Open Chronicles Sands of Glory

[Joane Steelheart]

Amol-Kalit

Joane wasn't even sure of the name of this town. It was one of the countless towns like it, ruled by its own small-king, managing its own affairs, and trying to ally itself with the most powerful of the seven cities. She wasn't sure which one of those was the most powerful either.

But here, in this desert, conflicts were as easy to find as grains of sand. It was why she had brought the Steelheart Company here and contracted for the season to patrol the marches. Nobody was sure if another war was going to break out or if raiders would come to loot the caravans that had to stop at the oasis.

She hoped that they would both occur and if her own actions could push things a little further without sacrificing her company or reputation, Joane saw no reason to be unhappy. War meant opportunities, especially for her. Ransom was a good way of making money. Looting and sacking as well.

All would help achieve her goals, but first, she needed some more recruits. Then they needed a war. Even a small one, perhaps. Enough to show their quality and contract with one of the major cities.

So for now, as she sat in the shade of her tent on just outside the walls, she waited. Messengers and heralds had been sent into the town and the other nearby towns to invite all who wished for gold and glory to join their company. As their ranks swelled, they would use the time to train the growing forces in the squares of pikes and crossbowmen. Get them integrated into the rest of the company and begin to give them a sense of disciplined unity. She had recruited the best veterans and sergeants that she could find. They would whip the recruits into shape. At least, the raw ones.

Those with experience and skill of their own, she intended to organize in their own loose group. Scouts, spies, infiltrators. Adventurers were the word she had heard before and if she had any, she would put them to good use. They needed a lay of the land and eyes in all the nearby towns. Garrison strengths and who had significant forces within three day's march of the city. Water sources all needed to be mapped out. Others had to scout the larger cities to see who might be open to a new company or might be the biggest threat. Treasures were said to be hidden in this desert and if she could acquire some for the company treasury, she would see that it was done, and richly reward those who found it.

When, not if, a war broke out, the Steelheart Company would be prepared, ready, and quick to strike first. The thought sent a tingle of exhilaration down her back and her fingers tapped against the hilt of her sword. They would be arriving soon. She knew it. Meanwhile, the soldiers she already had were drilling in the full pike formation. Partially for practice, but mostly to impress the locals. Showcase their professionalism and gallantry so that more would join.

The beat of their cadenced steps echoed softly on the sand and Joane could feel the rhythm of their movement rippling beneath her feet as the massed square advanced, changed directions, deployed, and repeated, throwing a cloud of dust into the air.

 

[Rob Yew]

He rode in on a great white charger, sand flying out from underhoof. His hair shone in the sun and streamed behind him like a banner of beaten gold. A white surcoat charged with some red winged beast and stained by the dust of the road lay over his coat of maille. He drew rein before Joane Steelheart and vaulted from the saddle, boots crunching sand and arming sword bouncing on his hip.

The Vel Anirian drew up to his full height, bearded features haughty and fixed her with eyes of a deep blue that didst fairly crackle with energy.

“Are you the commander?” He asked of her, voice deep and full as a dwarven ale cask.

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Joane stood to her feet as the warhorse thundered towards them. Her hand drifted to her side automatically and a few squads of soldiers drifted closer, pikes half lowered, while the crossbowmen on the walls, followed carefully. She stood as the rider came to a halt and jumped from his horse. Sand flew up into the air from the sudden stop and the large man landing on the sword.

He was tall and knew how to ride. Of course, whether he knew how to fight was a different matter entirely. But she recognized the accent, Vel Anir. So more than likely, he did know how to fight indeed.

Joane stepped forward. "I am indeed. Lady Joane Steelheart, formerly of Vel Anir. And you are? I make the assumption that you have come to join the company, yes?"

Her voice was confident, calm, and even, with her legs set confidently and her chin raised.

Thronebreaker

 

[Rob Yew]

At once, a grin broke out across his face like sunlight through storm clouds and he let out a hearty laugh.

“A countryman! Truly where there are arms there’s Anirians. Well met, Lady Steelheart. You assume rightly. I am Godfrey Urahil, come to lend my sword and see us win gold and glory. Will you accept?”

A flash of worry darted across his brow, as if the answer might be in question.

If he noticed the array of pikes ready to knit him into human yarn, he paid them little heed.

