor was not about to share that kind of information.

He gave the man a quick once over before answering. He was definitely a stranger to this land though it looked like he’d been spending a lot of time here. His skin was a tan colour but not as dark as the natives to this region. The stranger was also carrying quite an arsenal with him and actually appeared to know how to use them. He had the look and feel of an experience warrior.

“We march towards Suravani’s Oasis to pick up more warriors and horses before we move out to Irrakam. The Cult of Mitra has somehow aligned themselves with the Harpies and they’re making a ‘surprise’ attack on Irrakam. But we’re going to be ready for them…”

That wasn’t exactly true. They probably weren’t going to arrive in time to be there for the main assault on the city. The army within The Keep and the walls of Irrakam needed to be strong enough to hold out without them for at least a day, maybe more.

One of the patrolling groups crested a sand dune and signalled to him. They were within sight of the Oasis. Signalling back, the three female warriors disappeared from sight, back into the sand and into the darkness. Now they would see just what kind of chance they really stood up against The Cult of Mitra and it mostly depend on whether or not the other tribes would lend help and horses. If not, Revor might be leading his people to get slaughtered.

“Well, siahd, you may call me Revor. And if you would like to join our cause feel free, if not I suggest you leave Fallien for the time being, I don’t even think the sands will be very safe once this battle gets underway and perhaps not even for a time afterwards, no matter who wins.”

As Revor crested the sand dune and saw before him Suravani’s Oasis he felt the weight of the world suddenly lift from his shoulders, not even knowing it had been there to begin with. The tribes were a hub of activity. Torches and fires were lit in the night to help chase away the darkness and people were running around quickly trying to gather supplies while others were preparing themselves. The Shaman’s had all gotten Gereint’s message and it seemed like all of the tribes were massing their warriors and preparing them for war. Bless that old Shaman Gereint, bless his old bones.

[Slayer of the Rot]

'Suravani's Oasis? The tribe that took me in lived near there. I wonder if they've been called on, too?' Ren cleared his throat, looking back to the man, who had introduced himself as Revor. "Fallien is my home. I've already lost one to the dead through arrogance; I do not plan to lose another to some bird mutants and a bunch of disillusioned zealots. Besides, even if I refused to rally myself to a specific cause, I'm too thick headed to take suggestions." He went quiet quickly after that, his mind wandering off. A surprise, joint attack, by the Cult and the Harpies? This would lead to war. It seemed that no matter where he went, a war started in some way. How much blood would wet his hands this time? Ren sighed, grabbing the sling of his sheath and hitching his shoulder, shifting the weight of the sword on his back. "My name is Renuanupadin," he finally said to Revor, not taking the time to offer his hand. "I prefer Ren, though."

His earlier suspicion was confirmed as they marched into the Oasis, bustling wikth scores of natives. "Ren! There you are! We sent out messengers to find you, but you know." The one that called to him was a young man, still in his teens, part of a small group in the tribe that he'd personally trained. A large Fallien horse sword was strapped to his back, and despite it's size, he walked with ease. Ren had taken the time to show them a few secrets on increasing you're strength, and before he'd left, they'd been able to use most any heavy weaponry with one hand. But still, with all their own human power, they were still only human. Ren had passed his own training long ago, thanks to the blood in his veins. "I know how difficult I am to find at times, but none of you needed to worry. I felt something in my bones and came back as quickly as I could."

For the next few hours, as he waited for the Calerians and the others to prepare for the following march to Irrakam, Ren sat with his adopted tribe, the Sikata. They drank, though he declined, and shared memories, some of him, including when he'd first come to them, and had killed their summon with surprising ease. For the most part, the slayer was silent, staring at the zanbatou he had laid across his lap. Thus far, it had only killed one since he'd bought it at the bazaar, that curiously armed harpie. It was easy to imagine such a large blade slicked dark red with blood. Ren drew in a deep, smoky breath, squinting from the fire, rose to his feet, and sheathed the sword, making his way into the slowly forming lines.

"Are we about ready now?" Finding Revor wasn't particularly difficult, considering he was one of the few armored in white. Ren glanced around at the battle ready natives, their faces grim and determined.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Revor smiled at the response he received from the siahd. Fallien may not have been where he was born but he could tell the man was just as passionate about protecting it as any other Fallien native. It gave him pride in his home to know that others out there not born in the sands loved this place enough to possibly sacrifice their own life for it. Home was where you made it, where you felt comfortable ad this man, wherever he had been born, it was not truly his home. The sands were and Revor suspected that if he ever left Fallien the sands would eventually call him back just like they did every Calerian who left to explore Althanas beyond.

The name he gave was an odd one, and one Revor had never heard before. Clearly it was not his given name, something he had acquired.

“Renuanupadin…” Sand Searcher, but what was this man searching for in the vast sands of Fallien? “Well, Ren, welcome to the ranks of the Calerian and Oasis army.”

Once they got close enough to the Oasis, the man named Ren departed from Revor’s company. It appeared he knew the people here and had acquaintances, only affirming in Revor’s mind the fact that the man truly believed this place to be his home. He smiled at the thought, but that quickly faded. There was much preparation that needed to be done and Revor and Messia needed to consult with the tribes who would be joining them and also figure out whom above all else would be in charge. The leader within him growled for supremacy over the others, but Revor knew in his heart that the Oasis tribes had more experience fighting in wars than he did. Perhaps having him lead the entire army would not be such a good idea.

