<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>Barth grinned as Ausan pondered aloud as to whether or not he could dress himself; he pulled on his wolfskin tunic and pants, both heavily stained by travel, and with a shake of his head he spotted the short-bladed machete he had left behind in his haste earlier. It wasn't often he found himself on the field without it, for despite his preference for the longsword he liked having the secondary weapon for close quarters. He would need to avoid making such mistakes in the future, lest they cost him his life.<br/><br/>He belted the machete on and replaced his boots as Ausan's final words to him echoed in his mind.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"My faith in you and in our friendship is everlasting, Ben,"</span>he whispered softly as he straightened up.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"I rely on you more than you could ever know." </span><br/><br/>He ran a hand over his beard, now noticeably neater, as he moved to the tent flaps. Ausan hated the thing- she never liked it on his face, and in their youth she had often quarreled with him whenever he allowed it to progress too far beyond a dark shadow concealing the skin of his jawline. But nowadays she took care of it for him, and though they did not speak of it, he knew why she did it.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #FFFF00">Guilt. The shadow is lighter than in the past, but still it is there. It hangs over both of us, undeniable and too vast to ever be fully left behind,</span></span>he thought as he paused at the flaps separating him from the world outside. But now was not the time to think on that. He needed a clear head for what was coming.<br/><br/>He shook himself and ducked through the opening in the canvas, making his way immediately to the Lebi camp after nodding briefly to Ausan. In private they were different, but there was business to attend to now. He fought to keep the limp from showing as he moved gingerly forward, taking great care to focus most of his weight on his left side. He did not wish to show weakness, not now. Not when he was determined to be heard, politics be damned. His father they saw as a toothless old tiger, and they were right, though such a description was rather generous by Barth's estimation. But Paetar Krinwulf's son would not be cowed. Not this time.<br/><br/><br/>After a short trek, he finally approached the meeting area in time to hear raised voices up ahead. Barth watched in silence as the Lord Knight Shalerin was berated by his father for having a dirty appearance, and also for participating in the scrimmage. Although he'd had encounters with both men, the contrast between the two was nothing if not jarring.<br/><br/>Once the elder Shalerin announced that the small battle was 'not their fight', Farie appeared to have had enough.<br/><br/><span style="color: #BF4040">"You would have me leave woman and children to die! Simply because they are not born to Lebidan? You are a coward father! I would rather be disowned from your name then wear your banner into battle if this is the way that you honour our family!"</span><br/><br/>A ringing silence followed the Lord Knight's pronouncement; Barth stepped forward, reaching the tall Lebi's side so as to fix the elder of the two men with a steady gaze. Behind Lucianus Shalerin, he could see the large tent that no doubt housed King Sahir; there were some other royals present as well, though Barth paid no heed to them for the time being.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"If you <span style="font-style: italic">do</span> wish to disown your son, he would be welcome to fight under my banner. It may be tattered and ragged, but his abilities would be appreciated for what they are. You speak to him as if he were a child- well this child has displayed uncommon skill in the face of a new enemy. It is men like him who will give us a fighting chance, Shalerin, and you would recognize that if you were not so busy worrying about appearances and bloodlines."<br/></span><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>Farie turned as he heard the voice behind him. He regarded Barth for a moment as he listened to the man's words. He heard the angry gasp from his father and Farie knew things were going to get fugly.<br/><br/>"How<span style="font-style: italic">dare</span>you interrupt what is none of your business,<span style="font-style: italic">Prince</span>" Lucianus sneered the last word as if it where something disgusting he was having to swallow. His eyes blazed with fury and indignation, disgust making his lips curl. Lucianus glared with open derision at Barth. It was evident the elder Shalerin thought as little as possible of him.<br/><br/>Farie was absolutely stunned by his father's words and the open hatred on the man's face. His eyes were wide with shock and outrage. Anger quickly darkened his features.