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Thronebreaker

Joane gave a small hand signal to those who watched the newcomer, just a flicker of her fingers on the hilt of her sword, but the sentries returned to their posts and kept their eyes to the horizons. Joane merely nodded as the man spoke.

"Indeed!" She stepped forward and held out her hand. "I shall accept your sword and your service. May the glory of Vel Anir be sung through our blades."

Stepping away from her tent, she gestured for the man to follow her to a larger tent that sat not far away. "The quartermaster does his business from here. He will equip you with the company colors and any equipment that you lack." Her steps slowed as she approached the tent. A burly dwarf stood there checking things off on a list.

"You seem to ride well," Joane continued. "Are you trained for mounted combat? If so, you shall be a member of our cavalry company."

"Greetings, Captain!" The Dwarf's voice boomed across the sand as they approached. "I see we have a new recruit. What will he be needing?"

 

[Faelin K'Abveirin]

Long strides would carry him over the rolling dunes. With the sun high on the sky, it was the hottest atmosphere in this hour. Not overly pleasant, but he grew used to it in the past few weeks that he spent in the regional towns and villages. But alas his purse was only growing thinner, and idle mingling would not change that situation one bit. Despite preferring the idea of hiding in some cave underground.

Shining tents would brightly glimmer in the sunlight as pearls on a wealthy woman's neck. That's it, that must be Joane Steelheart's turf, he thought to himself. There were many rows of men drilling. He could hear them from quite the distance before even seeing their imposing weaponry. Impressive how well they were kept in line. Faelin K'Abeirin was quite intrigued, for he almost expected to see something that seemed more like an unkept brigand belonging to an inexperienced hopeful.

Putting his hat back to where it belonged, he rose his pace and took the lead from his horse. Almost gliding to the table before stopping quite a distance from it. For now, he would only listen and occasionally glance at them while shielding his gaze from the sun with his hat. He was a patient person and not willing to barge into Joane Steelheart's conversation with Godfrey Urahil and the Quartermaster.

 

[Rob Yew]

Godfrey clasped her hand with a grip like a jovial court bear unaware of his own strength.

"A deal well struck! I am an Urahil. My father put me on a horse almost afore I'd learned to walk," he laughed again, the sound like a warm summer storm. "I oft competed in the list. Of all the knights I faced in the tourneys, only two can claim to have unhorsed me. Zounds, I felt those blows for weeks."

Those crackling blue eyes turned now to the dwarf. "Only lances, though I say victuals would be more welcome at the moment, ha! I've not had a proper meal in days."

Joane Steelheart Faelin K'Abveirin

 

[Scabhair]

Dusk was starting to fall by the time the camp of the Steelheart Company appeared in the distance. Scabhair stopped atop the cresting dune and raised one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The great fireball hung low above the horizon, casting long shadows from the palisades and watchtowers of the encampment. Men patrolled in the distance like ornery ants, pikes reduced to blades of grass dancing in unison to a nonexistent gale.

Ordinarily there would be a cloud of dust in her wake, courtesy of Inodeirr and her great heavy paws. But not this eve, and not here. Her mount would have scared the horses, to say nothing of the men.

And besides, the beast needed her peace. Had the soul of an Orc, that one – a better one than Scabhair ever would, herself – and so she would hunt for the night. Plenty of game out there that no human dared tackle.

The warrior sighed and uncapped her canteen for a quick sip of water. She didn’t travel by day in climates these hot, but settlements were few and far inbetween in Amol-Kalit. Needs must, sometimes.

She finished the approach on foot, light saddle slung over one shoulder, quiver swaying at her hip. The one thing this heat was good for – her bow. The first time she’d been over the Spine, Scabhair had nearly panicked when the hoof glue holding the horn and sinew together had begun to loosen in the humid jungles.

Since then it was only self-bows for jobs that warranted a jaunt over the mountains, unwieldy as they were. But here? The air was so dry it could catch fire all on its own. And if a war took too long to break out, she might well busy herself making another one. At fifteen years, her old composite was starting to lose its snappy spring.

Oh, well.

Age takes us all.

Some sooner than later, if Scabhair would have any say about it. She tilted her head back for a nod to the sentries, hands free of any ill intent, and walked inside to greet her next employer.