Stopping his line of warriors, Revor gave orders for all of them to take an hour rest, then in turns start helping the Oasis tribes with their preparations. Once those were done, they would rest another hour and then depart for the deserts.

When he turned around from his orders he saw the leaders of the tribal armies approaching him. Six dressed in white, signifying their leadership over their armies and all of them woman. Following behind them were their next in command, all six of them also woman and their armour either red or black, signifying their status in the army as well. All other soldiers were given brown armour to wear.

“Greetings, Calerians.”

Revor nodded his head and clasped the woman about the forearm, “And greetings to you, of the Oasis tribes. I’m sure we all wish this was under better circumstances.”

All of them wore grave looks on their beautiful faces.

The one he had greeted spoke up again, “I am Iax, and this is my second in command Tersera. I would introduce all the others but I doubt you’d remember all of their names anyway.”

Revor couldn’t help but letting a small smile curl his lips at that one, “I doubt as well. I am Revor and this is my second, Messia. Ira should really be the one leading the army, but she has travelled ahead to Irrakam to give word to The Jya.”

Iax nodded her head, “We’re almost ready with our preparations. A few more hours and we should be able to head back out.”

“Good, I gave orders to my army to help once they have rested for an hour. And what about horses?”

Iax smiled, “We have enough horses for a cavalry of 3,000 warriors.”

Revor had to hide his surprise on that one, that was enough horses for the entire Calerian army, “How many warriors have you gathered together?”

“Some of our people are still out in the sands, however on such short notice we were able to put together a force of 2,500, which means we have 500 horses to spare for your army. Seeing as how we’re the more experience riders I don’t think you’d object to us being the larger cavalry unit.”

He didn’t mind at all, “Our people are more adept at desert fighting than using horses. I think this going to work out well…”

“As do I.”

The leaders of the army departed and continued with their preparations. Four hours later and Revor found himself at the head of a force of over 5,000 warriors. There was no talk between him and the other leaders of who was going to lead, somehow he just found himself in the position. Beside him was Messia and getting all their troops into line were the Oasis leaders, Iax at the head of them. It was then that Ren approached him.

“We’re getting all of our troops into formation. You may rid with Messia.”

Revor and Messia, along with all the other leaders and half the army now rode on horses. Finishing adjusting his saddle, Revor easily hoisted himself up into the saddle then turned and nodded his head to Messia. She began preparing her saddle for two instead of one.

[MiaKane]

Her eyebrow lifted as she heard the words spoken across the sands. She had left the forests out of boredom and headed south for lands beyond her knowledge. But as she meditated on the stone formations that made a line where an old fault had been, the words of need flowed into her mind.

“So, a call to all shamans in Fallien…hmm,” She said as she opened one eye and peered across the sands, it was early in the night and she might be able to make it near dawn to Suravani’s Oasis. Well that was if the spirit of an old shaman that sat next to her knew what he was talking about.

Mia knew what war was and that for all intent and purposes, she really should stay out of it, and Then again, the ice elf rarely knew meaning of “trouble” or “dangerous”or for that matter, “should stay out of”. She stood and shouldered her pack, giving a short wave to the spirit she had been meditating with as she began to jog across the sands.

“That girl is a strange one…talking to the dead and all…” the spirit said with a look of puzzlement across his bearded face, “probably going to get herself killed…”

Mia rummage through her pack as she tried to run and change clothes at the same time, she stumbled and rolled a few times but quickly got back into stride after adjusting enough to keep moving. She had acquired some new clothes from a group of gypsies that she had the pleasure of meeting on the beach when her ship landed. They had said that she would need better clothes in the times ahead, and apparently they were right, and all she had to pay was to help them get rid of a horrible spirit that kept stealing things.

She adjusted the new clothes, finding that they fit rather well. A lace up white canvas corset, a white canvas half back jacket that had thumb holes in the sleeves, a pair of tight white cargo pants that were also adjustable with belts and a nice white wrap skirt that hung to one side. She liked how airy it felt in the cold desert night air.

Through most of the night she jogged until perchance she came across a group of nomads playing liar’s dice. She stopped and gritted her teeth while mulling over the urge to keep moving.

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later she had not only won the other players clothes, which smelt like they had never been washed and were quickly left in a pile, but also a Fallienian Camel named Sally, which was a foul tempered spiting creature, but none the less knew its place as Mia climbed onto her and began galloping across the desert again.

She could hear the nomads cursing her as she rode off.

~ ~ ~
A few hours later relief came to her as she crested a hill and saw the fires around the oasis burning brightly.

Almost there…

Sally spit and brayed as Mia egged her into a gallop again she was hoping to catch up to the other shaman before they left for whatever war they were called to fight.

Four hours later they trotted in at the back of what appeared to be lines of soldiers preparing for a march.

“Bloody ‘ell…” she muttered in disbelief. Sally snorted as she moved around part of the lines and began drinking from a close pool.

A good number soldiers looked at her with glaring eyes.

