*Knock Knock KnocK*

"Yes, please, come in."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, how are things?"

"Calm enough, considering we are surrounded. There are murmurs, tension in the air. The men are uncomfortable."

"Well, it is to be expected in a situation such as this. How about your men, how are they?"

"Ready. Always."

"How about you?"

"Minerva hardens my heart for whatever is to come. I'll weather the storm sir, don't worry."

"It is to be a long night, and even longer war. You will need what strength you and your men can muster. Gods help us, we all will. Tell the officers and gather the soldiers. Tell them to convene in the square. If we are to survive this, we must first survive the night."

"Yes sir."

---

Flat plains stretched out as far as the eye could see. Two army's faced each other down from either side. To the western army metal ground upon metal, rattling of steel and wood echoed. An Orc General stood in forefront of the West March Expeditionary force, battleaxe in hand, glaring across the field to where those of Fera's promised did the same. He grunted, and spit to the ground, disgusted by the army in front of him. He violently jerked around to face his own army. The Orc's name was Strom Bloodaxe. The general of the Expeditionary force, and the one who issued the orders on the battlefield. He was tall, rivaling even the Lizardfolk. Scars were a common place on his exposed chest and arms, while battered shoulder pads and boots gave the look of years of battle. Perhaps the most intimidating feature was the scar tearing horizontally across his face and over the bridge of his nose.

Unlike the other pansy noble leaders, he was a veteran, comfortable on the front-line and refused to sit back and watch the battle unfold before him. A glare was shot towards two such men, a frail looking Nagi and a thin Elf. The three of them were the leaders of this Expeditionary force, yet only the Orc had the backbone to participate. The other two were merely there as a favor from the lord of the West Marches, Lord Garrett. Just so they could say they were there when first blood was shed. Disgusting. He doubted they knew how to even wield a blade. He ripped his glare off of them and onto the assortment of soldiers in front of them

They were a motley crew. Most of them volunteers, some of them mercenaries, others prisoners with a chance redemption. An assortment different races and disciplines. This was to be the first major battle of the war. There had been minor skirmishes between the borders, but nothing as large scale as this. This was to be the first of many battles. This battle, the battle of the Broken Plains as it would be known, was the first true shattering, and it would usher in the war, full force. As the first battle, neither side wished to show it's hand, and made sure that their armies were full of unproven soldiers, mercenaries for hire, and other undesirables. This was as much of a test of the soldiers as it was the two factions' might. Strom grunted again.

"Listen up!" The scarred Orc called. "Shut your damn mouths and listen!" He barked, hearing the subdued chatter. Not a person spoke again, the only sounds were the collective breath of the soldiers, their weapons, and the gravelly voice of Strom. "This is to be the first battle of this war. Today, we draw first blood, and it damn well better be theirs! Right now, all of you are worthless to me. I want you to prove to me that you belong here. Belong in the West Marches. I want to be able to call those of you who survive soldiers and comrades by the battle end. If not? Then you will die. Understand!" The Orc barked as he paced the front-lines. A couple proud soldiers cheered, while others were dead silent, fearful.

Then Strom stopped and tilted his head toward Fera's Promised and snarled. "Today we win the battle. Tomorrow, Nomad. Win glory, or die. It is simple as that." The Orc stated, "Now get your asses in gear and charge!" His axe was in his hands in moments and he was paces ahead of the main force. The rest of the army followed behind, some lagged, fearful of war. Others hot on the General's heels, eager to plunge into battle. To prove themselves. The two sides met in a deafening clash of metal upon metal, steel upon flesh, arrow upon shield, magic against magic.

The War of Nomad had begun.

---

Blades whistled past Asch's head as she jerked back. It would be a shame if she was to get decapitated the first battle of the war. Luckily, Minerva seemed to be looking out for her. Then bashed the Drow who had tried to kill her with her shield and then quickly peirced the poor man's heart with her blade. Two blades may have looked intimidating, but they were nothing defensively. She looked up to see an arrow angle it's descent towards her. It gave her enough time to step out of the way, but the Dwarf that took her spot was not so lucky. He looked at the arrow sticking out of his shoulder and scowled. "Bloody hell! That hurt!"

Asch exhaled in relief, it looked like the Dwarf would be alright. As if to punctuate that fact, he ripped the arrowhead out of his armor, blood dripping off of the tip. He scowled, but reset the sword that was a big as himself and readied to make something pay. "I could heal that," Asch said, feeling guilty that the arrow was meant for her had hit him instead. The Dwarf grunted and muttered something about not having time to bleed and charged off into the fray.

Normally Asch would have frowned and shook her head at the recklessness, but such disapproval was interrupted by a sword. She brought up her shield and fended the blow off, sending a strong shock through her arm and shoulder. But the girl didn't budge and instead surged forward, throwing the attacker, a Nagi with a thick scimitar, off balance and cutting a swath across his bare chest. Blood spattered onto her, and for once during the entire engagement she hesitated. The blood on her face seemed to have awakened some primal fear, a fear all men and women held somewhere deep within. A fear of death. She surveyed the battle in which she was the midst off. Everywhere she looked, death and blood was immediate. She began to smell the metal on the air.

The sight was gruesome. Terrifying even. She felt her core shake, her stomach clench up, the only comfort was the weight of the amulet around her neck. The cold feeling in the pit of her stomach warmed up as she felt the embrace of Minerva. She was to bring honor in her name. She had to continue, she couldn't stop. She had a duty to do, and she was dead-set on doing it. She had to fight for the West Marches. She rolled her shoulder and plunged into the bloody abyss once more. She found herself nearby to the Orc General.

In the background, the gravelly voiced Orc barked. "Surge! Surge! Kill every single one of these bastards! Make them pay!"

Roars. Shouts. Battlecries. Metal rattling. Clashes of swords and shields. These were the only things Nayala could hear and she had a hard time concentrating. She was at the rear of the force as her bow and arrow would do little on the front. 'They die so fast...' she thought and tried to get rid of the feeling in her stomach. The adrenaline in her blood made it difficult to aim, so instead she fired an arror into the air, directed at the rear of the enemy forces. A Drow next to her caught an arrow in the chest and a Dwarf in front caught one in the shoulder, but continued to charge. A person next to him, a woman, cut down one man. Another one. "Get moving!" Nayala hissed under hear breath and forced herself to move forward. One deep breath. Another one. Finally the feeling in her stomach disappeared and her heartbeat slowed down. Nayala put an arrow on her bow, pulled the string back, aimed and fired. It dug into the neck of an enemy not ten feet away from the General. Rushing forwards to avoid being shot, she ran past her fallen brothers in arms and cursed the battlefield for not providing cover of any kind. Now dangerously close to the frontline and forced to pull her shortsword, Nayala cut down a person in front of her without noticing who it was. What race. What gender. Nothing ran through her head but the fact that she had to survive.

"Watch out!". Her head barely turned, as she was made aware of the lizard man approaching with a wild expression on his face, and a raised warhammer as big as herself. Nailed to the ground unable to move, she put her hands in front of her entirely out of reflex. 'This is it...' were the only words running through her head as she closed her eyes. But the only thing she felt was a few drops landing on her smooth skin. Someone had saved her by cutting down this giant, and he was now lying in a puddle in front of her. "Get up!" Nayala said to herself. She couldn't let anyone know that she was unfamiliar with this kind of battlefield. It was embarrassing and she hoped so much that no one had seen, except for the one that had cut her assailant down. Nayala got back on her feet, completely oblivious to the fact that someone had just saved her life. Taking a few steps back and regaining her orientation, her arm raised again and another arrow was let loose upon her enemies. 'Get your bearings Naya' she thought. She really was knew at this and it felt a lot less like home.

Bodies everywhere, some still partially alive surrounded Reap. The battle waged around him as he was taken up in its grasp, his cold eyes were unrelenting and emotionless as he cut down a Dragonborn scum. It hadn't been the first to feel his wrath since the battle had started, indeed Reap's normally pitch black outfit had become a crimson red with the blood of his enemies. Death he was used too, it was like a brother. It kept close to his heart through his entire life, today would be no exception. His double bladed chain was launched out towards a Harpy in the air nearby, wrapping around its legs and pulling it down towards the ground. As it touched the ground Reap pounced on it drawing his Katana and ended its life with a slash across the throat. He wasted not time to savor the kill as he saw, from the corner of his eye, a curved blade descending towards his neck. With a push he rolled off the body, coming to his feet with only a slight cut on his arm from where the sword had barely touched. The wielder of the sword was Drow it appeared. It immediately charged again, swinging its blade in a vertical arc.

Reap twisted from the blades path, then dropping low he caught the Drow's leg with his foot and swept him to the ground, afterwords driving his elbow into the Drow's skull, effectively knocking it out. Returning to his feet Reap retrived his katana and sheathed it, then grabbed his chain by the middle and swung it in a circle above his head. Both blades whistled in the air, warding back the surrounding warriors, with a tug Reap released the blades towards a rather large Orc. Hooking into its neck Reap pulled backwards and ripped the Orcs head off. Sending yet more blood to stain the battle field. Dragging his chain back Reap turned towards the yell of a nearby Drow who was busy fending off three Goblins. Traversing the battlefield quickly Reap landed beside the Drow, once again wielding his Katana. "Worry not sister, I've got your back." He said to the Drow as the goblins charged. It was gonna be a long day.