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>There was movement behind the elder Shalerin as several men emerged from within the tent, but Barth's attention was focused on the Lord who had drawn his ire.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"None of my business?"</span>Barth felt his face grow hot, as the anger he had held in check for so long in regards to these Lords finally began bubbling to the surface. He moved closer, a muscle in his jaw tensing up as he glared.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"You say that defending our people was not your fight. A brave claim to make, since it was by the order of your King that the force protecting my people was a fraction of its former size! He wished to make a show of his new allies for the benefit of Lords like you, and if he had not made such a demand, lives could have been saved. We would not be burning the corpses of innocent people right now as I speak, had your foolish politics not taken precedence. And now, I hear that you feel no responsibility?"<br/></span><br/>He clenched his fist, for the first time no longer aware of the pain in his leg.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"This is enough to make me question the very nature of our alliance, Lucianus. It makes me question many things." </span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>Farie couldn't help the pain that crept into his eyes with every spoken word turning the anger he felt towards his father into full rage as every word that Barth spoke fell on deaf ears. Farie glared at the man he had once held in such high standing. Had even called a hero, in a voice as cold as ice he said so quietly his words were only heard by those closest to them,<span style="color: #BF4040">"I for one, will not remain here to stand for this. Those were people who did not deserve their fate father. Once you told me that on a battlefield all man are equal, is that not the case here? Or does our own stupidity get us all killed?"</span><br/><br/>"ENOUGH." Lucianus roared to his son, before Farie could keep speak. His angry gaze turned away from his son, but only for a moment, "your just like your mother, soft and ignorant," and with that he turned that fury to Barth, "Our<span style="font-style: italic">politics</span>as you call it is all that is keeping your people from starving, or being massacred. Remember who you're talking to, young Prince, for you need us. We on the other hand do not need<span style="font-style: italic">you</span>." He sneered derisively.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>Ever at his side, like a silent shadow Ausan walked with him up to the tent that would house this…<span style="font-style: italic">meeting</span>. Even the mere thought of it exhausted her mentally beyond measure, but she pushed that aside for now. Right now, her prince needed her and that was all that mattered. As luck would have it, they came upon a family dispute that was not worthy of anyone who claimed to be noble born. Even her father, the tough bastard that he was would have berated her in private at that age, if he would have done so at all once she had slain her first man.<br/><br/>Knowing that her place was to remain at Barth’s side and no more, she stood there in quiet silence, though when he spat out the word<span style="font-style: italic">Prince</span>, her arm was removed from the sling. When he commented on their people needing them her first clenched and by the time the last of the words left his lips her fist had flown and struck the old bastard right across the jaw.<br/><br/>“Be lucky that was my shield arm and not my sword arm,” she remarked from the now downed man. “Or else I doubt you would have the sense to even think right now,” she spat on the ground at his feet and glared up at the other Nobles who had gathered.<br/><br/>“By the right of my father’s blood and the might of my own blade I challenge any of you to fight me! If you wish to stand up for this poor soft bastard then do so! I have faced foe worthy of nightmares and there is not a man alive nor dead that I fear! By the might of Naiya! I accept any and all challenges to settle this matter here and now!”<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>Barth watched as Ausan moved forward like a blur, smoothly decking the Lord in the jaw, sending him sprawling out onto the hard ground. Before he could do more than make the wry observation that the Elder Shalerin's clothes were no longer quite so clean, Ausan had issued her challenge in a loud, ringing voice that traveled over the entire camp.<br/><br/>And then, there was motion.<br/><br/>Lebis in every direction drew their swords, their faces displaying outrage at the assault of one of their Kingdom's most prominent Lords. Lucianus rubbed at his jaw from the ground, but he said nothing as men from amongst their number moved forward with blades in hand. Without conscious thought Barth drew his short-bladed weapon from its sheath, even as behind them, from the Linden camp, men and women alike mimicked his action, prepared to stand with the Maiden. They were vastly outnumbered, but they advanced all the same as the tension in the air around them grew.