<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>Barth stretched, glad to be shirtless for the moment (he knew Ausan envied him this) as the cool mountain air touched the damp skin of his torso. He stared down at the scars marring his chest, standing out more for the lack of hair wherever they adorned his flesh, and he wondered how many more would soon be joining them. After his brief moment of contemplation he resumed his work, mindful of the time passing him by.<br/><br/>As one dug deeper, the ground grew harder and became littered with rock fragments- Barth was starting to feel a tightness in his back, but he ignored it as he continued to work his way down into the earth. As he continued digging with robotic, instinctive movements, from time to time he would hear whispers around him and he would notice pointing gestures coming from amongst the soldiers; mostly, they came from the Lebis. They did not understand why the Commander of their forces would be sweating in a trench with dirt all over his face and dust caking his beard as he toiled just like the rest of them. The Lindenians, on the other hand, were not surprised by the sight- Barth led by example, and he did not give orders that he himself would hesitate to follow.<br/><br/>He grunted, driving the shovel forcefully into the dirt and hefting the loosened soil into the large crate waiting to his left, which, when full, would be pulled up via ropes to the ground above his head. From there it would be carted off in wheelbarrows to the furthermost trenches, to be utilized in the final phase of their preparations. There were thirty trenches in total, with roughly half of them, the furthest away, bordered on each side by heaps of dirt and sand, as well as countless barrels of water from the streams flowing down from the eastward mountains.<br/><br/>Men stood with rakes and more shovels, mixing components together, even as additional barrels of dirt made their way down the gentle slope from the trench that was still being worked on. Each trench was roughly 10-12 feet deep, and at least 5 across- more of them could have been dug, but quality was more important than quantity. Additionally, they stretched quite a ways to either side, which explained why there were only 30 after the entire encampment had been at work for so long. A Tutar would have little issue with hurdling a shallow trench, or with climbing out of one without even needing to slow down. The whole purpose was to buy time for the defenders, to allow for more arrows to be fired and for more time to coordinate the counterattack.<br/><br/>The second half of the trenches were fitted over the top with planks (along with a little surprise underneath)- everyone walking over them was instructed to keep to the sides, as the center portions of the boards were not nearly as sturdy. There was the occasional fall as wheelbarrows were caught in knots or cracks in the wood, but for the most part the laborers had little difficulty navigating over the covered trenches.<br/><br/>Barth wasn't alone in the trench; it was likely going to be the last one, though if time permitted they would aim to dig a few more- on the other side he saw a group of females hard at work, one of them looking particularly weary with a red face that was almost entirely concealed by dirt. Some Knights were laboring nearby as well, silent save for the grunts of exertion as they worked with the vigor of men who knew they would soon be able to stop for the day. Lebis and Lindenians, working alongside each other, too tired and too focused to worry about their differences- perhaps shoveling dirt was the key to unity after all. The thought brought a grim smile to Barth's lips, just as the sound of heavy footsteps overhead reached his ears.<br/><br/>"My Prince!"<br/><br/>He looked up and caught sight of an enormous, dark-skinned man garbed in dull iron armor; Haman looked even taller than usual (which was saying a great deal) given the much lower elevation at which Barth stood, deep within the trench.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"What is it?"</span><br/><br/>"You must come up, the scouts have returned! It is urgent!"<br/><br/>Barth immediately seized one of the ropes dangling nearby and hoisted himself up, grunting as he pulled himself over the edge and onto the ground near the giant soldier. The scout was also there; she was a Sister, a slim woman with a silvery helm slightly too large for her that she'd worn ever since the death of the original owner, her older brother. She was deadly with the short bow, and was known for using it at very close distances as well as in long-range situations.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Ayala. What news?" </span><br/><br/>"The Tutar, My Prince. They come. From the northern reaches of the Ravine, as you predicted."<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"How long?" </span><br/><br/>"A few hours at the most. They will be here before nightfall."<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"How many?"</span><br/><br/>"…"<br/><br/>Barth blinked and moved closer, wiping his brow with the back of a hand that came away covered in sweat and dirt. The woman's hesitation was unnerving; she had seen many a horrific thing in her time on the field, and it was unlike her to display such uncertainty.