"................" Avery said nothing as she stopped casting her magic on the raised hill line the mages were being kept on during the battle. She mainly focused on the edge of the battle to see some soldiers breaking through the battle and began to scale up the deep hill to the mages. She then looked to her sides to see the mages lined up around her, they either were focused on the main battle field and hadn't noticed, or had noticed and either stopped casting all together in fear or targeted the soldiers coming towards them. "Tch," she scowled as some of the mages started to back up it was a shame the elf assigned to lead the mages in this battle was completely useless. "Hold your ground!" she said sharply as if the words would cement the mages' feet, which it almost seemed to. "Focus on the task given to you, do not abandon the people on this field because of your own cowardice! They need your strength to aid them and strike down enemies they cannot see!" she said a little more gently but still somewhat agitated. The mages nodded and began to focus on the battle again.

Avery looked at the men steadily approaching again and took a few steps in front of the rest of her fellow mages. She examined how close the enemy was getting and how steep the hill was and and waved her wand at the ground and it started to freeze. In a moment more she was ice skating freezing the uppermost ground on the hill in front of the mages keeping the enemy soldiers from being able to reach the mages as they would his the ice on the steep angle and be forced to lose their footing and roll back to the bottom of the hill, some of them were even so unlucky as to fall and impale themselves on their own weapons. She slid down the ice again and stood at the base of the hill freezing and shattering any enemy who dared to try to hurt her fellow mages. Weak willed as they were, they were her brothers and sisters in arms and she wasn't about to let some brutish over zealous buffoon cut them down.

Avery, as well as a couple other mages with their quick fire magic, entered the fray of the battle providing a magic support the enemy had yet to show to its troops. Fireballs shot off, lightning bolts struck, healing spells were cast, and barrages of ice and other magics would be seen blowing through the physical fighters who's armor gave little to no protection against the magic. Mages could only fight for so long though before their magic reservoirs would run out so most had to pull back and be helped passed the ice path, by mages still on the other side of it, to rest and get their energy back. Luckily Avery was able to hold out much longer for where most people trained to become mages later in their teens or early twenties she'd had a head start on training. She found herself in the field near the general orc, whom she some what liked for his "No shit" attitude. Her back was against another soldier's (Asch's) in some armor, she knew the solider was probably aware of her presence, but they were on the same side and she'd rather have an ally at her back than an enemy.

She didn't use her magic as freely now that she was in the midst of the fray and focused slower, stronger blasts of ice at enemies usually targeting ones coming up behind on her allies like the general and an archer (Nayala) who were near her as well as the woman who had her back. One couldn't tell it behind her serious expression but Avery was as scared as the rest of them in the beginning of the battle. However, now she was doing her best not to giggle at the blood shed of her enemies, she wasn't homicidal by any means, nor did she actually take pleasure in killing, it was somewhat of a defense mechanism to smile and laugh to keep herself calm in hazy situations. Still she held strong and kept fighting on with her allies for the time being while keeping a mental tab on her energy so she'd know when she'd have to fight her way through the forces back to the protected mages line to rest.

Grubeck took deep breaths as he felt the cool breath against his bare green skin. Left and right where soldiers, rogues, and mages, charging, anxious for blood. He had to remark how young some of these soldiers were or how young some of them had actually looked...

The War has started and nothing but the scent of blood danced in the air. With both hands on his tribal staff, Grubeck concentrated his will onto the bare horned skull jutting from the top of his staff as small cracks of lightning started to form but his concentration broke, dispelling the magic. He ran from the arrows that rained down from the sky, towards the front lines, another imminent doom. If only he wasn't so old or stong enough to carry a shield, or armor. His brain went into a haze as he ran towards the front lines, an instinct, fear and adrenaline flowing through his aged veins, arrows whizing past his head before he had slid to a stop on the earth.

A human warrior, clad in metal armor, charged the goblin with a running sprint. Grubeck's hand dug into his bag quickly, pulled out a small grey urn, and fled from his enemy not before throwing the circular object directly at him. The warrior had faltered not and sliced the firebomb in half with a swing of his broadsword, blue flames exploding, and sprung itself towards the knight's helmet. The human shouted in pain as the flames started to traverse down his armor and seep onto his skin. He had dropped his blade and with both hands; tore his helmet from his head before the fire could take his life. As he motioned to grab his sword from the ground, a bolt had gone through the flesh of his neck, and he fell with both hands over the fatal wound.

Grubeck had a mad grin as he took his first kill, the empty crossbow gauntlet raised in the air, and ran forward. How his heart had pounded! It was as if he was young again! Fresh sweat dripped off his brow, onto his sharp-toothed necklace, and down towards his body. He skidded to a stop once again, to drop to the ground to dodge some arrows, and ran forward as he found a battle of an allied drow and human against three enemy goblins. Grubeck had little care for his own kin. As he ran, he took off his gauntlet, stuffed it into the bag that hung around his waist and threw his staff into the air.

His skin had transformed into a pitch black, where a thick coat of hair had sprung from, eyes becoming leaner and sharper, the plains of his face shifting, and hands on the ground, running with his legs. The wolf was completely different from the goblin that came before it but the leather gauntlet and shoes had been kicked off, the bone necklace around the wolf's neck clattering along with the other goblin charms and the cloth that had covered his waist, along with the bag of firebombs were proof that this was no wolf. Grubek's wolf teeth caught the staff before it could hit the ground, charged in between Nayala and Reap, where a goblin had dodged an ice spell and ran between it's legs with the staff, tripping the goblin. He let the staff drop from his teeth onto the ground, jumped onto the goblin's back, and jaws clamped through the flesh on the back of the neck, tore pieces of the goblin's cervical vertebrae apart.

Grubek knew his actions but he didn't care for them. He has already succumbed into the wolf mentality, while those two were his allies-no. His pack. When the other two goblins were rid of; the wolf held his ground with the two. Whatever enemy those two faced; Grubek will too. He made a single bark towards them, picked up his staff with his jaws once more, and fought alongside them.

Orsai listened as the Orc general Strom brought his speech to a close. He was feeling a twinge of nervousness. He knew that he probably had more combat experience than just about anyone on the battlefield. By his recollections he entered into training at the age of seven and was doing missions by twenty, and he was one hundred and fifty three now. However, it seemed that his experience was with small-scale, tactical battles, espionage, and assassination missions. Open warfare was a different animal entirely. And that wasn't the only problem. He still couldn't remember even a quarter of his training or his missions. By all accounts then he was a rookie just like most of the people around him. This was going to be a bad day. "Today we win the battle. Tomorrow, Nomad. Win glory, or die. It is simple as that. Now get your asses in gear and charge!" Well, time to find out just what he was made of at any rate.

As the two sides began to charge each other, Orsai grabbed a light metal shield someone had left lying on the ground, they would probably miss it later, but such was the price of foolishness. There would doubtless be an arrow exchange between the two forces before they clashed in the field, and Orsai wasn't going to be the one without a shield. He heard an angry shout tailing him as he ran, the shield's owner being none to pleased with him. However he raised the shield as the first arrows started to rain down, and the shout was cut off and became more of a gurgle. He never saw who he had stolen the shield from, and as arrows thumped into it he decided he didn't really care. The owner of the shield was careless and he died because of it. In the meantime, his own willingness to take advantage of the carelessness of his ally secured his own life for that much longer. It was a worthy trade off, if the person he had stolen from was half-witted enough to leave his gear unattended in the open right before a battle, he would have been a detriment to their combat efforts. Drawing his ninjato, he closed with the enemy soldiers.

When he got closer to the enemy forces, he singled out a human male in chain mail and rushed him, throwing the borrowed shield at his face as he closed in. The man deflected the projectile by hitting it aside with his own shield. Now Orsai was close enough to slash at the inside of the man's shield arm with his ninjato, making a severe gash across his under arm. The man bellowed in pain and tackled Orsai to the ground and they both dropped their blades since they were useless in such close range as the man began trying to choke the life out of him. Orsai shoved at the man's face, trying to push him back and gouge at his eyes. As his breathe was slowly cut off, a wave of panic on a primal, instinctual level pushed through his mind. He was literally staring his death in the face. He loosed his own primal shout, feeling a new wave of anger at this foe. "Get...Off...of...ME!" Both men were roaring at each other, though Orsai did not notice the smoke rising from beneath his fingertips, nor the way the man's beard was curdling and blackening as was the skin his hands touched. The man's roar gradually turned from one of fury into one of pain and he released his hold on Orsai who pushed him off and pinned his arm with one leg, pulled his small club from his side and beat the man's face in with it. He did not notice the burn marks all over it, he only knew that this was war. He would have to kill and kill again in order to survive. It was everyone else or him. Still, part of him knew that this was part of what he had to do. By killing maybe he would find out more about who he really was. He wanted, no, he needed answers.

Orsai's thoughts were interrupted when a large Orcish warrior came at him with a war hammer of extreme size. He raised it over his head to bring it down on him. He swiftly kicked off the orc's stomach using the large mass of the creature as a platform to push off from and rolled away from the orc, grabbing his ninjato as he rolled. He came up from his roll and dodged through the confused battlefield, taking a cut on his left arm as he did so. He had no interest in taking on that hulking orc. Instead he dodged his way through the battlefield, taking on targets of opportunity and doing his best to avoid getting injured or bogged down in stand-up fights.

She found herself in the company of a mage, a paladin and a goblin who was able to transform into other beings. A shaman. Nayala fired another arrow at an enemy and saw him fall to the ground. The wolf barked at them and Nayala nodded once, letting him know that she had understood. In the midst of all this an arrow came flying through the air and grazed her arm, leaving a scratch bleeding. Looking at it once but trying to ignore it, she kept killing her enemies and held her focus as well as she could.