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"This does not need to happen,"</span>he said as his eyes darted from person to person, analyzing their movements in preparation for an attack. He was going to try to diffuse the situation, but if needed he would not hesitate to use his machete.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"If the Tutar break through the battle lines, they will not care what nation anyone hails from. If we do not stand together, there will be no hope for man. There will be no banners left to fight for. There will be nothing left."</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>Cordian had stood by Farie's side throughout the whole exchange. His own anger and disappointing mounting with every word that Lucianus uttered. However, as his station prohibited him from interfering he remained silent and felt a small part of his own loyalty die, as he watched the way Farie's face darkened with rage. Saw the hurt and torment reflected in the eyes of a man he had known since adolescence. Cordian was Farie's oldest friend.<br/><br/>Farie was torn between the father he loved, the country he owed his loyalty to and the man whom he had stood with in battle. On this day Farie would stake all his loyalties and all his faith with another country against a common enemy that was greater then their two lands combined. Farie had seen and felt that enemy first hand, and in this he knew his father was dead wrong. Just as he was about to defy tradition, to defy his father and foresake all his loyalty he watched in startled bewilderment as Ausan instead struck his father across the jaw and sent him crashing into the ground. In one heartbeat the tide changed.<br/><br/>In a single moment Farie made his decision ignoring his father's hurt and bewildered look he turned his back on the man and faced Ausan and Barth,<span style="color: #BF4040">"I will not fight against you Prince Barth."</span>There was nothing in Farie's voice but respect. For in a short time he had come to respect the prince. He regarded Cordian who stood by his side. The older man nodded. Neither had drawn weapon, but it was clear they would not fight against those whom they had been allied for against the Tutar. He regarded those around him,<span style="color: #BF4040">"I will instead stand with you in the face of an enemy far greater then our own differences."</span><br/><br/>Farie glared back at his father who met his steely gaze with a promise of retribution for his son's betrayal, yet Farie did not care. For if it meant defying his own lineage in order to safe humankind, he'd rather live to see his fiancé Elisia again as a disowned lordling then to die in a fruitless self-righteous man's fight, for the pride of a father who had only insulted his own honour with his words. Farie was disgusted and angry, but not angry enough to destroy their chances of survival. His anger however, was at the father who lay in the dirt  behind him. In fact if it hadn't been so close to open warfare between their two countries he'd have congratulated Ausan for her action and words. He felt much as they did that the nobles needed to be taken down a peg or three. Including himself.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>The sword still hung at Ausan's hip, untouched and in her mind at that point it was unneeded. None of them, not a damn one of them would be worth her blade this day and she would sooner disarm one of those uptight bastards than to sully her own with their cowardly blood. Not once had she glanced back, but she felt the presence of her people and it suited in instilling her own resolve in the matter.<br/><br/>“My challenge still stands!” Her voice clear as day with complete confidence. “I have no fight with any of you! But, I am no longer going to stand by and allow for these insults!” Slowly, she looked each and every one of them in the eye , “So, I say again. Any and all who wish to challenge me, step forward now and let what may come put it all to rest!”<br/><br/>There was no going back for her on this one, injured arm be damned. She had faced foes more injured than this before and the Tutar never showed mercy. While a fight amongst one another would help nothing, neither would this continued insult and dishonor. If this were to work respect would have to be given and shown.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/>Several Lebis put their weapons away upon hearing Farie Shalerin's words- undoubtedly men of his retinue, who knew him and who had fought with him in the past. Still, many others continued to hold their blades at the ready; Barth nodded at the Lord Knight, grateful for his words.<span style="color: #FFFF00"> "Against the Tutar we will need men like you, of that I am certain."</span>As Ausan reinforced her challenge to the camp at large, Barth watched as a fat man with a curly beard and a jeweled circlet upon his brow emerged from the large tent.