“Something’s wrong…”

Leopold wasn’t entirely sure how he knew, but the churning in his stomach had started far too early in the day for it to be the result of his slowly intoxicating malaise of bourbon and misery. He pointed along the road to the bulwark of the enemy army as it began it’s thunderous, encroaching advance towards them.

“You ran out of booze?” Arden shrugged. He could only see the smaller details, an endless course towards pain and suffering that he was powerless to stop. “Do you need a light?”

The merchant pouted. He put his hip flask away and took several defiant steps forwards. Behind him, as they became aware that the hour had finally come, the front row of the Knights of Brae’s best unsheathed their blades and raised their golden, winged shields. The sound of metal plates rubbing over chainmail was cacophonous.

“Look.”

Arden did so, though his red tinted eyes saw only a distant line of men at arms. They appeared no different to their own front lines, though perhaps more rested and less beleaguered by their conflict with the demonic hosts in their homeland. As he looked from easterly flank to westerly, nothing jumped out at him that was unusual.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Precisely,” Leopold shouted. He produced his pistol from a whorl of azure light and checked the barrel. “When have you ever seen a first charge be so damned uneventful?” The rising panic on the merchant’s face instilled a sense of urgency in the swordsman, who instinctively moved his right hand to the hilt of his blade and bit his lip.

“It is a little quiet…”

He reflected on the many wars in which he had fought, and died, or stood triumphant since his birth centuries ago. A collage of cavalry charges and rain slicked mudbanks clotted with the dying, bloodied corpses of men and women pressed into service riled his senses. For a force that had come, as far as his intelligence could tell, to usurp the fragile government of Corone and rule with its own hand they were making a paltry show of it.

“Where did you send the scouts?”

Arden hesitated. One to the east. One to the west. He hoped to gauge enemy numbers by having them sneak around the flanks and see out into the low and open plains beyond. His teeth turned into fangs, the rising power of the oni enraging his senses to action.

“To their death, thayne’s be damned!” He unsheathed his sword, which glowed umbral red and sent an arc of crystallising blood onto the dancing blades of grass yet to be downtrodden by war.

“Complacent. You? Ruby will never let you hear the last of it!” Leopold found a moment of humour in the sudden realisation they were being bull horned, ever the one to try and turn a bad situation into any old excuse to get pissed. He glanced over his shoulder and began to run the numbers.

“If you whisper a word of this to her you’ll be fishing your balls out from the well in market square.” Arden pouted. He readied orders in his mind and replayed the possible outcomes over and over, desperate for a way out.

“If I had any I’d be shaking in my boots, but today my good friend we will win!” He cheered, and the frontline cheered in response. Arden turned around. “Form a retreated flank position, shield wall tight, speared to the second line!”

The central block of knights did so, and the square turned into a half pentagon, the edges of the line facing any would be flank charges whilst leaving a heavily protected frontal force to act as a battering ram. Arden shrugged.

“You heard the man?”

The increasing thundering of the advancing army mingled with the reorganisation of the Knights Brae. Leopold sent a raven to each flank, commanding the archers and specialists to retreat behind the wall and the cavalry, what little they had left from Revenant’s gulling to spiral out onto the northern front and perform what he described as a ‘firm kick to the scrotum’. As the hooves pounded the daisies to dirt, the twitching men tried to make sense of what he meant exactly but were glad to have any excuse to me on horseback and away from the impending bloodbath.

“I thought I was the general?”

“General of pain, dear brother. So, be a dear heart and lead these men into a jolly old ruckus whilst I sort out the cluster fuck that is bringing too many guests to a four-chair dinner table.” He didn’t leave Arden the chance to retort, diving instead into the ranks to begin a tragically quick re-assessment of their battle plan.

The crimson swordsman watched him disappear, tophat poofing behind feather caps and gambisons. He turned silently to face the encroaching horde and rested his blade on his shoulder.

“Forward, march!” he cried, the dragon bound around his heart giving volume and a growl to his command. They marched forwards, lurching away from the city walls and into the unknown.

More precise details of numbers to follow when I can remember what's in my own army...