It is said that warriors have a hard time not falling into the pits of despair when their horses are dying around them. This is because of the ear-piercing screams that utter from the maws of the mighty beasts - they say it is like hell itseld. Dreadful shrieks pour across the fields where the mounts are dying, hammering through the air for many, many metres and chilling the ear drums. They say that cavalrymen fear the time that their horse is felled, because of this sheer outburst of protest.

Vaeron took his mounted archers as fast and furious as they could. One hundred and twenty five emboldened archers, armed with the best that their lady could provide in the time. Down the wide slope they galloped, the manes of their many-coloured horses streaming in the wind as they flew from the safety of the camp. With hearts beating wildly of both being and beast the troupe raged towards the oncoming storm. Their mission was simple - to ride out and scout as a collective, powerful and, above all, swift force - but it was not without its dangers. At least twenty riders were knocked from their steeds in that tremendous, glorious ride, as heavy javelins assaulted them. It was clear their was power within them, and Vaeron held his breath as he saw their first, horrendous shadowy sight in the sky. His eyes spread over the army before he raised his hand and the horses began to turn but - but it had always been too late.

Those dire screams of horses spread as the ugly and terrible spikes plunged into their flesh and impaled them into the ground. Riders flew, slamming into each other, and some even shared their beloved's mounts fate. It was all that the great captain could do to save the rest of the mounted archers, to deny even one moment of fire before returning to the safety of the camp.

Meanwhile down from the other side of the hill, the bold kenku infantry were forming a solid shield wall. A thousand of them marched on rapid claws, eyes set upon the devilish monsters before them. Between each locked shield a brawler maiden ran, bearing a crossbow and aiming it at the heads, horns and other body parts of the demons. "Darkness is but darkness," they chanted as they plunged forwards as a mighty bearing, careful to protect their sides as dark beings of fire and shadow leered upon them. But the crossbow bolts kept raining. They kept coming as their shield brethren kept them protected from side, front, and above as the best that they could.

The fantastic, heavy hooves of Megladon, Vaeron's huge war stallion, charged into the centre of the seemingly chaotic, mad camp. Together the two of them had barely been out of the camp for little longer than a few minutes of prepared galloping, yet the horse's sides heaved with quivering stress and sweat clung as a crown to Vearon's temples. His lank, salt and pepper hair hung like braided cords as he headed directly for the faun who was at the centre of all of the camp's rush of individuals running left to right. Barely did he encourage Megladon to halt, as he threw himself off the stallion's back and march over to Philomel, who was debating with several captains at once.

"Princess!" he yelled, "This is,"

Shaking her head furiously, she refused to acknowledge his right to speak. Holding up a hand to him she continued her rant with a tall and pale-feathered kenku who seemed intent on arguing as to why chocobos were not a good idea against hounds. Philomel was trying to explain that they had to use all of their resources currently, however the kenku's point seemed to be that the birds would bolt at the first sight of such beasts -

"Princess!" Vaeron tried again.

"Vearon," she did not look at him, "Now is not-"

Instead, the horseman rounded on the captains before the faun. "The lot of you. We are under severe attack right now. What the general says, goes," he spoke harshly and bitterly. There was a dull pause before he roared, "Get on your fucking WAYS!"

The pale kenku shook for a moment, before huffing but nodding, gesturing for his comrades to turn. Apparently they could feel the anxiety pouring from the faun's old friend, and were finally beginning to understand the severity of what they were facing. Vaeron tightened his jaw and glared at them as they scurried away like little scared children, before he heard Philomel speak.

"What - what was that? Why are you back so early?"

He raised his chin as he switched his gaze back to her. "Princess. They are demons. They have what seems like hell-hounds, and technology we can barely comprehend. Even now, the kenku infantry are making their shield wall, but they look to be against monoliths. Giants of shadow. We need more serious tactics other than dallying about with scouts. I just lost at least twenty of my finest archers to some projectiles that are basically javelins from those Aleraran cannons."

The faun breathed slow and narrowed her eyes. Yet, she made no comment. Instead, she made him stand there, looking at her in concern and fury as the expression on her face remained stoic. With her grey irises and deep, fathomless pupils, she studied the horseman for a while, and forced him to wait.

"Princess ..." he murmured after a full two minutes.

"The pikewomen are currently spread around the camp in sections of two hundred. They will protect us from any direct attack, and have been ordered to remain there, not take part in any form of combat unless the camp itself is threatened."

"A last line of defence," Vaeron slowly nodded, understanding, "They do have fire."

"As for what you say ... these machines?"

"Behind the enemy lines," he grunted, folding his arms. Behind him Megladon began to lap up large lungfuls of water. "They are-"

As if on cue a huge javelin suddenly spiralled from the sky. It whistled as it went, screaming like the shrieks of the dying horses that still rang in Vaeron's ears and assailed right towards the pair. Vaeron felt his breath catch in his chest, yet the woman who he was with was swift. Quickly she yelled out and jumped - her preparatory crouch only lasting so long. Then she was but a blur as she excelled both strength and speed, launching into the sky. A second and no more passed, before she landed, heavily, two hooves on the ground. Her hands was outstretched, however, and in it was the projectile. Her eyes, now filled with true rage, ranged up the steel rod up and down before she spat.

"Bah, cruel things," she hissed. "How did they get so far?"

Vaeron glanced at where they were - rather deep in the belly of the camp. Slowly, he shook his head. "I have little idea. Perhaps a fluke. However, they are likely our greatest enemy."

Philomel nodded once, before her hand tightened around the javelin. Then she began to march, her pace swift and impossible for Vaeron to comprehend once more as she began to disappear into the hubbub of the wild, but apparently organised camp. With practised ease he took the two steps he needed to gain back into Megladon's saddle and canter after her.

"What now?"

The faun was turning a corner, her eyes deep with darkness and the idea of revenge. Still, she held that javelin, knuckles growing white, up-lit as they were in the glorious firelight. As a new avenue came to meet her Vaeron was brought face to face with the huge hero of a beast called Delath. Twenty foot long, and mottled brown and green he was the embodiment of earthly goodness but in a reptile. Once a dragon, and now a wingless glory, he was mostly muscle and intelligence, who greeted the faun with a greedy smile as she came up close.

"Now, we do what we should have done in the first place," Philomel said, her hand reaching out and touching Delath's nose. Gently she smiled. "Delath. Summon the drakes my dear. Vaeron, be so kind as to get the Airborne."

And a similar grin to Delath's spread over Vaeron's face as he bowed his head. Then he began to laugh. For very soon, two hundred and fifty wild - truly wild - drakes would be rolling down the hills, barely unstoppable. They were huge, vicious and had no leader but their own desires to eat - chomping through steel as if it were butter. They would cause the mighty distraction as a thousand flying kenkus then took to the sky, as black as the night itself. They would fly over the army, disguised by the dark of the shadow, then begin to reign down bolt after bolt, dodging what they knew of the javelins. Casualties would, of course, occur, but now this was their best plan, and their best chance.

The Army of War would face their own death.