<br/><br/>"Put down your weapons at once!" cried King Sahir of Lebidan, and immediately all the Lebis who had not already done so sheathed their swords and stood at attention, though some still glowered at Ausan in silence.<br/><br/>"There exist differences between us, yes, this is true," the King continued loudly as he moved towards where Barth stood; Lucianus pushed himself back to his feet, grumbling angrily as Sahir passed him by without looking at him. "But that does not excuse some things. You are right, Prince Krinwulf, to be angry. I thinned the protection around your people, and I did not act swiftly enough in reinforcing it."<br/><br/>Barth watched him levelly, unable to keep the distrust from his features. Thorin Sgaran Sahir was a calculating man, and Barth knew better than to think he was merely there to apologize to him.<br/><br/>"Your fierce Maiden, your Lieutenant, she is also right- insults to your people will not be tolerated by me any longer. You will be shown respect befitting soldiers of your stature. Lord Shalerin spoke hastily, and out of turn," he glanced at Lucianus with a look of reproach, and the Lord's face reddened visibly, "when he said we do not have need of your people. We need you, you need us, and we must all stand together if we are to face the coming danger."<br/><br/>Barth slowly replaced his weapon at his side, and behind him he heard the others following suit. There would be no bloodshed, not today in the camp, but that wasn't enough. At the corner of his eye he caught sight of a bald head over a red beard, causing the usual pang of irritation he felt whenever he found himself in Borim Garth's presence. Idly, he wondered if Ausan saw him and if she was going to be punching anyone else before nightfall. He hoped not, since they were trying to keep tempers from flaring again and a second Lord being struck by Lindenian knuckles in such a short timeframe would only spell disaster.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Your words are certainly agreeable," </span>he replied calmly,<span style="color: #FFFF00">"but will you stand behind them? Will our voices be heard?"</span><br/><br/>Sahir nodded solemnly, meeting his stare without blinking. "Yes. You have more experience fighting these monsters than anyone, and as such, we must hearken to your wisdom. I hereby grant you, Prince Barth Krinwulf, strategic command of our Allied Forces. My Lord Knights shall answer to you in the coming battles, until further notice."<br/><br/>His words created an explosion; they were suddenly surrounded by sounds of outrage and disbelief that mingled and multiplied to deafening proportions. Borim Garth was shouting, his face as red as his beard, and Lucianus Shalerin was now standing with his mouth hanging open in complete shock. Beside him, a man who had to be Borim's father was swearing into his hands, his whole body shaking with suppressed fury.<br/><br/>While every Lebi Lord and half of the knights assembled quarreled, whispered angrily or stared, on the Linden side there was a pleased silence, with many a shared glance and more than several smirking faces.<br/><br/>"ENOUGH!" shouted the King, and finally a reluctant silence fell over the area. "My word is final."<br/><br/>With that he turned and walked back into the tent, leaving Barth standing where he was, just as surprised as anyone else.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Well now,"</span>he whispered softly. He would have said more, but his mind was curiously blank.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">TIME-SKIP (8 DAYS) </span></span></div><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>Heldrith'thn sat on the floor in front of the Black Throne, peering up at the fire in the bowl above his head, feeling the warmth spread through his ancient body. He inhaled softly, hearing heavy footsteps rapidly approaching.<br/><br/>"Roumjain! The<span style="font-style: italic">Grug'jinka</span>is in contemplation! He cannot be disturbed," said the acolyte, but it seemed that the angry Chieftain would not be deterred. "He cannot-"<br/><br/>The robed Tutar's words were cut off as he was knocked aside effortlessly by the hulking, blue-green skinned Tutar. He wore his battle garb, and the sound of metal striking the stone floor of the Temple grew louder as Heldrith'thn rose to meet him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"What is it?"</span></span><br/><br/>"You allow small force move out while we gather others- Roumjain understand this. But why can't Roumjain join with first force? Why Roumjain have to wait? Why all Chieftain wait? Want man-blood! Want crush dead-eyes and twist polished-steel! No want wait!"<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"The Flame commands it," </span></span>Heldrith'thn replied, unimpressed.