“What? Better late than never eh?” she asked with a shrug of her shoulders. She could hear the soldiers mutter things as they all looked away from her, falling into formation.

“Am I right?” she said to Sally who only tilted her head to give the ice elf a roll of the eyes.

[Slayer of the Rot]

'Ride? Son of a bitch....' The slayer scowled and glanced over at the nearest house. He'd never really bothered to learn how to ride them, relying solely on his feet. If they couldn't get him across the sands, or over that mountain, or through that stretch of river, no horse was going to be helping him. Messia was obviously busy with her own duties, so begrudgingly, Dann trudged over to the horse, setting his mind on his weapons. At the moment, with everything equipped, he weighed somewhere around five hundred and fifty pounds. While that bothered him very little, he was sure the beast would be one to complain. And eventually break, and the way he'd seen his own tribe treat them, he imagined he'd no longer be in their favor.

A white smoke swirled around him, and when it had vanished, so had each and every one of his weapons. The horse was already saddled, and almost laughing at how easy the task already was, Dann slung one foot through the stirrup and hopped up, swinging his other leg of the side. "Wait..." He twisted around, glancing at the head of the horse, then back to his front, to it's twitching tale. He let out a sigh hinted with the obviousness that he'd have no clue on what to do in this situation, barely noticing the woman that rode up next to him. "Well," Messia said, stifling a laugh, "At least you got on it. Here, you're supposed to ride with me, as in, on the same horse. That one's supposed to be for one of the tribe heads." Wordlessly, the slayer shifted over the the back of her own, frowning deeply. "All right," he grumbled, "I'm ready for whatever comes next."

[Iriah Caitrak]

Messia smiled at the stranger. She was surprised he’d actually made it onto the back of the horse without somehow killing himself or even falling off, but he had made it on the wrong way. It was something the most inexperienced of riders did and she had to hold back the laughter that was threatening to bubble up from the throat, which was a nice change from the sombre and depression that had overtaken almost everyone with the news of war.

Once Ren was secure, Messia reached behind her and grabbed one of his arms, wrapping it around her waist. She didn’t want him sliding off the back of the horse once they started to move out.

“Make sure to hold on tightly if we ever go into a run, or you might fall off with your limited skill.”

Nodding her head to one of the tribal leaders, who had been watching the whole exchange with a slightly amused and slightly annoyed expression over her face, Messia spurred her horse forward. She pulled on the reins and stopped once she reached Revor’s side, glancing behind her and looking out at the troops who were all ready and waiting for the signal to move out. Thousands of well-trained Fallien warriors who were willing to sacrifice their lives for their homeland and many of them probably would. But if she could come up with some kind of strategy that would reduce the loss of life to their troops she would and she had already begun to think of different things. The only problem was she couldn’t see the battlefield before them for they were far from Irrakam and she had no idea what advantages the enemy may already have. They were at a loss.

Turning her head back, Messia nodded to Revor, “Off to war…”

He gave the signal and dug his heels into the beast he was riding, “Off to war.”

There wasn’t much time left in the night, not after leaving Astaka and travelling to Suravani’s Oasis. A few more hours of marching passed and the sun was beginning to side over the sands, creating a blinding gold curtain of light that every warrior shielded their eyes from before they grew accustomed. Many brought hoods up to protect their faces from the sun, others, like Messia wrapped cloth around her head and face so that only their eyes were visible, everything else draped in a tan material that kept the heat away.

Messia was not used to riding a horse. She had skill with it and had done it before, but for the most part she relied on her own two feet to carry her across the sands and because of this her butt and thighs were beginning to grow sore and tired from the constant sitting. The idea of taking a break for a few minutes was tempting, but they had to keep their pace up if they wanted to reach Irrakam in time to be of any use. They would continue to travel for the majority of the day and then rest for a few hours once the sun began to set. The desert was too hot a place to sleep in during the day.

[MiaKane]

“Did anyone hear what they said?” Mia asked the ranks as she pulled her little finger out from trying to clean her ear of some sand.

The soldiers only rolled their eyes and shook their heads at her.

“You’re a jolly bunch a blokes, aintcha,” she said as she spurred Sally forth.

~ ~ ~

The ranks moved across the sands as the sun broke the horizon, blinding the ice elf for a few moments. She pressed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the dark lenses blocking most of the light and turning the sand a dark red color. The irony of her past choice of lens color settled in her mind for most of the morning till the sun grew high in the heavens, becoming less a welcome source of light and more a burning inferno ready to scorch the skin from all living things.

Mia closed her eyes for a second, channeling her consciousness into the other realms, and feeling out for spirits as she found the one she wanted. Her mouth moved as if she was speaking, her spirit conversing with other spirits.

“Thanks” she whispered as she could feel a gentle breeze begin to blow.

The soldiers marched and the sun baked down on their heads as Mia thought back about how time was cyclic as was her life.

“When alone on the hills
With the wind in your hair
With a longing to feel
Just to be free

It is right to believe
In the need to be free
It's a time when you die
And without asking why
Can't you see what they do
They are grinding us down
They are taking our land
That belongs to the clans

Not alone with a dream
Just a want to be free
With a need to belong
I am a clansman...”**

She sang the song written before her time, by men who were under the same sky. War was something that would always exist, but truthfully the ice elf believed that perhaps it was necessary in the whole of things.