The Paladin fought with great courage, probably comforting herself with the knowledge that her Matron would watch over her. Personally Nayala didn't believe in anything, but admired the people who could. She was wearing shiny armor and had a beautiful face, with her brunette hair flailing around her as she swung her weapon. She was fighting with what seemed as unwavering courage, and it inspired Nayala. She killed another man with an arrow straight to the heart. She made sure that every single arrow counted.
The mage was effectively making sure that no one got too close from their rear, and Nayala was helping her. Admittedly she was impressed by her powers and what they did to her enemies, but also awestruck since some of the ways, she'd never wish for anyone to die like that. There was no time for compassion though and feeling her mind go into a strangely more cruel state, she loaded another arrow and aimed very carefully for the head of her next victim. A smile spread across her face. The Goblin was fighting with all the instincts, malice, cruelty and savagery of a wild animal, yet that wasn't so strange since that was exactly what he was. Looking down at him as he clawed at his enemies and basically ripping them apart, Nayala felt her stomach turn. That moment of unawareness cost her though, a big brute of an orc tumbled in on her. His eyes were glowing with fury, and she barely managed to dodge his weapon as he instead tackled her and landed on her with all his weight.

As if time had been slowed down, she could see her bow three feet from her, just out of reach. She was unable to draw her sword, as the orc was lying on top of her. Nayala gritted her teeth and screamed."Get off me you pig!" "Be still you bitch of a half-breed!" the orc roared as he pinned both her arms down, ready for a final strike to end her life. Out of the corner of her eye, Nayala could see another Drow, almost dancing across the battlefield, taking out enemies on his way with swift yet brutal blows.
From her point of view she could see their left flank faltering, which would explain why the orc had been able to get so close to them. Her eyes fixed on the big brute over her and saw him raise his hand to lower his weapon upon her, but as he did she reached for her sword and stabbed him in the chest. The orc had moved just enough for her to be able to reach it. Nayala sighed with relief, but a moment too early. The corpse landed on her, and she was using all her strength to try to push him off.

The battle covered more than the ground. In the sky too did steel clash and spells flare, while a rain of dark projectiles rose and feel between the forces. Unlike the ground, where the disorganized conflict grouped itself roughly down a line at the center, the air was filled with orders as tight-flying formations moved with fluid grace and total disregard for the lines of battle.

On wings of pale feathers that had been dusted a sky-blue color, Tikitil Schritta the Harpy watched the flow of battle carefully, her lips drawn back into a snarl. Of course, that wouldn't be visible, covered by the fierce bone helmet she covered her head with. Through the eyeholes, the scout could still see almost all of the battle, and it was far large enough that her peripheral vision was alright. Meanwhile, a bundle of javelins rattled with every wingbeat, reminding her of her job. She clenched her bird-legged talons and watched the ground. 

Alone she flew, careful to keep herself unnoticed, caught above the enemy side of the fight. From her height, she could see the movements of the soldiers, the maneuvers of shield walls and... Really didn't understand any of it. She knew, of course, that she was to watch for enemy movements, report them, and if possible disrupt them. 

But this just seemed like a great big brawl, nothing like the hunt she had expected. Here and there were gaps where groups of soldiers ran between, maneuvers were made, and generally the battle was a fluid system and not just a mass. Not that Tikitil could tell, but she strained her eyes. 

She saw that the lines were shifting slowly; in whose favor, she could guess. The center seemed in the West's favor, as the heavily-armored infantry battered their way into the enemy's core. Units of light infantry ran to plug the line's holes, but they couldn't possibly stand against the hammerblow for long. 

On the sides, though... Tikitil saw small units of infantry flanking them. That couldn't be good. And more soldiers moved in the trees. What might those be? Perhaps archers? Perhaps not. No, a group passed through a clearing, and she saw the dull brown of leather. Archers, likely. 

She angled her wings and went into a shallow dive, unintentionally narrowly avoiding a spike of ice. She twisted her head around to try and figure out her attacker. 

So focused on scanning the ground, she nearly missed the air. It was not only the winged Harpies who flew, though they made the obvious majority. An elf, held up by whipping winds that billowed his robes behind him, closed on her with another icicle forming in his palm. Tikitil shrieked, more out of a defensive reflex than fear, and twisted in the air, flapping heavily to gain height. The elf followed lazily, keeping out of striking range, readying a killing blow. 

Tikitil's wings were a third segment to her limbs, and now she snapped them back to fold. The elf blinked as his quarry dropped, but it was a blink he didn't end. Tikitil had shut her wings to reach for a javelin, and before her fall could take her out of range she struck forward with all the power her limbs possessed. A swan could snap a man's neck with ease; Tikitil, though almost halfling in size, was larger than them. The javelin ignored the thick robes and jammed deep into the elf's guts. It wasn't an instant kill, but it needn't be- shock dispelled his false wings, and the Mage dropped like a stone. 

So did Tikitil, but the scout had her wings yet. She angled into the dive, her feathers whistling, her eyes covered in pale lids against the wind. With a crack like a sailcloth unfolding she swept her wings open and turned the fall into an arc. The elf hit the ground and vanished amongst the flowing soldiers. Perhaps he died. Perhaps not. She couldn't say. 

Now Tikitil began to beat her wings, rising again. Perhaps the archers in the woods were important. Perhaps not. Either way, her shoulders were beginning to ache, and a brief rest would be welcome. First though she would have to leave the range an enterprising archer could hit her from. 

Tikitil rose back into the sky, watching the winged (mostly) shapes wheel about. Hoping none would note her as she passed, Tikitil made her way towards the allied commanders.  

Lucifer takes his blade in hand...

By the Gods, he was going to die because of this bloody thing...As the general waffles on, he takes another look at the best he could find. His first battle and he was to fight with a gigantic kitchen knife. He sighs then chuckles.
"Something funny?" An orc standing over him said. Lucifer looks up.
"The only funny thing will be the bastard's face when I come at 'im with this shop-window prop, eh!" He lifts the blade, letting it settle on his shoulder just as the final words of the battle's prologue are spoken:
"Today we win the battle. Tomorrow, Nomad. Win glory, or die." Lucifer sniggers to himself loudly.
"I like this guys optimism. He's waitin' for his hot coco an' warm blanket, I'll bet!"
"No..." The orc said. "He's here to play with us too..."
"Really?" Lucifer said, looking up before the front line began to move. The hearts began to beat, gushing the adrenaline around the systems like dams bursting a hundred fold. Over an over, the buzz flooded through limbs, giving energy to raise, cut and swing blades. Lucifer made no effort to suppress the dark chuckle from his mouth as the charge came to his line.
"Time to go to work..." Lucifer breaks into a run, his blade bouncing on his shoulder while his scarlet coat flaps around his legs. The steel-capped boots slam heavily with every step as he chases on behind the rest of the crowd.

Thunk!

Lucifer halts as he looks to his shoulder that was now protesting at the top of it's own internal voice.
"Bloody hell!" He said, "That hurt!" There was more amused surprise in his voice than anger....Or maybe pain. He was annoyed he was injured already. A young woman offered to help just as Lucifer was about to reach for the arrow. She yanks the head free from his shoulder with a hiss from him. He could see the lumps of his shoulder still there. Maybe the shoulder plate over there could have been a tad thicker...
I could heal that." She said. Lucifer chuckles to himself about being hit to early on.
"I ain't got the time to bleed, lass. I'm off to make things more 'dwarf-eat-everything else' around here." Lucifer slips off into a run as he catches up with the battle. His eye glances upwards, having learned from his mistake.

He covers ground relatively quickly with his heart pounding. The cries, the pungent aroma of iron from the occasional red splatter in all directions. He maybe late but...

He sweeps to the side as a goblin swipes at him. A halfling in full armour is coming to back him up.

He's brought back to Mythril Depths. Granddad is there, holding his wrist to help guide his slash with the stick in the young boy's hand. From the shoulder in a crushing arc.

Lucifer turns and swings the cheep blade into the goblin, smashing the skull on his chest plate. The blade made such an impact that he was launched backwards. The blade comes to a halt in the soil next to him. The halfling dashes towards Lucifer. He leaps, bringing his blade down on the dwarf.

His Granddad is duelling with him. He tells Lucifer to block his strike, making sure to use both hands.

Lucifer shifts his weapon in front of the halfling's blade, taking the blow easily. The halfling bounced off, before trying a second slash for Lucifer's gut. Lucifer moves the blade to block the next attack then he smacks the halfling across the face with the side of his blade. The weapon stops then smashes down into the side of the halfling's neck. Lucifer's blade swipes lazily to his side, a human's sword is bent out of shape. The blade cuts through the gap in the man's armour; across his stomach. As he crumbles, Lucifer smashes the blade down on the recovering goblin. He stays swatted into the mud this time.
"Peh-heh-heh-heh...Imagine what I'd do with a real weapon, eh lads?"

A lizardman to his left heard his boast. Lucifer raised his blade.

"Today we win the battle. Tomorrow, Nomad. Win glory, or die. It is simple as that." Strom yelled to the troops, "Now get your asses in gear and charge!" With that the whole of the West Marches Expeditionary Force charged the enemy army.

"That's my cue." Dova said winking to the elf standing next to him. He unfurled his wings, making sure he had plenty of room for his 12 foot wingspan, and pushed down with them to launch himself into the sky. He looked down at the elf and drew his trusty falcata and gave a salute to the elf, although the gesture was wasted because at that moment an arrow slammed into the poor elf's neck and sent him flying back. "Damn," Dova said to himself smiling, "I was just starting to like that guy."

Gazing around him he tried to judge where best he was needed, and where he could find the most action. His eyes locked on a group of enemy soldiers that had one of the West March soldiers, a female harpy, surrounded. He flapped his wings and took off like a bullet toward the group to try and save his fellow soldier, but he was too slow. The man in front of the Harpy had swung his sword high and as the girl raised her shield to block the blow another man slashed her from behind. As she crumpled to the ground Dova felt a rage build up in him. How dare they just strike her down like that! She was barely able to lift the heavy shield, and judging by her size was not even past her seventeenth year of life. They would pay.