<span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"I already told you once, when I told the others. The first force was already prepared for battle. They are smaller in number, but they are large enough to be enough to defeat the men all on their own. In the meantime we muster the second army, which will take a great deal of time." </span></span><br/><br/>He wasn't even sure if the brute was following along with his words or not, but he didn't care- he came to the Temple demanding answers, determined to have his way, and he was going to get one of those things.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #000000">"Fools like you would want to join the first force as you please, so that when a small group is ready, they would trickle out there and join the others, little by little. The Flame does not wish this, Roumjain. Our first army will push the men to the very ends of their power, if it doesn't obliterate them entirely, that is. And then, once ready, our second force will go out all at once, three times the size of the first and bolstered by the presence of every Chieftain. It will be unstoppable, Roumjain, and the shadow that falls in its wake shall last forever. For without light there is no shadow, and our light is the Flame." <br/></span></span><br/>Roumjain blinked several times, mercifully silent after the flood of information.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"Be gone, Roumjain. Now!" </span></span><br/><br/>He shouted the last word and the Tutar, at least 3 times his size, jumped and fled from in front of him, racing out of the Temple as if fearful of being burned- or worse.<br/><br/>Heldrith'thn took a deep breath, and moved back to the floor in front of the Black Throne.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #000000">"Soon. Soon the end comes for man." <br/></span></span><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Upper Regions</span></span><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-style: italic">The silver haired Circle God stood in silence, staring at the fountain's clear water as it rippled softly out from the center of the immense circular construct; it was a calming practice for him, something he did when he was particularly stressed. Completing the Circle was proving to be nothing short of an arduous task, one he was growing more and more weary of as time went on. <br/><br/>He heard the familiar sound of chain mail behind him and turned, already aware of who approached him. <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Malinar, I wasn't expecting you." </span><br/><br/>The God of Chaos and Destruction smiled as he walked into the garden, his reddish brown hair just barely touching his powerful shoulders. His tanned, leathery countenance was stretched in a grin as he drew closer.  <br/><br/>"Since when is Chaos predictable, my friend?" <br/><br/>Rolyn smiled, mirroring Malinar's expression. <span style="color: #00BFFF">"A fair point. To what do I owe the pleasure?" </span><br/><br/>Malinar shrugged, sitting down on the bench directly opposite the fountain, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I am just here to talk. What of the Circle?" <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"I've made little headway, I'm afraid. Galaia is reluctant to join, she prefers to stay out of it."<br/></span><br/>Malinar nodded sagely. "Yes, she prefers more room to spread out. Plus, joining us would confine her to the Upper Regions, a prospect she is not fond of in the least." <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Indeed. She prefers traipsing around with Kahz, and she does not envy us the rules that bind us. It is not a life she wishes for herself. For the time being, I believe Freiya will make an adequate addition." <br/></span><br/>Malinar nodded again. "Yes, she brings a valuable perspective. And it is not much of a Circle, with just two of us after all," he added with a grin. "As powerful as you may be, we need other bodies around that table."  <br/><br/>Rolyn moved closer and Malinar stood up, stretching slightly, looking lazy and content, although his eyes displayed the same keen sense of awareness they always did. From when he had been a Mortal General, that quality had never left him nor had it faded with time. <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"You speak highly of me and of my strength, but I know these things, Malinar. And I know you have surpassed my power, as I expected you would."  </span><br/><br/>Malinar shook his head, bowing slightly at the words. <br/><br/>"Dear Rolyn, knowledge is power, and that is one thing you will always possess more of. In that regard I do not come close- however, it wouldn't hurt you to learn the way of the blade, you know." <br/><br/>He drew his sword and extended it out, a gauntleted hand clutching the gleaming, razor-sharp steel. <br/><br/>Rolyn smiled, shaking his head at the weapon. <span style="color: #00BFFF">"Thrice now you have offered, Malinar, and my answer has not changed. I need no weapons, nor do I desire to use them." </span><br/><br/>"It is a knowledge you lack- one of the few things that you have no grasp of."