Then again, thinking made her head hurt.

She got lost in thought, but slowly came back as she started hearing a low hum coming from the ranks. Someone else had started singing, some local chant that Mia couldn’t really understand, yet the way it was sung told her what she needed to know.

The sound grew, the ranks slowly joining in, the air filled with each soldier’s voice, singing the war songs high to the heavens.

Mia smiled a dower smile, it was a comfort to know that these warriors had the spirit to go to war, but she knew the horrors of war already and feared for them.

~ ~ ~
They marched forth till the sun sank into the sands and the cool night descended. Camp was set up quickly and for the most part as simply as possible. She had heard that the commanders were only going to let them rest for a few hours at most. Sally had laid down next to the fire as Mia nested against her.

“Well, tomorrow’s gonn’ta be just bloody peachy…” she said with a sour sarcasm before slowly drifting into sleep.

(**: iron maiden the clansman)

[Slayer of the Rot]

The slayer slumped against Messia's back, groaning as he pressed his fingers into his aching lower back. There was no little about why he had always trusted nothing but his own legs to carry him on. It was perhaps for this; the soreness that accumulated in his seat and back, though more likely, it was that, even after all these years, he preferred to rely on himself solely. A horse's limits, at least to him, an inexperienced rider, were unapparent, and you never knew how long it would last until collapse. Ren cussed, and he could feel the Calerian warrior's stomach hitch with laughter. 'At least the horizon is darkening...night will come, we'll have to set camp.' Letting out an exasperated sigh, Ren fleetingly wished he had his cigarettes with him, and settled in with a dispirited frown.

His assumption had at least been correct; once the warm yellows, oranges, and reds had bled out of the sky, the march halted, the horses were set in, and tents were erected. Ren stood in the middle of the milling army like Auguste Rodin's Thinker statue finally come too life to work out the thousand year old kinks in it's back. He'd already vowed never to ride one of those damned things again if he had the option, though Messia had assured him the only reason he was so sore was because he was both sitting wrong, and that he simply wasn't used to it. The slayer moaned, shuffling off and halfheartedly dodging those in transit, almost completely out of the way before he heard his adopted name called out.

"Ren, we brought your sack..." All that the Sikata got was a puzzled look, so he he offered up a stained canvas knapsack, and instantly the man's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oooh! I had forgotten about it. Thanks." He gathered the bag up against his chest and turned away, loosening the drawstring that held it closed as he walked off into the dunes surrounding the army's campsite. Inside was held all sorts of little momentos of the life he'd left behind in Corone; a couple crumpled packs of crinkled cigarettes, a chink of metal from the prosthetic that had once been his arm...most of it was just junk he didn't want to let go for one reason or another, but the most important was in an old, threadbare fake leather wallet he brought from Earth. He'd been using it up until about three years ago when he'd retired to this new home of his. It wasn't the wallet that was important of course, but something else. A small square, new technology from Alerar, that he knew well, a photograph. A smiling little girl with hazel eyes and red hair stared back from it. On the back was written, "She can already lift eight hundred pounds!" Beneath it, in handwriting a touch shakier, "I don't care about what's in your blood...when are you coming home?"

Out of sight, at the base of one of the hills, the slayer sat cross legged with the photograph in hand. "When I'm sure that her father's worst qualities are put to rest, Claire."

[Iriah Caitrak]

Revor walked the camp looking from face to face as he went. Some of the soldiers—for they were no longer warriors now, they were soldiers—stopped to talk with him a while, others let him be. He wasn’t exactly sure which of the two he preferred, someone to talk with at the moment or for everyone to just leave him alone. He did know that they were making good time and he did know that he was getting tired and would need to rest himself soon. Most of the soldiers were already doing so, bundled in small tents soundly sleeping through what few hours he was going to give them. They’d get more tomorrow, after all, you couldn’t fight with an exhausted army. But now he was more worried about advancing across the sands as fast as possible.

Taking a drink from his skin, Revor stopped at a small fire. Before him was a female with the palest skin he had ever seen. It reminded him of that milky colour right as dawn broke the horizon. She was curled up against her horse and drifting off to sleep. How odd that someone who did not call this place their home would come in defence of it. He needed not to wake her and ask her for her race, no native of Fallien had skin as pale as hers.

Sitting down by the warm fire, Revor contented himself to watch her for a little while. He would return to his tent eventually where he too would hopefully find that blissful release of sleep, but not now.


-------------------------

Messia couldn’t find Ren. He’d disappeared a while ago after one of the Oasis tribesmen had come over and handed him something. After that, she’d lost sight of him. She’d been wandering around the camp for what seemed like hours now, looking at the darkened and grim faces of those who had yet to succumb to sleep, those like her, but without any luck. She was just about to give up on finding him when she finally spotted a lone figure sitting a distance from the camp.

Silently creeping her way through the sand, Messia eventually came upon the man. He was looking at some kind of portrait, she couldn’t really see who it was, but it was clear that it was someone of importance to him.

“Whose the portrait of?”