Joane Steelheart Faelin K'Abveirin Thronebreaker

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Faelin K'Abveirin Thronebreaker Scabhair

Joane nodded as the other man spoke, assessing his value and usability to the company before reaching some inner decision. "Excellent. You shall be a worthy addition to our band. Good lancers can be hard to come by in lands such as these."


The Dwarf nodded, thick arms crossed over his beard. "Rations, certainly. Those can be provided, although the cooks will not be ready for the meal until after midday.Yet there should be some bread set aside for the far-riders that you could take for the day. As for lances, well, I'll give you one to start with. Don't break it, mind ye, or I'll break ye to replace it." Though somber, there was a hint of good-nature in his gruff voice.

Meanwhile, an elf of some sort had appeared, and seemed to be lingering on the outskirts of the conversation. Joane fixed him with a piercing gaze for several moments before stepping forward. "What brings you to the camp? You don't look like much of a fighter." Her eyes ran critically up and down his frame before she shrugged. "If not, we can make you one in time."

The sentries that greeted the orc would give a quick assessment before jerking thumb towards the center of camp. "Recruits to the captain. Head to the big tent and you'll find her."

These soldiers were veterans that Joane had served alongside and they knew their work. As the orc passed them by, they returned to their posts and beating their bounds.

 

[Faelin K'Abveirin]

Thankfully the sun was low on the sky, giving his eyes a much-needed rest. He would slowly sigh, closing his eyes before stretching a little. The moment his eyes opened again, he would notice a new figure approach, similar to many figures he encountered before, but slightly different, slightly familiar: A thinly she-orc, Scabhair. (In truth, Faelin had a hard time discerning members of non-elven race lineages)
Subtly he would be filled with lingering dread, but it was hard to notice on him. He'd seen enough of them on his long trip across the continent that he had a fair deal of unpleasant encounters. Faelin would gaze at her and nod his head as a subtle greeting before looking away from her, only to notice the gaze of Joane Steelheart pointed directly at him. His facade, however; remained unwavering.
...
»On the frontlines no, but If my agility had not served me well, I would have perished by the time I reached the Blightlands,« he spoke to Joane as he bowed deeply in greeting, taking off his hat and waving it to the side.
As he rose he would continue, gazing sharply at her with his piercing golden eyes: »However, I offer my skill in marksmanship and night-sight.«

Godfrey Urahil

 

[Scabhair]

Her sparse armor jangled softly under the long white cloak she wore draped over her shoulders. The light cloth came from the sturdy reeds of the Baal-Duru, and though the robe was old, the threads still held as fast as on the day she’d bought it. Decades prior now, when she’d first visited Amol-Kalit by ship. A civil war was raging in the western reaches of the desert, and Scabhair had been much more eager to join the fighting as she was now.

These days, she just did it for the coin. Gods knew that even a farmer could forge his fortune out here – one just had to be willing to quench their blade in plenty of blood.

She patiently hung back as some elf took his turn with a woman wielding all the due authority of a captain. Only once the two were done would Scabhair step forward, the road beaten out of her clothes in a few clouds of yellow dust.

It was her hand she offered to the fellow redhead first, along with half a smile that tugged at her tattoos. “I hear you’re looking for able-bodied fighters. I’m here to offer my bow and lance.”

True enough, three long wooden hafts hung secured to straps on her back, their tapered metal points glinting in the orange slant of the evening sun.

“I work best as a lone scout – unless you’ve other skilled hunters on hand, that is. A Nazrani or another Orc would do.”

The rest, as far as Scabhair was concerned, couldn’t catch an animal if it was upwind and tied to a tree.

Joane Steelheart | Faelin K'Abveirin | Thronebreaker

 

[Hath Charosh]

raiders would come to loot the caravans that had to stop at the oasis.

The chance of that diminished greatly in the time it took Hath to appraise the force arrayed next to the town. He was a long way west of his usual travels, but had visited the town before. If the opportunity had arisen he would have murdered some humans and stolen their goods.

Lingering out here was a bad idea. Even human scouts could find him resting if there were enough of them sent out that they tripped over him. Humans tended to get jumpy when surprised by an orc in the night and he had no intention of being chased down by human cavalry.