<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Thank you, my friend, but I will pass."</span><br/><br/>He placed the weapon back at his side, looking somewhat disappointed but ultimately unsurprised. <br/><br/>"Very well, Rolyn, but don't say I never offered." </span></span><br/><br/><br/>"Lord Rolyn."<br/><br/>Rolyn jumped, realizing he was not alone in his home.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Yorinth. I did not hear you come in."</span><br/><br/>"Um, My Lord, I knocked several times. and I called for you as well."<br/><br/>Rolyn blinked with a rueful shake of his head as he rose from the mat. It was one of two mats in his dwelling, the one he sat on during periods of contemplation and reflection. There was another, somewhat thicker one for sleeping. Rolyn Skyhand did not spoil himself with material things- the home was one of the most modest ones to be found in the Upper Regions, and it was solely intended as a place of peace for the old God. Nothing more.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"My apologies, Yorinth. I was deep in thought." </span><br/><br/>The Elder God of Enduring nodded; Yorinth was one of few Elder Gods who wore plate mail, gleaming and resplendent, though mostly hidden beneath the midnight blue robes he wore at all times. He did not polish or maintain the metal- its appearance was simply a result of his dominion.<br/><br/>There were limits, of course, but for the most part Yorinth could preserve or restore almost anything he wished. Above all and regardless of his abilities, Rolyn placed a great deal of faith in the Elder God. He was a wise, eternally calm man who never strayed from his purpose, and he was also one of the God of Time's only open supporters in the Upper Regions.<br/><br/>Yorinth shook his head quickly, causing the long brown ponytail behind him to swing back and forth. "Not at all, My Lord. I would not have disturbed you, normally, but I came to inform you that I am taking my leave, for a time."<br/><br/>Rolyn frowned at him, puzzled.<span style="color: #00BFFF">"Oh? Might I ask what for?" </span><br/><br/>Yorinth shook his head again, this time rather sadly, as a pained expression appeared across his features. His thick eyebrows bunched up and his heavy jaw grew visibly tense as he stared regretfully at his Lord.<br/><br/>"No, My Lord. With respect, I cannot tell you. Fa-fare well," he finished and turned, his form moving quickly as he exited Rolyn's dwelling. The Circle God watched him join his lone Demigod, Lagaan, outside before departing with him, still moving rapidly, as if determined to get as far away from Rolyn as possible.<br/><br/>With a twitch of his pale blue robes, Rolyn finally turned away once the man was no longer visible, now smiling.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Yorinth, Lydia, Gaius and Akryanus. Only the last knows of my involvement, and she shall remain in the Upper Regions. The others leave of their own free will, and they are free to do whatever they can to aid whoever they might encounter." </span><br/><br/>Between the 3 of them there were 11 Demigods, bringing their total number to 14. Just 1 shy of being enough for him to invoke the Law of Protection, yet small enough that it did not constitute a full military force. It was the perfect plan, if only it didn't make him feel so… devious. He still needed one more, however.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"All for the best,"</span>he said softly to himself, even as he remembered the sword Malinar had once offered him. If the man found out what he was up to, he would likely offer it once again. Only this time, the blade would be facing the other direction.<br/><br/><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">-ENVIRONMENTAL POST-</span></span></div><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 112%; line-height: 116%;"><br/>The Tutari force that moved forth from the Ravine was large, larger than anything the soldiers of Linden had yet seen. The war between the demons and the dead-eyes was long and hard, but the Mortals had only ever fought bands and individual Chieftains- never a unified force. The beasts moved very slowly at the onset as their path was new to them; they had been ordered to cut straight north instead of eastward as they had in times past. <br/><br/>The Flame commanded it, and they would follow the Flame to the end. Savage grunts, snarls of exertion could be heard echoing down into the cavernous depths of the Ravine as they picked their way forward, finally emerging from the choked, black lands of their birth, walking upon dried grass and dead weeds as they waited for the remnant of their people who had yet to complete the climb. <br/><br/>Ahead of them they could see trees and green grass, and far beyond where the grass began, not yet visible, they knew the humans waited. The Tutar licked their lips, tongues running over razor-sharp fangs and tusks as they envisioned the