Dova gritted his teeth and flapped his wings to stop directly above the men, but none of them noticed. He reached down to his belt and pulled his repeating crossbow from its holster and fired it at five of the men rapidly, killing at least three of them outright. He then pointed his falcata straight down and dove towards the largest of the group, what appeared to be a large orc. It all happened so fast that the orc had no chance to avoid the blow as his skull was impaled by Dova's sword.

Twisting one wing so that he rolled over the body he landed lightly on his feet, three men still alive around him; although one of those had an injured arm from where Dova's crossbow bolt had impaled his shoulder. As the first of them charged Dova flapped his wings to throw himself back and narrowly avoid the slash, and then counterattacked with a slash to the mans throat. Two left He thought to himself, and he had a plan to get rid of them.

Pushing down as hard as he could with his wings and running with his feet he accelerated beyond what people expected to come from someone on the ground. He slammed into one of the remaining two men, a human, and sent him tumbling to the ground. In the same movement he flicked his wrist and sent his sword swinging toward the other mans throat. But the man was faster than Dova had anticipated and managed to block the blow, but Dova recovered quickly and threw himself back to avoid the mans counterattack; although he wasn't fast enough to avoid all damage. The blow had managed to slice through his leather armor and he was now sporting a thin line where the blade had grazed him. By this time the second man was back on his feet and maneuvered himself behind Dova. Seeing how they had dealt with the previous Harpy he knew what was about to happen, and he wasn't about to stick around for it.

Jumping off the ground he thrust as hard as he could with his wings to gain altitude and was soon floating just out of reach of the two men. He took this opportunity to grab one of his two remaining cartridges for his crossbow and reload. Now he was ready. Flipping in the air he landed on the ground spinning in a circle with his blade pointed out to repel the two men, as he landed he used his other hand to point his crossbow and fire a bolt into the throat of the man that had sliced him. Turning around to confront the last remaining enemy he saw that the man was already dead.

"I got yer back laddie!" A black bearded dwarf said and then ran off back into the thick of battle, his spiked gauntlets leading the charge. Dova flapped his wings and took to the sky again, seeking out where he was needed next.

"Fifteen."

Mirryv muttered under her breath as she removed the body from her sword with her foot. Looking up, she was once again a few yards from the actual front. She took a quick breath and plunged towards the line of death in front of her. The sounds of clashing steel, breaking bone, and cries of pain were deafening. At first, Mirryv thought it would be different fighting in such a large scale battle because she was used to killing in silence, but she had soon found out that when it came down to it, there was little difference. She danced into combat, and her marks would die.

Dodging past her allies, she made her way once again to the front. She was met with a battleaxe almost twice her size, but it's size was a handicap and she ducked under it. The men behind her weren't so fast. Coming up, she lodged her right sword into her assailant's throat and drove him back, pushing his body into a soldier behind him. On her left, an elf tried to bring his sword down on her, but she met it with her left sword. She removed her right sword from the first soldier's body, parried the elf's followup, and cut her right sword across his chest, leaving a fine red line. She kicked at his shin, bringing him down, and moved on.

Mirryv managed to push forward a few paces before running into the most heavily armored dwarf she'd ever seen. It was a wonder he could even move with all the weight. He held a sword and shield and shouted something in Dwarven before charging. Mirryv dodged to the left, on the side of the dwarf's shield. He was caught off guard and tried swinging at her, but missed and ended up losing his balance. As Mirryv turned to face him, she saw a man behind her preparing to strike. It was to late to change direction, so she swung both of her swords over her shoulders and met the man's blade behind her back inches away. She swiftly brought her swords back to front as he was was surprised by her block, turned, and sent a kick into the recovering Dwarf's knee, knocking him back down. Another man approached from her side, and Mirryv found her self flanked by an elf and a human. The nodded to each other in understanding and charged at Mirryv simultaneously. Luckily, the elf was closer, and Mirryv lunged at him. The elf flinched, and Mirryv was behind him in an instant, her arm around his neck. She looked back at the dwarf, who was again charging at her. He swung, and Mirryv shoved her hostage into the path of his blade.

Returning to face the human, she found him in midswing, but he had brought his blade too high, and left himself open. She jabbed her right blade into his abdomen, sidestepped his now falling blade, and cut at his legs with her left blade. The sword went clean through the first leg, and partway through the second. Mirryv slid her sword out and the man fell over, screaming as he bled out. There was no time to end his suffering.

Remembering the dwarf, she turned around in time to block his downswing with her right sword. He tried to bash at her with his shield, but she stepped back to dodge. The dwarf seemed faster now, and followed up his attempted bash with another downswing, but this time Mirryv dodged to her left, and used her right sword in combination with the dwarf's sword's momentum to drive it into the ground. He was almost bent completely over now as he held onto his sword, and Mirryv was still looking for an opening in his armor. Finding a small opening in his plate at the front of his neck, Mirryv wrapped her left arm around his neck, pulled him back to his feet and drew her sword sharply across his neck. The blood sprayed out in the wake of her blade, and the dwarf went limp, his dead weight almost crushing Mirryv.

She barely had time to breath. An arrow whizzed past her head on the left, and she turned to face her attacker. Her eyes locked with the archer, an elf with a bladed shortbow and black armor. He looked like a veteran. To his right stood a timid looking human boy, who couldn't have been older than seventeen. Mirryv didn't want to let the elf get another arrow off, so she charged at the pair. The elf was faster than she thought, and he drew and knocked another arrow before Mirryv could finish blinking. He released the arrow and it came racing straight at her. There was no time to think, and Mirryv instinctively lowered herself into a slide. She tilted her head back just as the arrow passed overhead. The razor sharp edge of the head cut into her face, barely drawing blood but still leaving a thin red line running up the left side of her face. She popped back up, and at this range the elf was finished. He hadn't expected her to survive, and he couldn't even raise his bow to block before both of Mirryv's blades pierced his chest.

Mirryv turned to the boy as he shouted something, but in all the chaos, she couldn't make it out. He swung madly at her, but he was blinded by rage, and a rookie. Mirryv easily dodged back. The boy swung again, but his stance was off and Mirryv knocked he sword out of his hand. She could see tears welling up in his eyes as he drew a dagger from his belt. He charged at Mirryv, and this time, she sent him to his master.

"Twenty." She said out loud, not counting the boy. "Twenty."

((Ignore))

"I know this is going to sound odd, but, Muse goddess of song and inspiration. Guide this humble bard's sword." Lysander prayed. He was finished just in time, the General had just started the charge. Oddly enough, Lysander was rather eager for his first battle. Now he had fought and killed before, but never with so many other people. The entire group picked up the pace, and the entire army was in a full out sprint. It was more like a jog for Lysander, but none the less he felt morale building in his blood. He drew his blade and yelled with the rest of the men. His lute bouncing up and down on his back, he picked up the pace and was at the front line of the charge and quickly decided who his first opponent would be. He spotted a human in leather armor with a claymore, that would be his opponent. The armies quickly clashed against one another and so did Lysander and the human.

They both passed a swing at each other, their blades meeting in a brief moment of sparks. They ran past each other and halted. By the time Lysander had turned around, the human had his blade in mid-swing, looking to take his head off/ Lysander quickly dropped to his knees and avoided the swing. He then quickly stabbed him through the side of his abdomen, feeling the bite of the leather for only a moment before feeling his blade exit through his other side. Lysander quickly pulled his blade out and spun around to continue to wade through the battlefield.

Within moments of walking away from the human, he found himself parrying the dagger of a Drow. They exchanged a few blows, his longsword against the Drow's daggers. The Drow momentarily slipped on some mud, giving Lysander the opportunity to stab him through the stomach. He simply ran past the Drow after his blade left his body, he had to be aware, he couldn't get caught off guard.

About five seconds after he downed the Drow, he felt something hook his leg, sending him to the ground. He looked back to see a goblin with a spear raised in the air, poised to strike. Lysander turned over to try and get a better angle, but the goblin quickly jumped on his stomach and raised the spear higher. Without thinking, Lysander punch the goblin right in the nose. The goblin went fly off of him on the ground. Lysander quickly got up and grabbed the goblins spear. He then drove it into the goblins chest, burying it deep into the ground.

Lysander looked around suddenly and realized he didn't have his sword. Lysander looked about and spotted it on the ground. He ran as fast as he could over to it and bent down to pick it up. As he did, he felt a push on his back, followed by a twang sound. Lysander wheeled around, sword now in hand, to see a Lizardfolk with a double sided axe buried into his own skull. Lysander gave a brief smile. He patted his lute on the back. "Thanks old friend." Lysander rushed off into the fray, feeling exceptionally confident about himself.

There was no cavalry support, you had seasoned mercenaries mixed up with greenboys recruits, hell he had seen females that looked that they had yet to see 18 winters mixed up with men that had at least seen 180 summers, there was no clear line of deployment and it was more like a rabble fighting

Urknekt was in the heat of battle shouting orders and trying to get men to follow his command "Single column rally around the archers pikes behind sword and shield in front!" but it seemed that those with enough age on them to see the reasons behind his orders saw no incentive to follow the command of an oddly geared goblin and the greenboys were too goddamn green to listen, this was a mess he should have been appointed the commander of the vanguard, in the goblin armies, in the battlefield he was first commander of the Inden hill goblins, he recalled how well his offer had been taken

************

"Let me through damn you!" he shouted at the guards that held him at spear point "the commanders must deploy the winged as scouts put the heavy armor on the first column and use the majority of the greens to flank the enemy with experienced men leading them" one of them struck him with the back of the spear "Shut up and fall in line" Urknekt shouted again "Give me command of the vanguard, they can give me the orders and ill see them carried but do not send us in like a blind rabble!" he wanted to dive into the commanders tent and have them listen to his reason, he had experience damnit, he had broken the siege of Ghamar with his hill goblins, he had deployed heavy armor backed by pikes and archers to devastate the orc outriders

**************

"Strom you orcish idiot" Urknekt heard himself say, this was classic orc tactics, grab a huge amount of warriors give them steel and send them off, no discipline, no orders, no chain of command at the battle, no sergeants, no captains, nothing.