Messia plopped herself down into the sand by Ren. She didn’t peek over his shoulder to try and get a better look at it, if he wanted to tell her he would answer the question. If not and it was too personal then he would probably stuff it into a pocket somewhere away from her eyes.

[MiaKane]

It was a restless sleep, the kind that causes dreams to be contorted and filled with dreadful memories. She had awoken shortly after drifting into sleep but she just laid there with her eyes closed, thinking about her memories. Was this where she really needed to be? She believed as wouldn’t have received the telepathic message if she wasn’t meant to be where she was at that moment.

Her senses were on edge from the dreams as she felt the shift of someone near her. The thought of opening her eyes crossed her mind but she needed practice for tomorrow as she reached out with her second senses. The astral realm was only minorly different from the real except for the colors; some were vibrant to the point of glowing while some were dulled to a grey. One could see the wind, could view a current in a still pond, or look though a mountain by tuning their second sight on this level. She looked over the man that had sat down across the fire from her. His colors were vibrant with spiritual power, she could sense the tinge smell of the other side on his form. Yet the most unique thing was the crystal that hung about his neck, the colors and vibes that flowed from the small trinket were astounding to her, as she had only seen a few select relics and such that had been imbued with supernatural powers.

She turned over onto her back and opened her eyes slightly to mix the astral and physical realms. She was a little shocked by the fact that her company was the man who had lead them from the oasis. Delving deeper and tuning to energies of emotions and thoughts she tried to decipher him or more to why he was watching her of all people.

Intrigue

Mia really hadn’t thought about how odd she must have looked amongst these people. Her fiery hair and snow skin amongst these tanned desert nomads.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she spoke softly, “I guess the spirits just wanted me to be.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Revor arched a brow and watched as the woman rolled over, her violet eyes trailing over his form as if she found him just as interesting as he thought her. The many natives of Fallien must think her rather odd, the outsider, but with her hair colour and eye colour she’d fit in with his tribe perfectly. All she needed was a touch of the sun to darken up her pale skin.

“The dead work in odd ways…” His fingers brushed against the Irenian crystal resting against his chest as he spoke the words.

He’d had his fair share of interesting conversations with the dead before. They had knowledge of what came afterwards that he could barely fathom, just because he could see and hear them didn’t mean he could truly understand what happened after one died. That was only an extra sense, something not every person was born with, but to experience what they experience, feel what they feel and know what they know, that was something beyond even him until the moment he died. And it appeared that this stranger to his land could also see the souls of the dead. Though it was not surprising that races beyond Calerian could see the dead, he had never met any before.

Grabbing some wood from the sand beside him, Revor tossed them into the waning fire. The flames of the fire licked against the dry wood, quickly catching and spreading, cracking and popping into a silent night. The light set the females face awash, giving it a slight tint of red. She was quite beautiful.

“Revor of Crea, from the Calerian tribe. I’m leading this little army…” He smiled lightly at her, “Tell me, do you just see the dead, or do you release them as well?”

It would be amazing to meet another race that had the ability to release the dead besides just see them. Had she ever been to Purgatory before? Or perhaps even beyond Purgatory to other planes that they dared not go.

[MiaKane]

The ice elf nodded approval to his comment on the dead. He tossed a bit of wood onto the fire as she sat up more. He was a handsome man for all regards, the way the fire played on his armor and his darker skin. She smiled at the thought a bit, she had boyfriends in the past, but there again, it had been close to fifty or more years since any man had really seemed to take time to get to know her like this fallienian was doing.

“Revor,” she mouthed the words in an attempt to memorize them; they had a nice ring,” Mia of Salvar, the Ni kesh tribe.” She said with a long pause, trying to think of how she should word her response to him.

“I see the dead, and other spirits, such as demons and the spirits of nature,” she paused again the next sentence may be hard for her new comrade to take in, “as far as um, releasing spirits, I’ve heard from one of your ghosts that your people act as a “guide” to the afterlife?, well as far as releases go from my people, it’s a bit more common for us to um, “release” one from their mortal coil…” she trailed off as she looked away from him.

“…It’s not that we don’t help guide spirits over, in perhaps a different manner than your people’s, we tend to do more of exorcisms of demons and malicious spirits than just the normal dead, we were just plagued by wars and such to the extent where perhaps some of us…” she trailed off again, she liked this guy a bit already and didn’t wish to scare him away, “have begun to like war.” She hesitated physically, gritting her teeth for a moment before the words leapt from her tongue, “what I meant to say was that it’s more of a natural thing to kill…like I don’t know…wolves I guess…”

She looked away from him again, knowing that perhaps she was defeated in her attempt.

[Slayer of the Rot]

The slayer didn't bother to look up as Messia approached. While she did so silently, his ears were very well attuned to the sounds of the desert after these three years, and while he did hear sounds alien from the natural sort, he couldn't tell who exactly it was until she came into view. "My daughter," he replied, barely missing a beat from the Calerian's question. "She's four this year, and probably too strong for her own good. She almost smashed a little boy that put gum in her hair with a boulder. In that respect, she's at least a little bit like me." He flipped the photograph over, staring down at the ground blankly for a few moments. "It probably makes me a terrible father, not being there as she grows up, and using the excuse that I have a lot of things to sort out, but...in one way, I'm trying to protect her. Let's just say that...my 'family' isn't very trustworthy. Both sides." He fell silent as he tucked the little square in between his shirt and chestplate, and pulled his cloak around himself to ward off the chill of the sunless desert.