slaughter that was coming. <br/><br/>Patience was something they did not have much of, but they needed it now. For a change they were not moving in small groups, instead they now moved in ranks and rows, an army of terror, a sea of black steel that would not abate until it tasted the blood of the men they hated so much. <br/><br/>On every one of their backs there were scars, brands given to them at birth, reminding them of their ancestors' oppression at the hands of the humans. The hatred had burned in their hearts their whole lives, and the thirst for killing was ever at the back of their minds, waiting to finally be satiated. Soon, their most primal needs would finally be met. <br/><br/>The remainder of their number emerged from the foul pit that was their homeland, and they began moving once more. They moved with some semblance of order, not much by the standards of men but still a far cry from the Tutar remembered by those from Linden. Once their enemies came into view they would charge with all the ferocity of their race, of course, but for now they moved with a calm, relentless purpose. A long walk remained ahead of them, but they were close to the slaughter they had spent their whole lives waiting for. <br/><br/>They were close.  </span><br/><br/><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>Barth's first command was that their camps be moved westward and north- when the Lebi Lords questioned the reasoning behind such an order, he explained that the Tutar would be able to bypass their camps entirely and attack the city directly if they remained where they were. There was no guarantee of where the attack would come from- in the past it was ever eastward, from the black mountains that stood between the Ravine and the Scorched Plains, but there was no way of knowing if such a trend would continue without stretching their troops too thin.<br/><br/>When the Lebi Lords argued that by moving north so they would be surrendering valuable ground to the Tutar, Barth explained to them that by remaining in the more open southern reaches of Lebidan's countryside they ran the real risk of getting wedged into a war on two fronts. Better to surrender some land and fight facing one direction, where inferior numbers wouldn't hurt them quite so much. The Lords and their Knights relented, and the camps were moved.<br/><br/>He had beaten down the complaints and the arguments with his logic twice before, but this time Barth was doubting his ability to bring the others around to his thinking.<br/><br/>"You want us to<span style="font-style: italic">what</span>, now?" asked Lord Knight Resuran, as he blinked down at the shovel Barth held out for him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"I want you to dig. Trenches,"</span>he said, as the tall Knight with the braided mustache (Rune's Mercy, he still hasn't trimmed it) reluctantly took it from him. Next to him, Borim Garth made a loud snorting sound and stared at Barth as if he were mad.<br/><br/>"Jahal, why are you humoring him? This is madness! We are Lord Knights! We are honorable soldiers, decorated warriors! We are not gardeners!"<br/><br/>Barth sighed and rubbed his eyes. The other Knights were also staring at him with similar looks on their faces. One Knight, a son of Lord Brigham based on the crest adorning his armor with its three sets of feather wings surrounding a shield, was staring dubiously around at the others. He was the eldest son by Barth's reckoning, a tall man with blond hair whose armor was positively blinding in the sunlight. Behind him another pair of Knights openly rolled their eyes at the insanity of the Linden Prince.<br/><br/>Overall, Barth was wholly unsurprised by the reception garnered by his order, but he was going to try to explain as he had before.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"The Tutar wear crude armor, and many wear little at all. They are able to do this, because they rely on their savage attacks as both their offense and their defense. They thrive on momentum and force. If they came charging up here at us right now, without being forced to slow down, bad things would happen." <br/></span><br/>He began pacing back and forth in front of them, praying that they were paying heed to his words because he was far too tired and agitated to allow for repeating himself.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"They don't use horses, firstly, because they are too big to ride anything, and secondly, because they don't <span style="font-style: italic">need</span> them. They can run with incredible speed that belies their size, and if you don't believe me ask any of your countrymen who have faced the things. Trenches will save lives. Trenches will force them to slow down and climb, and might even help tire them out a bit more than a leisurely run down a straight path. Trenches will give our archers more time to thin their ranks, and trenches will make it harder for them to communicate and coordinate during their charges." <br/></span><br/>Some of the Knights were nodding now, but he could see doubt remaining on some of their faces.