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"How many, Ayala?"</span><br/><br/>"Many thousands, My Prince. I would say it is nearly twice the size of the force that sacked Linden and stormed Castle Krinwulf."<br/><br/>Barth felt his mouth go dry. The news was beyond his worst fears, and it lent credence to the doubts that had been nagging him for so long. Still, he fought to maintain his composure in front of those watching.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Are you sure?"</span><br/><br/>"I… I've never seen anything like it."<br/><br/>He nodded, and turned to Haman so that that his heavyset officer could order those working the trenches to begin the final preparations. The final trench, the one he had just been down in, was covered like the others but not before being filled with sharpened stakes that were hammered into the earth so as to stand straight up, waiting for the weight of their savage foes to fall upon them. The stakes were present in each of the covered trenches, while the uncovered pits further out were given a different treatment.<br/><br/>Sparse amounts of dirt were scattered over the planks covering the trenches that were closer, and the water that had been collected was mixed into the dirt and sand before being poured into the other half. The visible trenches, packed with the thick muddy mixture at the bottom, would greatly slow the enemy down while the planks would allow for the defenders to engage their foes while still being able to pull back beyond the safety of the next series of pits. The Mortals, lighter and smaller of stature, would stay to the sides and thus would not break through. The same could not be said for the Tutar.<br/><br/>Seeing things being appropriately set into motion, Barth turned and moved back to the camp so that he, like the rest of them, could don his armor and prepare for what was coming.<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/>As the Allied Camp armed itself, weapons prepared and chest plates secured into place, the Tutar's march reached its final stretch. The Lindenian scout was correct; there were many thousands of them, more than Prince Barth had ever faced before. Linden was now aligned with Lebidan, but even together the two nations were outnumbered by the forest of crude, black metal marching north from the Ravine. They moved in ranks, something unheard of for such creatures, and while there was still a lack of order by typical army standards, they still maintained some semblance of structure in the rows and columns that stretched out, seemingly without end. <br/><br/>These particular Tutar had been given specific orders- they knew their strength was in outlasting their fragile foes, pushing them to the limits of what a Mortal body could endure. They would overwhelm and tire, until sword arms could no longer be raised in defense. They would force the men onto their last legs, and then they would show them no mercy. Mouths filled with pointed fangs grinned, tusks twitched eagerly and clawed hands flexed impulsively as they finally caught the smell they had been waiting for. The flesh of man. The trenches were less than a mile away now, and they could see the telltale glints of sunlight off of polished armor- the enormous force, somewhat ordered in its composition, finally broke rank as they began their charge. <br/><br/>It was a river of death, rushing forward. <br/><br/>Savage screams and howls that mingled and merged into one, deafening roar. <br/><br/>Jagged swords and spears, moving as if with lives of their own, became nothing more than blurred, pointed objects as their owners swung and hefted them with reckless abandon. <br/><br/>Some of them fell, and were trampled to death by their fellows, but those losses were of no concern.<br/><br/>They were many, and they were strong. <br/><br/>They were there for one purpose and one purpose alone. <br/><br/><br/><br/>To destroy. </span><br/><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>They watched with a shared sense of numb anticipation as the Tutari horde drew closer; they were even larger than the Prince remembered, towering, crudely armored shapes exceeding 8 feet in height that many of the soldiers around him had never seen before. He could hear mumbled curses and gasps of shock as the distance between the two forces lessened with alarming rapidity and the figures grew more distinct.<br/><br/>Finally, when the beasts were within a half-mile of the trenches, Barth gave the command. He waited as long as he did to avoid wasting arrows, but there was no sense in sending volley after volley when in some cases it would take several to bring just one of the demons down.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"FIRE AT WILL!" </span><br/><br/>Archers from both nations stood between the covered pits in orderly lines- the air was suddenly filled with the twangs of their bows as arrows sped from strings to plunge into the approaching torrent of black steel. Bodies fell, bestial roars of pain filled the air, but they were drowned out by the sounds of bloodthirsty snarls and murderous howls as every Tutar that went down disappeared under the heavy feet of two more of its comrades.