With his bow unstrung and his weapons sheathed he boldly marched towards the town. He hated towns, but this one wasn't too tightly packed together. One the road in were stationed both local militia and a pair of soldiers in different garb he presumed were from the small force.

"Trading," he grunted, keeping his hands out, palms forwards. To an orc it was a clear sign of peaceful intentions. He wasn't sure if it would be read properly.

"No trouble!" the guard warned. Hath nodded. Better to trade the rabbits in his bag from some of those coins and then trade those for arrowheads than come under suspicion.

 

[Hath Charosh]

There was a snarl as Hath was pushed towards the captain. His hands were bound in front of him, the left side of his face was covered in angry bruises. A cut above his eyebrow on the red was still bleeding heavily. The guards alongside him didn't push as heavily the next time, but urged him forwards. They were also carrying everything he had walked into the town with.

---

A short time ago


"Three."

"Three!" Hath replied. He pushed the fletchers offered coin of change back towards the others. On the table was an array of arrowheads that Hath had been trading for. Meat was scarce here so he had easily sold the rabbits for coins. Those in turn he was attempting to use to purchase the arrow heads.

"This is already three," the fletcher said. He wore the same patient smile he used with his children. He held up the two coins in his left hand. "Three."

Hath furrowed his brow. "Two."

The fletcher tried again. "This," he said now holding up the larger bronze coin, "is two." He put the other coins down so he had the other hand free to point towards the number two pressed into the centre of its face. "You tried to pay four. Only three."

Hath felt an anger starting to burn deep in his gut. That was quite clearly one coin. He collected the other two coins he had tried to give the fletcher and put them all together. "One, two, three." Three coins. He had said three.

The fletcher sighed. He had only been trying to show honesty because the orc carried some shafts made of a dark and flexible wood that didn't grow near here. He wasn't quite sure, but he thought the orc had agreed to bring more next time to trade. They would be over-spined for most of his customers, but he could bring them down and use a heavier point and sell them at a premium. He took the three coins, which came to four carths and just smiled.

"Wait," said Hath. His fingers snatched the archers wrist as he was drawing the coins away. He pointed to the shinier, bronze coin. "This...more?"

"Yes, that one is worth more. You catch on more quickly when you understand you're being short-changed then?" the archer laughed.

Hath chuckled and took the smaller coin back. He laughed because he didn't understand what the fletcher had just said but wanted to seem friendly. He wanted to leave this market as soon as possible. There was a small crowd around and it made him feel angry. Not angry in a good way either. It was a sort of nervous rage that bubbled just under the surface. Arrowheads were collected and he turned and walked away.

Five paces and two of the town's militia blocked his path. "Hey! Man says you were selling rabbits. Land around here belongs to the Sultan. You can't hunt here."

"Sultan?" Hath asked. Everything was confusing here.

"Yes, Sultan's lands."

Border dispute. He could follow that. "Sultan want back? Come see me." He started to walk on again but the two men nervously shuffled back into his path. Hath grunted in frustration and stopped

"Not how it works here orc. Six carth fine for that!"

Hath swung an open palm at him. Not because they had offended him, but because the idea of trying to deal with stupid human currency again filled him with rage. There was a loud clang as his palm struck helmet and the human collapsed into a pail of ill-fitting chainmail on the foor.

"Oi!" cried the other one. His attention wasn't on Hath but a handful of soldiers from the Steelheart Company who had been visiting the market for supplies. "Fucking help with this!"

---

Now


"Townsfolk say this one was hunting in the Sultan's lands south of here without a permit. Now he says he was east."

"East," Hath grunted. His face was a mess. One of the Company soldiers was nursing a very broken looking hand.

"Mayor said he wanted nothing to do with it," the soldier added. The mayor was - in fact - quite a sensible man. He saw orcs and sand elves as he saw hornets. You just had to live with them. Sometimes they raided, but often they'd sell you your stiff back. If you summoned a force from the sultan to dislodge a tribe then they were more likely to come back and pillage once the sultan's men were back inside his city's walls. At this very moment he was telling his guards that next time an outsider walked into town with hunted game they were to cast their eyes in another direction and let it be reported at a later date.

 

[Scabhair]

Heard and smelled and felt – all of that before Scabhair saw the orc they herded into the camp. She crossed her arms as she considered the stewing man across the small yard between the tents. Being able to recognise clan markings under caked blood and grime was a critical skill among warring tribes of the steppes.