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Most importantly, it will slow their momentum." <br/></span><br/>"Aye, and why do you need<span style="font-style: italic">us</span>, then?" questioned Lord Knight Garth, ever the spokesperson whenever there was disagreement to be had. "There are plenty of men, and women too, from your camp, capable of putting shovel to dirt. Why bother the Lord Knights with this menial work?"<br/><br/>Barth gestured out to the countryside below them; their camp was at the top of a very gentle slope, with trees on either side and green grass for as far as the eye could see.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"First, we need a <span style="font-style: italic">lot</span> of trenches, Lord Knight. Second, the others will work harder from seeing men of your standing taking on such labors alongside them. And lastly, you will do it because I ordered it. Every single soldier will be digging trenches, taking it in shifts if necessary. Breaks will be arranged, if you fear your endurance is not up to par, Garth."</span><br/><br/>His voice had taken on a new tone now, tinged with irritation, and Borim finally appeared to slump down slightly, seeing no way out of the work ahead of him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"The exceptions are new recruits, their trainers, and the scouts. And even they will likely take turns digging. If there is a single Knight without a shovel in his hand and sweat on his brow when Ausan comes around later, the Tutar will be the least of your concerns. The shovels are waiting yonder," </span>he added as he jerked his thumb over one of his shoulders to the tremendous stack of tools that had been collected from the city north and from the camps.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Get to work. Not only are all the Knights going to be digging, but they will be the <span style="font-style: italic">first</span> to dig. It will be good for morale. I have already marked the digging spots, obviously you'll start with those furthest, and work your way back." </span><br/><br/>He moved away, listening to a few grumbles as they all moved towards the shovels; he knew they wouldn't be happy about it, but all that mattered was that they did it. His own people would share in the labor of course, and he himself would take a turn later once he had ensured that preparations were taking their proper course.<br/><br/>He was nearly back at camp when he caught sight of a familiar face; he frowned, recognizing the gaunt visage of his father, whom he had successfully avoided for much of the previous week. He still wore the tarnished silver sword at his side, desperate as he was to hold onto whatever relics of the past still belonged to him. The sight left a sour taste in his son's mouth.<br/><br/>"Ah, young Barth! Good to see you, my son."<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"What do you want,"</span>he said flatly and without inflection, more of a statement than a question.<br/><br/>"Son, there's no need for animosity," Paetar Krinwulf chided with a grin on his face that Barth saw right through. It was as fake as the jewels in the crown he'd been forced to leave behind when the Tutar drove them from their home. He recalled that the king had to be dragged away, lest he go back for it and die in the attempt. Barth wouldn't have minded, personally.<br/><br/>"I am just so proud. You have these Lord Knights doing as you say! You are giving them orders, and they are obeying. This is our way in, young Barth! I could leverage this-"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"You will leverage nothing, you old fool,"</span>Barth said roughly, cutting him off.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"You put your own interests ahead of an entire Kingdom of people already, and we know how that turned out. I will be dead before I see you in a position of power again." </span><br/><br/>"Wh-what? Barth, you can't be ser-"<br/><br/>Barth seized him by the scruff of his neck and drew him so close their faces were barely an inch apart.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"You sent me away to die, long ago,"</span>Barth whispered, his voice soft and dangerous, carrying on it every ounce of the fury he held in his heart towards the father who only ever loved power and wealth, though not with enough intelligence to hold onto either of them.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"You never cared about our people, or me- everyone around you was just another pawn, something to be used for your own maneuverings. Well those days are long gone, father." </span><br/><br/>He let go of the man and walked away, entering the camp at long last, noting that the pain in his right leg, while much better than before, still pulsated on occasion as if to remind him it was still there. It was shaping up to be yet another long day.