<br/><br/>The attackers reached the first of the trenches and fell in without slowing down; the mud at the bottom, combined with their massive weight, made climbing back out an arduous task for them. Their growls of frustration added to the general din, even as their comrades began attempting to climb right over them only to stumble and trip over the flailing limbs of their fellows. The archers took the opportunity to continue peppering them with arrows, filling the first of the elongated pits with carcasses even as more of the monsters began running over the bodies of their fallen, treating them like a bridge of corpses that provided passage across the gap.<br/><br/>The archers continued to fire, the Tutar continued to die in the trenches until their fellows could cross over them, and the cycle repeated itself for so long that Barth was beginning to believe his eyes were deceiving him when he looked out to see a still massive army on their doorstep. They had slowed down the assault, had killed the momentum of the attack, and they'd made a dent in their foes' numbers without suffering a single casualty, but there were just<span style="font-style: italic">so many</span>of them. He was beginning to wonder how many arrows they even had left when he saw the enemy reach the final uncovered trench, now dangerously close to the ranks of bowmen.<br/><br/>Spears were now falling among them, and more than one archer fell back with wooden shafts impaling their torsos. Although the Tutar carried spears, they also carried an ingrained reluctance for ranged combat. Their bloodthirsty nature gave them a preference for close quarters, where they could more personally slaughter their enemies.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"ARCHERS, ONE FINAL VOLLEY THEN FALL BACK!" </span>he roared even as Haman repeated the command in an even louder voice beside him.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"KEEP TO THE SIDES!" </span><br/><br/>The reminder wasn't necessary- they remembered to avoid the center of the dirt-covered boards as they retreated, making room for the next level of defense. He caught sight of Verana among them, shooting into the trench even as she fell back towards where the foot soldiers waited. She had volunteered to stand with the bowmen, which did not surprise Barth in the slightest and he'd seen no need to deny her the chance. With the way he'd designed the covered trenches there was no way horses could be used here- at least not yet, but the time would come for that later. For now, the soldiers on foot would need to hold their ground against the tide.<br/><br/>There was a legion of them, men and women armed with sword and shield, waiting with stoney faces for what was coming. They hid their nerves well, and if not for the sake of those around them, they did it to demonstrate the strength of mankind in the face of the horned, fanged and clawed river of death that inevitably flowed towards them. The archers, formerly at the front, moved to the rear of the front-line troops, taking the backseat for the moment from where they could fire sparingly and only when clean shots presented themselves.<br/><br/>Behind them, with their horses stamping their feet nervously, the cavalry regiment waited, intermingled with more foot soldiers and archers that would come into play once the fighting progressed further into their own territory. Along with a considerable portion of Linden's infantry, the Lebi Knights were mostly situated back there, though some were mingled in with the front line troops. For some it was by choice, as they wished to prove their valor or provide inspiration for the men fighting under the same banners as they. For some others, mainly those of a lower standing, they did it because they'd been ordered to do so by their Commanding Lord Knights.<br/><br/>Although Barth was supposed to be organizing the defense and as such was situated just ahead of the mounted fighters, he still felt the instinctive urge to reach over his shoulder for the hilt of his longsword, even as the Tutar began climbing out of the last of the muddy trenches, fighting over the corpses of their fellows. A spear shot out towards him but imbedded itself into the ground at his feet- he spared it only the briefest of glances before gesturing to the legion of foot soldiers.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"SWORDS FORWARD!" </span>Barth screamed, feeling his voice becoming somewhat hoarse. The second half of the trenches were much further apart than the others, to ensure that there was room for maneuvering without the risk of falling into one of the covered traps along with the opposition. The defenders that rushed forward kept to two columns as they crossed over the pits, then fanned out as they reached the solid ground beyond. Barth could see no fear in them, in spite of the massive flood of enemies that continued to pour forward, trampling the bodies of their fallen. Lindenians, Lebis, foot soldiers, Sisters, Knights… the battle-frenzy was upon them all.<br/><br/>This… this was war as he knew it.