But this man wasn’t from Taagi Baara. She squinted harder.

Aberresai? Maybe?

After a few seconds of eavesdropping, Scabhair slung her saddle down onto a nearby bench and strode over. She raised a calming hand when one of the bruised Steelheart men twitched to the sword at his belt.

“Please. Let me sort this.” Her Common echoed the high towers of Elbion, but she wasn’t really asking – appeasing courtesy, nothing more. Turning to the bound hunter, Scabhair slipped to Orcish, glad to dust off a language that found little use in the big cities of the west.

“What happened?” Her gaze fell to his restraints. “Were you arrested?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath smelled orc, saw orc. He heard human. In particular the clipped tones he'd heard from humans from the lands north of here. Maybe, he thought to himself, it was just that an orc would speak common in a manner similar to those they conversed with the most. Hath was quite proud of himself for that leap of logic.

She spoke in their tongue next. Hath turned his head to carefully regard her. He recognised the inflection from orc tribes he had met in the east, closer the Bhathairk. There was quite a variety in the shape, size and colour of an orc depending where they hailed from. But there was no mistaking her mixed heritage.

"Was hunting," he said with a shrug. "Something about a Sultan." Hath looked thoroughly bemused. He was out of the town at least, though the soldiers were quite tightly packed around them. The fight had calmed him down. Quite enjoyable in the end, even if they had hit him around the head with a big stick and dragged him down under a pile of armoured men.

He could understand border disputes. Prey was sparse on the savannah and if they caught a hunting party from another tribe they might chase them off, or even kill them. What they wouldn't do is let the hunters hunt, take prey, buy it off them and then talk of fines and tie them up.

Humans had strange ways.

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Hath Charosh Scabhair Faelin K'Abveirin
=======

Bold, this Dark Elf. She respected that. He was willing to stand up defiantly in front of a captain. That was good and boded well for future conflicts. She nodded. "Indeed. Night-sight and marksmanship are welcome here. We have few with such a talent. Welcome to the Company."

She turned as the orc hunter addressed her as a lone scout or hunter. Joane simply nodded. "Indeed. That would be acceptable. With your talent, it would be unwise to risk compromising that with lesser-skilled scouts." While it could have been derogatory, she knew they lacked elite scouts and archers. Pikemen and crossbows, certainly, but those were best within their formations. This orc offered the chance to be better at that than most of her soldiers.

Sometime later, a group of her soldiers who had been patrolling the town dragged a bound orc towards them, something about hunting on the Sultan's land. She didn't really care about the Sultan. Her contract was with the city itself, rather than the Sultan. But, the sultan was her best chance for a larger contract. So they had a delicate balance to work.

As her new scout spoke up, Joane nodded and gestured for Scabhair to take the lead. "Certainly. My orcish is not good." As they spoke, Joane made it a point to observe the prisoner and assess the threat. Dangerous, certainly. Not quite as smart as Scabhair, but so be it. Perhaps they would have a new recruit.

Dust rose on the horizon and she turned to squint into the sunlight, shading her eyes with her hand. What it was, she couldn't tell yet, but it was something sizable. Caravan, perhaps. Horsemen, maybe. One of their mounted scouts?

She gestured to one of her aides, who carried a horn. The man nodded and sounded a few quick blasts. A challenge for those approaching to identify themselves, if they were part of the company or not.

Two horn blasts responded, followed by a swift cavalcade of shorter blasts. They were bearing an urgent message. Joane turned on her heel to point at one of her lesser officers. "Prepare the troops."

With that, the Elf hurried off, calling for his non-commissioned officers to muster the off-duty soldiers to kit up while those who had been drilling ceased to drill and stood ready for their captain's orders.

 

[Scabhair]

Her eyebrows only raised for a moment before the incident resolved into a clear image in her mind. She’d made a point of refreshing her knowledge of the local affairs before she’d departed for the Amol-Kalit heartland, though political seasons were so fickle here that even a week’s travel could see her arrive into a prosperous utopia instead of the war-torn state she’d been promised.

Not that peace would ever find this desert.