Provided he survived, which he fully intended to, Urknekt would make a point of making a mutiny and put some damn order on the army organization could only give them more edge, the younger see how its done and live to fight another day, the elder get to command the young ones... seeing that the other side was equally incompetent in their commandership showed Urknekt that if his High King ever found this place he would smash both sides at the same time without a sweat of effort.

He was pulled back from his deep contemplation when an arrow hit him straight on the head, knocking off his helmet "Goddamn" he muttered realizing that if not for the goblin armor he had brought with him he would have died a hundred times before by now, he looked around and could not see any firing position nearby, whoever had fired that arrow had either done it by chance which was unlikely or had a really good grip on the marksmanship required to fire from afar and land his mark, he saw that the others beside him were not so lucky, projectiles by both armies were being fired with no real care to avoid friendly fire and by now the majority of those that had not possessed armor had an arrow stuck somewhere, the other side had seen some sense to deploy units of archers, his side had seen elves on the front with bows at their back and blades in hand, completely showing the lack of sense of it all.

"Follow me, break the bowmen`s fire position!" whether anyone would follow the goblin remained to be seen, but without a heavy line of troops to block his advance towards them they were highly vulnerable, their shock infantry was busy engaging like dogs fighting over scraps.

He ran cutting kneecaps, slashing thighs, piercing ankles and in general making sure that several of the tall ones lost their footing, he could only hope that they were enemies they all looked the same to him, his mountain slasher was dripping with blood of several races hungry for more when another arrow struck him in the head, this time closer to his eye sockets "Mother of..." he was getting worried now, his head should not act as a shield at any time.

He felt a strike with the strengths to crack mountains hit him in the back and sent him flying for at least 5 feet, he rolled numbly to face his foe and saw a monster of legend, scales as white as the ice in the mountains, eyes with the color of flames and a row of teeth that composed an ill intentioned Grin, the thing must had been at the very least double the size of the goblin and with the force on that blow double the stones of his weight as well, he rose an axe the size of a pony with full intention of cleaving him in half.

Urkekt was not the fastest, neither the strongest, nay the smartest... but he was stronger and smarter than the fastest and faster and smarter than the strongest, he threw his blade into his belly and it went trough mail and scale, the impact gave pause as the lizard made a move to wrench the weapon out but it was not quick enough and Urknekt was upon him, the goblin grabbed the handle with both hands locked himself to the waist of his foe with his legs, then he simply put his arm`s strength into dragging the blade upwards ripping as a combination of bloody intestines, scales and mail poured into him.

The white scaled monster was felled, Urkekt rose and yelled "made a woman outta ye you bugger" he turned around looking to reach the archers and lay off the fire, he did not expect to kill them on his own certainly, but putting them to rout and by extension stopping their fire would be enough for his side to overcome the other.

It seemed that the ranged fire had taken notice of his advance towards them, arrows were raining on him but none went trough, his armor might looked aged but it was designed to stop elven steel arrows, the best metal in the goddamn world Urkenkt knew, he kept moving closer and closer, the tall ones were busy enough fighting people their size that they paid no mind to a gray blur that dashed amongst them.

He was close when suddenly the archers turned their fire upwards

They're not routing ill give em that, seems like they have resumed their fire on the main army

Clearly there was more to them that Urknekt had assumed, when a harpy filled with arrows came crashing under him he realized all too late that he should keep his eyes above as well

Strength, child. A breeze picked up over the field, still largely pristine, but even the earth knew it would not remain so for long. The stray wind lifted silky-black strands of hair from the neck and shoulders of a Naga woman in plain, but well-made armor, and she sighed softly beneath her breath. Worried red-gold eyes swept over those assembled, and from her vantage point at the crest of a hill left of the main force, she could see perhaps too much.

It is not strength I lack, My Lady. She replied, melancholy tinting the mental statement a curious shade of blue. Her tail shifted, the sole external marker of her unease. Her face, however, remained the picture of passivity, even as she listened to the orcish general rally the crowd. A well-enough tactic, though not one received quite as well as it could have been. Too many of these souls were new to such places, and the lack of training and organization weighed heavily upon Masana. It could spell catastrophe, especially if the other side was more prepared. Unlikely, but possible. It was sure to be a bloodbath anyway, and she was not looking forward to it.

The other smiled gently, and though she did not see this, Masana knew it in a more primal way. Shatera was much calmer about this than she was, and the princess took some comfort from that. Then again, when had the machinations of mortals ever troubled the goddess? She had no reason to be too concerned, not even now.

But the lines were charging forward, clashing, and it was time to begin. Masana hung back for a moment, trying to get a feel for where she would be the most useful. The forward thrust of the Expeditionary Force seemed to be working, but at the expense of leaving the flanks unprotected. A rookie mistake, when it came to strategy. On one side, a goblin seemed to be ineffectually shouting, trying to get others to follow his lead and break the line of archers, while harpies danced in the air above her head. Please protect them all, she entreated, but in her mind, a head was shaken.

I cannot do something so important, and you know that. But you can, in your way.

Nodding resolutely to herself, Masana unslung the bow from her back, nocking an arrow and letting it fly at an enemy harpy who’d gotten too close. The projectile embedded itself in his wing, and with a screech, he plummeted to the ground in a pile of feathers and cracked hollow bones. The naga woman flinched, but there was little time to regret the life she’d taken. She’d take many more before the battle was over.

The worst of the flanking seemed to be taking place on the left, the opposite side from the would-be commander goblin. Apparently, whatever he was doing was helping a bit, and so Masana took to the left, moving with whiplike speed over the ground, propelled by the powerful muscle of her golden-scaled tail. Her mouth set in a grim line of determination, she drew and fired several more times, each with enough patience and deliberation to hit something vital. For the moment, she was able to use the melee warriors as cover, though that didn’t protect her from hostile magic.

An orb of fire at least two feet across hurtled toward her, and Masana had just enough time to move to the side as it impacted the ground, singeing a few hairs from her head in its passage. In its wake, her eyes refocused, and she noted a man struggling to get out from between several opponents.

Whispering something in an incomprehensible tongue that mimicked the rustle of leaves and the sound of the wind through a field of wheat, Masana implored the native grasses to assist, and they grew longer, tugging at the ankles of the poor lad’s besiegers, rooting them in places and surprising them enough that the youth was able to duck out and around before he sliced through them. Masana took his side in the following moments. “Are you uninjured?” she asked, calmly but with concern. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man with a lute strapped to his back disappearing into the fray, and a few other soldiers here and there, all engaged with their enemies.

It was bad on this side of the field, to put it simply. There was no order to the defense, and hostiles were moving in and among her allies, often unnoticed. The boy beside her seemed reluctant to reenter the fray, and she glanced at him askance. “Do you know many of these folk?”

He seemed confused by the question, but nodded. “Me ‘n’ my brothers are all here, an’ lotsa people from m’ town, too.” Masana spent a moment in brief thought, then replied.

“Get them all to retreat to this point. We need to hold the line, and we’ll do it better together as a group. If anyone is injured, just point them to me. Can you do that?” The lad, small and slight, nodded again and took off, using his small size to duck in between people. He’d make a better messenger than soldier, she thought. A shame he may not ever get to make that choice.

The battle was quite evenly matched, for every soldier that began to prove him or herself to the West March General, there was one doing the same for Fera's Promised. The line constantly shifted back and forth, neither side gaining much ground Archers rained arrows from the back and sides, mages launched magic every which way, and the harpies above were fighting in an intricate aerial dance of death. Every now and then, the battle was punctuated by a thump of a dead harpy falling to the ground. Yet, the battle was merely getting started.

The center of the lines bulged in West March favor, while the sides tried to flank. The line in it's entirety was in the middle of being pushed back. The movement of the lines were a slow and painful matter, each inch being won by tooth and nail. Bodies began to pile up on the line, and tripped those unfortunate enough to be blessed with horrid balance. Duels and fights were being waged over the bodies of comrades and friends, and only served to cause the warriors to fight that much harder.

---

Asch had accumulated a shiny film of blood on her armor and her shield had deep gashes and dents in the wood. Blood ran down her face, but it was not her own. Minerva had protected her subject thus far, and Asch prayed she would continue. Small prayers such as this entered Asch's mind time after time.

She was there when the elven archer, Nayala froze up as a Lizardman approached her. Asch finished off her own opponent, an Orc, by simply stepping out of the way of his claymore and stabbing him in the gut with her own blade. Blood spattered her and those beside her as she ripped the blade of of the fallen soldier, but she had no time for a prayer. She spun on her heel and sprinted. She ran faster than normal, thanks to prayer and blessing from Minerva, and the Lizardman approaching Nayala was too focused to see the human. Asch shot beside the elf and stuck the blade in the man's throat, quickly ending his life.