"Tomorrow's gonna be one hell of a day," he mumbled, rolling over onto his side and pulling up his hood to prevent sand from getting in his nose or mouth once he'd finally drifted off.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Revor laughed at the woman’s attempt to softly tell him that her and her people were natural killers to an extent. Though his tribe were well trained and extremely good at fighting, killing was not what they did and though he frowned upon taking the life of another he knew there were times when it could not be avoided. He may not approve of the way that her and her people lived their lives—killing—but he certainly would not judge her because of it. A soldier killed and in some cases he was paid well to kill. Revor did not look down upon them. It was each person’s choice in life and right now he was on a path he thought he would never be taking.

By the end of this his hands would be soaked in blood that no amount of water could ever wash away.

“Do not suffer over your words so. Though it is not something my tribe does death is a natural cycle in life…I judge not those who kill as long as it is justified. We ride forward to justify our own hands killing and our own bodies dying…”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his short, dark blue hair.

He didn’t know what other conversation to make with her. They were going off to war, he was sending forward thousands of people to fight and die, thousands of people who would follow him to the depths of Purgatory and Abyss if he so much as told them it would save Irrakam and Fallien.


--------------------------

Messia smiled as she watched Ren rolled over and wait for sleep to overcome him. His daughter seemed cute, extremely strong, but still…cute. A girl just growing up and coming to understand the world. It was a shame he could not be there for her but everyone had their problems they needed to work out and if his were that bad perhaps it was best he work them out away from home, then return to his family. It was not something she pretended to understand or even tried to begin to.

“Good night, Ren…”

Standing up from the sand, she brushed it from her bottom as she began to head back towards the camp. She had a tent she could rest in for the remainder of the night or however long Revor decided they would rest for.

[MiaKane]

The ice elf nodded in agreement, her new ally, Revor was a wise man for how young he appeared to be. She stood and moved around the fire till she sat next to the Calerian general.

“I’ve lived for a good couple of centuries,” she began as she stared at the fire, “and I’ve learned, “she looked at him over the tops of her glasses,” and so long as you can sleep at night, you know your doing what’s right.”

The ice elf could tell that she was for some reason, falling a little for this man that sat besides her then again, she knew that fear of war was a tricky thing and all in all, these sudden emotions could be just that, fear.

Yet she also knew never to pass an emotion up, and to always act, just incase it was more and you never know if your going to get that chance again.

She stared at him for a moment before leaning towards him and giving him a small kiss on the cheek. She stood, brushing the sand from her as she gave him one last glance before walking out of the firelight and into the dark sands around them.

A sigh escaped her as she thought about her fallen comrades and family. No tears welled as she thought, there had been too many shed for another to fall for them. She knew why she was here; too see that these people didn’t suffer the same fate she had.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Revor smirked as he watched Mia walk away from him. The chaste kiss she had pressed to his cheek was something that definitely brought a smile to his face. To think a woman who claimed to have been around for a century or two was rather shy and did nothing more than give him a small kiss, a little bit of a shame and he was of a mind to get up and go after her, but now was not the time. They were marching towards an impending battle, one that he may not survive, one that she may not survive and though perhaps in a way that told him he should do it all the more, emotions were fickle things on the battlefield.

“Good night, Mia of Salvar…”

He could just barely make out her outline in the light of the fire, but he inclined his head politely to her nonetheless.

May tomorrow bring us to happier and peaceful times.

It was hope that would not be fulfilled, he knew that, but he could still hope. He could still pretend that on the morrow when he woke from what few hours of sleep he allowed himself that all of this would have been a bad dream. He would get no such reprieve, whatever fate had in store for him; a peaceful life was not going to be one of them.

Standing up, Revor brushed the sand from his clothing and then made haste towards his own sleeping quarters, a tent within the inner circle of the makeshift encampment. Pushing through the animal hide flaps, Revor found Messia already preparing for bed.

“Letya…”

Messia smiled sadly at him as she crawled under the mound of blankets on the ground. Stripping out of most of his clothes, Revor quickly crawled into his own bed, another mound of animal skins and various dyed blankets. Hopefully, sleep would claim him soon and he could retreat to a place without war and death, his dreams.


---------------------

Morning broke too early in the mind of Revor. He had barely slept the night before and had received little sleep this night. The light from the sun had him up early as it always did and as the leader of this raging war campaign he felt slightly obligated to crawl out of bed and do something. Few people were already awake others still trying to put in a few more minutes and for now he allowed them. Those awake he put to work, packing up the camp and getting the horses and all the equipment ready for them to set out again. After another hour or so, Revor commanded that everyone else be awoken, including poor Messia who looked like she’d rolled over onto the wrong side of the matte last night.

Once every was packed, Revor formed ranks and everyone moved out, like one figure they began to march over the sands of the desert once more, a moving carpet, a living entity in unison, heading for the same goal, the destruction of The Cultists.

Hours later, two of Revor’s scouts came running over the sand dunes in front of them towards the front of the army, their faces anxious.