She turned around to see the elf begin to fire arrows again. Good to see she snapped out of whatever it was. She looked up and around. It seemed they had made their way closer to the front-lines now, and she could see the Orc General destroy anything that got in his way. She felt glad, glad that such an able person was leading them, however the feeling did not last. How many people like him, like her, did Fera's Promised have? How many of their number were no ordinary foot soldier, but fighting machines who's only desire was to prove themselves? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. By the way the lines barely shifted, if at all, she was willing to bet perhaps the same as them.

However, her thoughts were cut short as a couple of arrows descended upon her. She stepped backwards so that she would not miss them. And as she did, she felt her back brush up against another. A quick glance backwards revealed an allied mage. She snapped her head forward and raised her shield. Three distinct thunks echoed as each arrow embedded themselves in the wood. Asch then ran her sword up the surface of the shield, snapping the shafts. She then dropped her shield to the ground and reached back with her now empty hand and grasped the mage's shoulder. In moments, she should feel a warmth emanating from the Paladin's hand and seep into her bones. Her fatigue and aches should melt away. A simple prayer, and a blessing for her ally. She quickly picked her shield back up and simply said, "Good luck, and Minerva bless." To the mage.

By then, a goblin shaman had joined them and was fighting as a wolf with all of the ferocity one would expect. Asch wished she had time to watch the goblin wolf and was quite interested in the display, but she raised her shield to meet the sword of another human. She felt the impact of the blade in her arm, and at that exact moment brushed the blade away and slammed her own sword into the human. The blade cleft where the neck and shoulder met only stopping when it hit the collar bone. The human fell before her.

Nearby, she heard Strom curse, "Fuckin' hell..." The line must have been pushed back for the General to be near them, yet what made the Orc curse? Asch looked in the direction of his gaze and was presented with the sight of two massive Dragonborns, one in red armor, and one in blue armor, easily looming over many of those around them and clad in thick steel armor swinging a flail above each of their heads. That would explain why the line was pushed back.

Then one of them swung their flail at an elf who had gotten in his way, sending the man flying across the field and slamming into many of his comrades knocking them to the ground. He was dead on contact. "What are those!" Asch called with a hint of panic. "Juggernauts," Strom answered, splitting a Nagi's head with his greataxe, "They're like a goddamn walking fortress With thick armor on top of thick scales. And we got two of the of the bastards," Asch stared at the steadily approaching Juggernauts, ending the life of whoever stood in their way in the most violent way imaginable. Asch sent a prayer of protection and guidance to Minerva, and spoke to those around her. "Eyes up and focus!" She shouted, and strode forward. She then kicked the body of the Orc off of Nayala," We've got company, and I don't think they're going to play nice. Keep your wits about you and be quick! We'll topple these 'Fortresses' yet," She said with conviction, backtracking and placing her back back against the mage's. A burst of confidence welled up inside. Minerva looked over them all that day.

Strom looked at the Paladin with what could be called a proud grin.

---

The Lizardman scoffed as he heard the dwarf boast. "Then it's a damn shame you don't have a real blade, isn't it?" He then lifted his great warhammer and spat upon the corpse of his latest kill. He then turned menacingly to face the dwarf as he lifted his sword. The Lizardman squared his shoulders and rolled his neck, the thick bones popping loudly. "If it's a fight you want West March scum, then you've got one. Fera's Chosen will win this day," He said raising the hammer above his head.

The man wore no armor on his torso, instead allowing the thick crimson scales to be his armor. His legs consisted of shoddy iron work and worn leather, enough clothing to keep him decent. In fact, it made the man intimidating.

And the Lizardman was off. One, two, three steps and he was already upon the dwarf. With great strength, he lifted the hammer and brought it down viciously, looking to pound the dwarf into a paste.

---

A roar cut through the air near Mirryv. A human had witnessed the slaughter of the elf and boy, and it awakened something within him. A beast. For the human was a berserker, a wild and unpredictable maelstrom of fury and he too was wielding two blades. The sight of the drow striking down his comrades enraged him, and immediately cut down the two Halflings he was engaged with instantly, both by decapitation.

"You!" The man roared. Lizardman stepped in between the Drow and human, but was skewered by both swords, and ripped out viciously to either side. Blood sprayed both him and Mirryv. It gave the man a ghastly look, face set in a snarl with blood running down the sides. If there was supposed to be a way a berserker was supposed to look, it would be this. Anger, rage, vengeance rolled into one human body.

He pointed the bloodied sword at the Drow and growled, "You! You murdered my friend and my son! He wanted nothing more than to be with me... And you took him away from me!" The boy had been yelling to his father, yelling for him to come and save him before he was cut down. The father yelled and threw himself at the Drow, blades cutting downwards in an X.

---

"My my, Davyth, It seems that army of Fera's Promised is quite skilled," The Nagi told the elf next to him. They were quite a distance away from the battle, but they had a view of the entire battle, both above, and on the ground. The two were also general's, but unlike Strom, they were not inclined to fight themselves. They were there as a favor from Lord Garrett himself. So that they could say that they led the first victory of the war. They knew not many strategies, and only the barest idea how to wield the weapons they carried. Pompous, entitled, nobles, who had no place on the battlefield.

"Indeed it does, Akira. Strom seems to be leading our men well enough though," Davyth, the elf, said. The Nagi chuckled, "Indeed, all that talk about blood, glory, and worthlessness does tend to rile up the... Lesser rabble," Akira said contemptuously. "Huh..." The elf said.
"What is is?" Asked the Nagi.
"It seems that one of the harpies is making her way towards us."
"What? Why is that?"
"Beats me. To rest perhaps?"
"Bah, she's a soldier, she doesn't need to rest. She needs to fight."
"True, true... You can tell her that..."
"Er... I'd rather not."
The elf chuckled at his companion.

Reap clashed blades with a nearby Halfing, acquiring a nasty cut to the ribs before managing to take off it's head. He wasted no time for pain to set in, instead turned to another foe, seances heightened by the adrenalin roaring through his body. The foe, a harpy, attempted to dive bomb Reap, who rolled out of the way and threw his chain at it. The result was a gory mess as the blade of the chain ripped the Harpy in two sending blood and intestines everywhere. Reap began moving for another foe when he caught sight of two hulking beasts, massive in size, leveling anyone who got in their way. Juggernauts. Dragonborn elites. In Reap's eyes, the two were already walking corpses as he made his way towards there location.

Slashing through a line of orcs Reap caught sight of a dwarf nearby in trouble, he seemed to materialize in front of the lizerdborn, his chain blade hanging loosely as he gave it a cold stare. The weapon, was his symbol amongst the Dragonborn, one look at the midnight black steel and they would know, they faced "The Black Death'. "Take a long look, at your last sight in the world of the living.." He said darkly to the Dragonborn, before swinging his chain-blade in a circle, gathering speed. "For you're next, will be the face of whatever Hell Demons you believe in!" He yelled.

Using the chain's momentum Reap hurled the chain above his head, using one blade as a handle and the other as the weight carrying the chain. He jumped into the air and twisted, sending the chain forward at an unbelievable speed straight towards the lizard about to bludgeon the dwarf. The Blade was aimed squarely at the neck of the lizard, towards a small spot in the neck that Reap knew was just a bit softer than the rest of the creature. If the move connected it would kill the creature, or at least severely maim it. With any luck, the lizard would be too slow to avoid it in time.

Mirryv was about to move on to new prey when a battlecry rose in her ears above the rest. The sounds of battle were just noise, but this roar came paired with a guttural pain. Mirryv's head pulsed as the aura of rage warmed her body. She turned to face the source in time to witness a monster of a man cleave the heads off of the two halflings he was fighting with his twin swords.

"You!" he growled out at Mirryv, and began to wade through the carnage to her. A lizardman stepped into his path, but even he looked up to the berserker, who skewered and tore him apart. The blood sprayed onto Mirryv's face, crimson gleaming upon ebony. Her eyes locked onto his as he pointed a sword at her.

"You! You murdered my friend and my son! He wanted nothing more than to be with me... And you took him away from me!" His gruff voice resonated in Mirryv's head, and the remorse for the boy she had killed began pounding in her heart. She wanted to speak to the man, to ease his pain, but now was not the time for condolences. He brought his blades down in a furious x formation.

All doubt left Mirryv. All pain, and remorse was washed away and the flow of combat took hold again. The x formation certainly looked intimidating, but it's actual effectiveness was rather pathetic. The man may have been twice her size, but he was easily less than half her age, and all the rage in the world did little to help against a master swordsman. The different counters all flashed through her head in a moment. Half back step riposte, sidestep leg sweep, x parry... there was no time to think ahead. Mirryv ducked and rolled, her small frame easily fitting between the giant's legs. She felt the whoosh of his blades on her backside, but she had made it.

Mirryv stopped her roll short in a kneeling position now back to back with the berserker, and let her instinct take over. She propelled her self up and spun, holding her right blade out to strike and keeping her left one close if the attack failed.

As the battle wore on, Orsai was beginning to show a little wear. He had sustained a number of minor injuries, though nothing the battle-fueled adrenaline would not compensate for. After dispatching two ugly female human mercenaries, sisters by the looks of it, his attention was drawn by the swearing of General Strom to the two juggernauts wading through the battle with no more difficulty than one could traverse a shallow fjord. And they definitely were not on the side of The West Marches. Looking at the armor on those two unbelievably large dragonborn it looked like it would be next to impossible for all but the heaviest weapons to break with a direct attack, and even the relative 'weak points' where protected by the creatures' natural scales. It was not unusual for dragonborn to be larger than other races, but these two were way bigger than any dragonborn, or even any orc, that Orsai could remember seeing. With the heavy armor, size, and apparent accompanying strength, Orsai could tell that strength and a direct attack on these two would only yield more West March casualties, these dragonborn were in a league of their own. This was where agility, magic, and archery would come in most handy. There was no mistaking that it would be a team effort to beat these two, there was no way anyone here could handle them on their own. He possessed great speed and agility, time to put them to work on these most worthy opponents. It was not in his nature to go up against opponents of this magnitude, but a part of him, a cold part of him, couldn't resist the challenge these two monstrosities presented. Quickly surveying the battlefield he saw his chance to do his part in taking down the pair. He moved quickly knowing he would only get one shot at this.