“Revor!”

He halted the army, “What is it?”

“There’s a cultists encampment up ahead. It looks like most of their fighters are away and they’ve left a small number to watch over the place.”

Revor nodded his head as he hoped down from his horse, “Iax, Messia, come with me.”

The two women hoped down from their horses, “You two show me their encampment.”

The two men nodded their heads and quickly began leading the way towards the enemy’s base. It took them less than ten minutes to get there and when Revor did a small smile spread over his lips. It was a makeshift camp; similar to the one they had erected last night. It appeared they did not expect their war to last very long, they seemed to think one strategic move and the entirety of Fallien would fall at their feet. What morons, they had not thought this through enough.

“Iax…”

“Five hundred soldiers, no more…” She said without hesitation.

“Messia…”

“The camp is rather large but most of it is empty and they’ve built it surrounded by sand dunes, by trying to hide themselves they’ve put themselves at a disadvantage, they have nowhere to run.”

He agreed, but he wanted this done with a minimal loss of life, there were other battles to be fought after this one.

“I want archers to set themselves up on the ridge of every sand dune, I want their camp surrounded and on my mark I want them to take out as many of these Cultist bandhuka’s as they can. Then we’ll send in foot soldiers and take out the rest of them.”

“Prisoners?”

He paused for a brief moment, “We know their target, leave none alive.”

Iax nodded her head, Messia paused for a moment and looked at him almost as if she wasn’t sure this was the same man she’d grown up with all these years. Ignoring it, Revor turned and headed back towards their waiting army, he had orders to give them.

[Dirge]

On the contrary, thinking through was perhaps the true advantage that the cultists had. On their side the brightest, albeit most insane as well, minds of Fallien rested. People also came from outside the blasted lands, from the island nation of Corone as well as the twisted forests of Raiaera. The cultists were intelligent, and far from unprepared.

“They’re on the move.”

The words were rasped, quiet, and filled with hate. The voice belonged to an aged cultist, Fa’liin, a man who had long since given up his sanity for the greater good of the cult’s ideals. He was a zealot, like all the others of the cult. They were all fanatics, some more so due to rather interesting lapses in sanity, and easily ready to give up their lives for whatever reason the cult deemed necessary. Vigo, one of the outsiders welcomed into the cult as a mercenary, was not so determined to die for something that had little realistic goals attached to it. Vigo, a half-elf from the border of Raiaera and a budding sorcerer, turned towards Fa (as he called him).

“Good,” he responded at a whisper. His voice was strong, firm, and held a melodic tinge to it. “I suppose we have evacuated those that belong to me?”

“None belong to you, bastard-elf.” Vigo winced at the insult, but it had become his name to the cultists. However must they shit they gave him, however, he knew they owed him quite a bit. He had taught them, in the two weeks he had been under their ranks, how to wield the .necromantic.touch. and .swarm. spells. Each would prove an invaluable tool in the defense and offense of all the casters of the cult, most especially the hundred that were with him in the outpost. “However, they have all exited and are awaiting orders.”

Cleverly he avoided saying ‘your orders’, but the word was implied nonetheless. Vigo knew that he had been giving temporary control over the small outpost. He knew that they were supposed to defend and assault (ambush) any help that may have been on the way from the desert Oasis. But they had been spotted much too soon. It was already too late to move the five hundred helpless soldiers that waited for his return from the base without arising suspicion with the attacking army. “Good, alert them to warm the transportation stones. I know we were to use them only under the most dire of circumstances, but what is more dire than a party of thousands attacking?”

Fa’liin huffed, turned and whispered into the near-by cultists ear. The young human, no older than twenty cycles, rose and rushed off towards the telepath that awaited behind them. He would pass the message to the other telepaths, giving the split force of only one hundred cultists casters time to prepare their transportation out. In the mean time spells were prepared and time was counted down.

“Tell them to save their spells till the enemy is attacking our men. We know that they will be slaughtered, but five hundred of our soldiers is a sacrifice worthy of destroying some of their force. Prepare your swarms and your other spells. Cast only what you can before the fray turns on us, and then trans away.” Vigo shifted uneasily. He had never been in charge of such a bloodthirsty and generally deranged group of people, as the cultists truly were. But his skin crawled, in a good way, every time they carried out any type of mission… be it to upset the balance, gain harpies as allies, or create a wake of destruction for the advancing army to fall into. “And make bloody sure that they listen. I can’t afford to waste another week trying to train what few of you understood my spells. Much less can we loose able bodies to help assault The Keep and defend us from the soldiers of our enemy.”

“Don’t patronize me, bastard-elf,” Fa responded, turning and walking towards the telepath himself instead of relaying the order. A smug sense of satisfaction settled across the face of the dirge sorcerer. Vigo had given orders, orders that were being relayed and carried out as he waited. What more power could he wish for? Perhaps a night with that woman from the Madasthala, or at least an hour of overpowering her… Again the smug smirk rose on the man face.

Now was the time for war, later would be the time for loving.

[MiaKane]

The lump that had grown in her throat was hard to swallow as her violet eyes watched the crimson world beyond her glasses. The lump was growing larger by the moment as she turned her gaze away from her leader.