Dodging his way through the masses, Orsai got a running start a short distance behind General Strom, running at the general's back. As he leaped onto the orc's massive shoulders he yelled out, "If I have seen further it is because-" He launched himself into the air, landing on the broad shoulders of the blue juggernaut. "-I HAVE STOOD ON THE SHOULDERS OF GIANTS!" With that cry he ripped the helmet off the dragonborn and slashed down at its face, hoping to hit its eyes. It roared with an earth-shaking ferocity and brought the flail his why. Orsai easily ducked the flail, just in time to see the dragonborn's tail smack straight into him and sent him hurtling across the battlefield. He had the wherewithal to toss his sword ahead of him as he went soaring, no sense getting impaled with it on landing. He slammed into the ground, managing a halfway decent rollout landing, avoiding any devastating injuries, internal or external. Though he may have heard a rib crack when he rolled over the helmet he was still holding, his left arm had taken a heavy beating, and his chest in general hurt from taking a giant metal tail head on. He wobbled to his feet, sore, but giddy after taking on the dragonborn. Sparing a glance though, the hulking thing didn't seem overly concerned by the loss of the helmet. Still, he had provided an opening for others to exploit, a more manageable hole in the armor.

Orsai's focus was brought back to himself when a goblin rushed at him with his own ninjato. He easily sidestep and smacked the diminutive fighter hard in the skull with the large helmet, sending it to the ground with blood and grey matter dribbling from a nasty head wound. "Thank you for returning this so promptly." He muttered darkly. He looked and saw that he was on the flank of the battle, there was a female nagi nearby who was healing troops and trying to rally the crumbling flank. He stumbled over, managing to slash away the Fera's Promised who got to close to him. He was feeling really light headed now, maybe that tail had done a bit more damage than he had thought. He looked down and noticed that his overshirt was gone and the chain mail had been smashed to tatters in front. "That doesn't look good, it would sure suck to be that guy..." He finally reached the nagi and reached out towards her. "The tail..." He stumbled and fell to his knees before he could touch her shoulder. "It was so fast... my chest... help..." His vision was going black, 'not good' he thought to himself, 'at this rate i will never remember...' He fell towards the nagi, looking up at her, ninjato and helmet clutched tightly in each hand. "...Please..."

While Grubeck was most promtly ripping a drow's neck to shreds, the dead body that had been launched at him, knocked the wolf over in the mud. Though he was sure he wasn't hurt (yet), Grubeck recovered his aggresive wolf stance, dirty and bloodied, to the attackers: Huge Dragonborn. Clad in metal armor; their sheer size easily overpowered him in his wolf form and would have towered over Grubeck anyway in his goblin form. All the adrenaline and animal instinct that ran through his blood ran cold with ice and he froze up in fear. There was not a whisper that escaped the wolf but a pure longing to run. Run far away and never look back. Now.

The trance luckily, didn't last long, and was broken by Orsai's bout of bravery; who jumped atop the armoured tower. It was enthralling to watch the man rip the helmet off the head with no regard for his life despite being flailed by a tail. Then a thought crossed his mind:
Wait...that's supposed to be me!
How could he forget, only minutes(?) into the battle? This is where he was supposed to make his legacy! If a couple of tall lizards were to kill him then that was his fate. It would have been a honourable death! Oh no. He was not going to go down without a fight. Whoever that young man was; Grubeck probably would have been squashed in only 10 seconds time if it weren't for him.

His body, now rajuvinated, moved on it's own, and he picked up the tribal staff that lay on the ground with his vicious teeth. Grubeck circled around behind the giants, wolf form too small to grab their attention, charms clancking against one another and jumped upon the back of an orc warrior into the air. His body had shifted back into it's normal green scarred form, sharp teeth still gripping the skulled staff and within the air he had reached into his bag with two hands, each picking out two firebombs.
"SUPRIZE!" He had shouted through the staff in his teeth, threw the urns amidst the air, arms crossing in a X, and a rekindled joy in his eyes. The firebombs floated in the air behind the two and right before Grubeck could see them explode or if they had even hit he crashed into the muddy ground with the grace of a drunken harpy. He scampered away, covered in mud, almost immediatly, in the wish and hopes that he, would not be the next body flung away by their massive hammers. Sure, he awaited death, but he preferred it if his head and body were in the same place where he died. Without a doubt that couldn't have killed them. There needed to be a plan...some order! He needed to use his magic, charge it to powerful proportions...without getting skewered by arrows, swords, flattened, or impaled in the middle of concentrating.

He fell back from the front lines in order to come up with a plan but an elven arrow penetrated his bare back. The pain was unbearable but it only served to hasten Grubeck's steps into a full fledged sprint back into the safety of the back of the army.

Now, deity's and goddesses, idols, whatever one wishes to call them, he was not one to believe. But if there was any such deity, goddess, idol, they had answered his prayers in the form of an harpy. As soon as he had asked for the firebombs; Grubeck widened his eyes in surprise and malevolence.
"Death from above..." He whispered and handed him the whole bag. If the black-winged harpy did what he said, it could possibly clear the front line for a short while, maybe a minute! That'd be enough time to charge his magic. A deathblow!

"Take it all and use it! Clear the front lines!" Grubeck had said with a pride for battle but bit down his teeth as the arrow was clenched in his back. "Pull it out...will you?" motioning to his back. The harpy had done it and Grubeck nodded trying his best to maintain a straight face that wasn't wrought from pain and failed miserably.
He stumbled into a group of wounded, dragging his staff wearily against the ground, and took a knee down onto the dirt. His eye caught a female Nagi healing Orsai, the brave one who wad first into the fray of juggernauts. He held his staff with two hands, horned skull pointed upwards, as a green light and two circles surrounded himself, slowly healing his wound. He had to look out for himself first. Afterall, what kind of death would bleeding out be?

Dova was floating above the battlefield at an altitude that allowed him to scan the whole of the field without being to high to be able to discern which side was which. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another harpy swooping at him and just barely ducked in time to avoid the other warriors spear thrust. Dova flipped gracefully through the air and pulled his crossbow out and fired, hitting the other harpy square in the eye and sending him plummeting to the field below. It was at that moment that Dova saw a ball of flame and noticed the two heavily armored lizardmen cutting a straight path through the West March forces, and the goblin who had thrown said flame.

I have to do something... He thought to himself and quickly formulated a plan in his head. Nodding to himself he shot off like an ballista bolt toward where the goblin was. The goblin seemed to be retreating further back into the enemy lines, and Dova was intent on catching him before he disappeared among the throng of other soldiers. But that wouldn't be a problem, Dova was but ten yards away from the goblin when an arrow took him in the back; but the goblin kept moving.


Dova swooped down and landed besides the goblin and spoke quickly. "I need some of those fire things you were throwing. I have a plan to at least distract the dragonborn long enough that the others can move in, maybe I'll even cripple them." Dova waited for the goblin to respond instead of simply reaching into the bag and grabbing them, it wouldn't due to make enemies within his own camp.

"Death from above..." The goblin whispered and then pressed the whole bag into Dova's waiting hands. This was just what Dova needed to maybe turn the tide of the battle. "Take it all and use it! Clear the front lines!" The goblin said, his voice full of emotion. The goblin pointed to his back and gritted his teeth, "Pull it out...will you?" Dova was glad to offer any help he could and grabbed the arrow at the exact point where it protruded from the skin. He pulled hard to make sure it came out in one try to spare the goblin as much pain as he could, but it obviously still hurt because the pain was written all over the goblins face.

Now that he was free to go he unfurled his wings and took to the sky, circling back around to the front where the juggernauts were still cutting a path. I only have one chance at this, He thought as he took a quick count of how many of the strange fire producing orbs were left, only 12, he would have to make each one count. Three for each juggernaut, that leaves six to use along the lines. He quickly did some math and decided on his plan. Swooping down low so there was no chance he could miss he first threw three of the bombs at the lizardman with an exposed head and then scooped up three more and threw them at the other lizardman, hopefully the fire would have an effect on them. Flying as fast as he could he dropped three more bombs on each side of the front in a line so that they would hit as much of the enemy force as possible.

Dova flapped his wings gently to stay aloft in one spot as he watched to see if his plan had had any effect on the sway of the battle.

Avery had been at the paladin's back for a good while now and was just about to have to fall back when she felt a prayer of recovery wash over her making her shudder a moment before hearing the paladin's words. They almost stunned her a moment, she hadn't seen many soldiers that believed Minerva after seeing a sight such as a battlefield, let alone one that actually spoke short prayers and well wishing as custom to those who believed. "Ah, Minerva's bless," she said curtly and lowly so the paladin probably didn't hear. She then focused on the battle at hand and looked up after noticing the front most line being pushed back, "........................................... Well that's pesky," she said losing her calm face once more as she looked up at the juggernauts, she shook the surprise off and looked around to see people already attempting to take the abominations down. Avery fought any small fry off that would come ahead of the juggernauts and when she wasn't fighting she was standing casually with arms crossed and wand in hand looking at the juggernauts.

Another solider came up and stopped to speak to her a moment, "You mustn't be stricken with fear mada--" before her could finish his sentence Avery shot him a cold glance.