…Leave none alive?

Mia thought over those last words as he moved past her. Something screamed in the back of her head about the simple order. It didn’t sound like the man she had kissed last night; these words sounded nothing of what a man of his nature would speak out loud.

Then there was something else that bothered her even deeper. Some vibration in the ether, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. There was some kind of dark magic on the horizon, she could sense it.

Her heals tapped Sally’s sides as she pulled the reins to the side to follow the Calerian leader.

“Revor? Are you sure about that? I mean, honestly, no prisoners?”

[Iriah Caitrak]

He barely afforded a glance at Mia, on the outside his face was stoic to the thought of slaughtering a hundred men and woman but on the inside his was screaming at himself for being a callous bastard. This was not truly who he was, killing was not something he did but this was war and during war people often did things they would never do normally, things they would never even consider. Killing went against his entire nature and he was unsure of how he was going to bring himself to do it, but he had to. He was not the kind of coward to give orders and retreat behind his rank, hoping the rest of them would take care of the mess for him.

Grabbing the reins of his horse, Revor slipped one foot into the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle, “Yes, I’m sure, Mia. No prisoners…”

He glanced at her for a brief moment, before turning to Iax and Messia, who were just getting into the saddles of their own horses.

“Messia I want you to gather the Calerians. We’ll set them up along the top as archers.”

The Calerian warrioress nodded her head.

“Iax, you will lead the main charge into their encampment since you’re entire army is riding horseback. Once your initial assault is over, Messia will lead the Calerians in after you to help with any that may be left. I will be joining you in the attack.”

The Oasis tribeswoman nodded her head as she dug her heels into the side of her horse and gave his orders to her people. Messia hesitated for a moment but she quickly obeyed and soon their forced were easily divided. Over two thousand Calerian warriors lined themselves up along the ridge of sand, their words less than a whisper and their heads resting just below the Cultist’s line of sight. A small break in their line that was around thirty feet wide would offer the Oasis warriors an easy charge into the Cultist encampment, but only after the first barrage of arrows, only after as many as possible littered the earth and stained the sand with their blood.

Nodding his head to Messia, he watched as she gave the order, her words echoing in the silence of the desert. More than two thousand bows notched their arrows as more than two thousand faces rose from the sand they were using as cover. The air was filled with the sound of whistling wind as the arrows took flight on the unsuspecting Cultists below, cutting through them like the softest of fruit and even piercing through the hide of their tents. Those within would not be spared. As the last of the arrows flew, Revor gave his command and led the charge, the hooves of his horse biting through the sand and sending the tiny grains flying through the air around its feet.
This was it; there was no turning back now.

He crested the small hill and began the charge down to the encampment below, Iax at his side and hundreds of fighters behind him.

[Dirge]

When the attack started, it was like thunder on the plains. Vigo felt the ground beneath him throb with the heavy footfalls of the charging horses and soldiers alike. The soft sands shifted as well, the grains raining around the crouched and waiting figures. The sorcerer was overwhelmed. Never had he been part of a battle of such grand scale, never had he been involved in a true war.

“Elf,” the voice was serious. Fa had lost his growl and adopted a tone of satisfaction with an undertone of irritation. The half-elf took a cautious glance towards the cult caster, what he saw was exactly what he expected. The man’s face was drawn and stolid, lost in thoughts of insanity. “We’re going to use the shifting sands.”

“What?! Already?” Vigo shot, planting both knees in the soft sand to keep them from shaking. Months of progress and work had been put into the new spell. The spell was the most maniacal of magic alterations that the sorcerer had even been privy to. Vigo watched the process form and the first tests practiced, it had almost turned his stomach just to see it all. “At least attack the horses first and foremost,” the half-elf mumbled as he rose and waved his arm. “Remove their mounts and bring them to the ground. In the process most of the riders should be injured as well.”

“You are patronizing elf,” the man responded, pulling a heavy stone out from beneath his tan robes. The heavy stone had a crimson spiral that worked from the inside point outwards. Fa’s smirk sent shivers down the sorcerer’s spine. “Do it again, and I shall flay you and leave your skinless body for the scorpions to devour.”

“Now,” he continued as the fifty men from behind him walked to either side of them, “We unleash the souls of the sands.”

As the arrows sliced effortlessly through the un-expecting warriors of the camp, piercing and destroying the men, Vigo watched. From the sands around the camp small bumps rose and began moving. Like sharks they slid towards the attacking thousands. Only seven hundred sand soldiers were within the ground, and each one stayed beneath the surface of the dunes till the most opportune of times.

As soon as the cavalry began to close, they sprung the attack. Silently the sacrificed soldiers rose from the sands. Each one removed their weapons of choice, swords, spears, and two-handed axes sprang from their sandy visages. The suddenness of the attack would hopefully both overwhelm and decimate the ranks of the Oasis soldiers.

“You can kill them,” Vigo said with a smirk, “but they won’t really die. Attack all you want petty desert bastards, attack as much as you can. Your numbers will dwindle, but given four days we will be back to full strength again.” The sorcerer signaled for the mages to prepare all their spells, ready their attacks. He wanted to give the twisted scarified soldiers to rend the enemy in two before attempting to finish them off.