"It is not fear that paralyzes me, unlike those fools charging in without any knowledge of their enemies weaknesses or strength I will take a minute to learn from their mistakes," she said and then like confirm what she had said a man cheered out having gotten on the Dragonborn's shoulder only to be swatted off less than a minute after, brave and valiant yes, but so stupid. Avery watched a minute more and then another, many people tried different things but not much seemed to work yet. She was pleasantly surprised when a harpy had the wits to drop fire bombs from above and hoped that when the smoke had cleared at least the helmet less dragonborn was at least blinded if not had his head torn up badly enough to die.

"Well doesn't seem like you can get much analyzing done through the smoke what would you suggest oh wise one?" the soldier asked in a snarky tone.

"I'd suggest you get some respect..... and to target the ankles first, even if they aren't clumsy like some would assume, these dragonborns' strengths are also their fatal flaws. Their bodies are large and heavy, their armor the same. However all armor has breaks in the ankles and with these proportions that's enough to get almost any weapon in the armor if blunt force blows aren't enough. Cutting at the ankle ruins their mobility and would make it much easier to handle them." Avery said, "Of course a blow to an exposed head is also a nice way to finish them." she said with a slight smirk as she crouched down and a tower of ice formed under her She held her wand in front of her and summoned her magic letting a single large icicle grow more and more as she waited for the smoke to clear, not only to get a good shot but to avoid wasting energy if the juggernaut was already dead or if any allies were flying in the smoke.

Urknekt was almost sleeping from the fallen harpy`s impact when someone shook him up and got him to his senses

Wha-

It was a riverfolk, their clearskins gave them away... god what had those elves done to them? they looked so ungoblin-like "Sir are you hurt" he cleaned himself and looked at the girl "Only my pride is damaged pup" he looked around and realized that a group had rallied around him, about 10 or so able bodied men and women tall and short ones "We are following you to clear those archers, sir" the goblin smiled his crooked grin and yelled "Allright listen up, our harpies and light armored troops are being pummeled by their lines, they seem to have an archer captain and banners to signal when to fire and who to fire, provided we break them we should gain a considerable advantage"

He looked at his group, he had 2 riverfolk goblins with light armor ideal for running, 4 humans 2 of them with a respectable deal of mail, two lizards, one with a good deal of armor that was rather big covered with scars this one was going to be undoubtedly useful. the other one had black scales and no armor but his hide he would go with the chasers, the remaining 2 were two snaketails a male and female both with not enough armor to put them on the main combat group.

"Allright listen up!" he shouted that phrase once again "The huge lizardman and the two humans with armor will come with me, loot a shield if you lack one we will storm the front line of the archers, these outcomes are possible we become the target of a whole unit and pray that the armor we've got is enough, or they stand in place and dont mind us and then we kill em all or they rout and their firing positions cleared" the humans with mail did not seem to like the options but the lizardman seemed to be up for it "Riverfolk girls, snaketails, lizard and humans left you will hopefully not be slowed down by enemy fire or armor like we will, you are to flank the archers and then engage when they are routing, attack if they should pin us or be the hammer to our anvil if they should stay"

Once that is done we can go for the mages "if you run into another one of our folk put them to good use and have them follow you" they all nodded and Urknekt felt the distinctive filling pride that a man who gets to boss others around can taste "Well then you stinky rats move!"

He looked around and grabbed a nearby shield about half his size, it was made of wood and it had a large crack after what he would guess was an axe blow, he looked to his assault team, two humans and a monstrous lizard "Charge!" he yelled as he rushed forward as fast as his short legs would take him

Tikitil was having a certain amount of trouble reaching allied lines. The reason for this was that a fairly annoyed looking Harpy twice her size was doing his damnedest to inform her of how dirt tasted. 

She was... Well, winning did not apply, since she had yet to even attack. But her small size allowed Tikitil to easily turn and change direction. On a good day, this would have shaken off her pursuer, and had worked on hunting monkeys and the occasional hungry eagle back home.

Except there were two issues here; First, this was in a clear, open aired plain, with forests being where she did not need to go. There no trees for her pursuer to run into, no vines to catch his wings. The second was that he was older and bigger than her, and had probably flown in armor before. Tikitil was quickly tiring. Every beat of her wings was beginning to burn, and the weight of her armor was dragging her down. The javelins banging her leg every time she turned, and there wasn't time to pluck one out and toss it. 

Her foe must have known this, for he was flying above her, forcing her down towards the ground with each thrust of his long hookscyth- A long pole tipped with a blade shaped like waves on the sea. A weapon made to fight from the air, like a lance held vertically, using the bearer's momentum to bludgeon or slice opponents to death. She'd seen one in the tavern of her village, mounted from the ancient barkeep's days as a soldier. Or someone's days as a soldier, anyways. Tikitil had secretly suspected he'd won it in a game of dice anyways. Good thing she hadn't borrowed it as she'd planned- It would have been far too heavy. Besides, one of the others would need it, if they went to war. Could need it. Unless they were all scrawny like her, in which case that would be bad. 

The hookscyth narrowly missed her left wing, and she screeched upwards. The ground was maybe twenty, twenty-five feet down. If she dropped now, perhaps she could land safely. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, there were many painful pointy things down there, which would hurt to land on. Like a nettle bush, only bigger and through your head. Nettles in the wings knocked all your feathers loose. Feathers? That was right, you can't fly without feathers...

The other Harpy, an armed male with wide wings of dull purple or blue, stabbed down again. His wings beat only to catch up when he fell too far behind, or to turn when leaning was not enough. Tikitil twisted around the strike, using the momentum to snap her wings back and draw a javelin in both hands.  

The other Harpy flapped sideways, preparing to dodge any missiles, but Tikitil had already opened her wings and turned while she fell, arcing towards where she knew the allied commanders were. He had a height advantage now, though, and his wings folded slightly as he dove. 

The large Harpy would overtake her in only seconds, Tikitil knew. Her flight was harder with the decidedly unaerodynamic spears in hand, and his hookscythe would tear her open like a turkey dinner this time. But she had one last plan, hinging on where they were and his own long weapon...

A whoosh of air, and a dark shaft stuck out of the male Harpy's arm. More whizzed past, a unit of archers drawing their bead. He flinched, but at this point yanking out of the dive would probably damage his wings. They began to expand, and in that moment of distraction Tikitil turned. She flapped once to slow herself down, and flung both spears in front of her. The first hit him at the neck, crushing his windpipe and jamming straight through, and the other hit his shoulder, shattering the joint and tearing off a chuck of muscle and flesh as it was ripped out from the force. She heard an agonized, gurgling scream, and in front of her the other Harpy's eyes widened in shock as she slammed her helmeted head against his. Stars erupted behind her eyes, pain she'd never experienced even on the worst hunts. 

Then they fell, slamming to earth. Tikitil was lucky. She came out on top for the painful, bone cracking impact. She left ground again, and rolled several times, able to do nothing but hold onto the impaled javelin and tuck her wings and legs in, hoping the weight of her enemy wouldn't suffocate her. 

Then she stopped, and to her horror was pinned underneath the dead Harpy. His jaw had been snapped horrendously by the fall and her helmet's beak, his face a ruined, bloody mess. Things she didn't care to imagine were splattered across her face, and the scent of blood and feathers was dizzying. Pain screamed up her wings, pinned beneath her- Too long, and they might break, and she would be doomed to be a land-walker. 

It began to sink in that she had undeniably killed this one, and it was not some animal. It was one of her own race; not identical, perhaps, but a Harpy nonetheless. He had no doubt hunted on the cliffs, seen the world, lived his short life, only to be killed chasing down a scout...

In her village, which had only seen war a few times, it was said that every crime was, if you looked hard enough, theft. Adultery the theft of a man's wife or a woman's husband, rape the theft of innocence and virginity, lying the theft of truth. To murder a is the greatest crime, the theft of life. And the forest's justice had a very clear view on what price had to be paid for the stealing of a life. Worse, though, was that it had been a Harpy like her. A thief of life might find herself only imprisoned or exiled for killing an elf or human in cold blood, but the mob would not forgive someone who murdered one of their kind. They would take her and tie her wings to her sides and then...

For the first time, Tikitil began to panic. Unable to move her arms, her nose likely broken, a gash torn up her thigh from where a lucky blow had landed, and several more across her back and arms. The stinging pain of cuts, the agony of her open wounds, the dull throb of bruises... That and her kill's weight made her mind whirl in a haze of terror. She began to kick out with her sharp talons, trying to dialodge the body. Bad move, as her first kick tore open his guts and the stench of half-digested food and shit made her gag. But she couldn't vomit. That would drive her insane, no doubt.  

"Let me out!" she choked, immediately spitting out something nasty. "Get it off of me!"

Perhaps someone shifted it, or her frantic kicking pushed the corpse away, but light struck Tikitil's eyes. Weakly struggling, the young Harpy crawled her from underneath the heavy corpse, covered in gore and other things besides. She tore her broken bird skull helmet off, revealing a face that was young and wide eyed, her short white, feathery hair matted with sweat. She forced her stomach to calm, hastily wiping away tears. 

Looking up, she saw two blurry figures, dressed in military finery. Were they commanders? She had to hope so. Tikitil moved towards them, first on the ground and crawling like a bat, then remembering herself and rising unsteadily. Her wings were bent back so that her hands were forward and the wing-joint back. She still held the second javelin, on which a fetid crust was drying, and she crossed it over her chest in a salute. "Tikitil Schritta," she hoarsely said, "Scout. Enemy archers are moving force in the forests to our line's... Left. Left." She swayed unsteadily and dug her talons into the loam. "Many numbers. Good at sneaking... Probably going to shoot back here, or maybe at the center lines," she added.