“Never mind the Sultan. He’ll be dead in a month and replaced by his third cousin twice-removed, and that man will hardly care that you’ve done a spot of poaching.” Scabhair gestured for one of the guard to untie him as soon as the captain gave her authority over the situation. “He’ll be too busy fending off some unruly vassal. Why, you might even find yourself in the Sultan’s employ by the next full moon.”

It was easy to see why the Steelheart company had gone to Amol-Kalit to cut their teeth on battle.

“Haim Scabhair ri Eine, ri Aiforn, doirann cugu ri Taagi Baara.” She stuck out her hand in a warrior’s greeting once the other Orc was freed of his restraints.

Then, turning to the captain, to Common – “Shall we prepare to ride out?”

Excitement bubbled among the soldiers, as it ever did when the doldrums took hold of a mercenary company too long out of war. It didn’t take a seasoned eye to see the men and women chomping at the bit at the meagre whiff of blood on the evening gale.

Joane Steelheart | Hath Charosh

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath rubbed some life back into his hands before reaching out. Several soldiers, particularly those still standing from the scrap earlier looked on nervously. His palm slapped against the inside of her forearm before he latched on tight.

He didn't venture this far west often and he certainly didn't stop to understand the human politics. An area of conflict. An army with some strange characters.

"Hath of the Charosh. Of..." he looked back over his shoulder towards the Eastern horizon. "A few days that way."

He wanted to ask what it was exactly she was doing here. He had heard of most of the tribes from his lands to to Bhathairk. Only in passing or stories, though he recognised many of their signs. They were a long way from Taagi Baara now.

"What's going on now?" he asked in common, though no one seemed to be paying him much attention all of a sudden.

 

[Rob Yew]

Godfrey barely had time to cram his mouth full of stale bread before he heard the blare of horns. Orcs? Sand elves? A rogue warlord?

The knight got to his feet and washed down the bread with a swig from a waterskin that tasted of old leather.

A moment later and he mounted his horse, maneuvering the charger to bring him closer to the commotion in the camp.

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Thronebreaker Scabhair Hath Charosh Faelin K'Abveirin

Joane nodded at Scabhair's question. Already, one of her aides was bringing Joane her warhorse and with a quick motion, Joane flung herself upwards into the saddle, retrieving one of the spears as well.

"Cavalry!" Her voice boomed out across the assembled "Assemble!" She wheeled her horse around as the rest of the detachment mounted and trotted towards her. "First and second companies, left and right flanks! Hold the hillcrest!"

As she called out, those below her called out orders of her own, directing their personal units into equipment and formation. Still, the cloud of dust rose higher and higher above the cloud.

"Forward!" With that, Joane urged her horse forward and the cavalry began to stream behind her. Nothing fast yet. Not a charge, but to meet their scout.

In moments, the sweat-lathered and dust-grimed scout pulled to a stop ahead of the company.

"Brigands!" The scout explained. "Nearly a hundred. All mounted. Neighbor sultan's colors."

Joane nodded and looked to her small band of cavalry. There wasn't enough to take on a war-band of that size. "Back below the ridge. Form up behind the pikes! Get those crossbows loaded!"

 

[Hath Charosh]

Trust humans to make warfare a tedious, organised affair. Standing in lines behind their shields instead of getting on with the fighting. Their heaviest armour wasn't much use when they were in small groups. Easy enough to drag them down and twist their heads off. In a packed regiment it was different. Arrows were little use and getting in amongst them lots a lot of men. Their organisation on the field and their stone fortresses were why they were so widespread.

A battle seemed an awfully good time to slink off and get out of the way. Not to mention the fact that when the confusion started he reckoned their own men were as likely to strike him as whoever the other side was. Hath didn't even know who that was.

However, that other orc seemed to have half an eye on him and several soldiers were trying to give him his weapons back. A long bundle contained a short spear and two bows. He took one and strung the bottom tip before placing it against the inside of his left foot. He pulled the centre of the bow towards himself with his right hand and pushed the string into the groove with his left. Hath gave it a few test pulls to warm up his shoulders. His arrows were tipped for hunting, not armour but that couldn't be helped. Human arrows were be too short and underspined for his bow. Standing behind their crossbow men seemed a good way to avoid being run over by one of the Steelheart horses.

 

[Scabhair]

No spare horses, of course. Scabhair didn’t begrudge them – the beasts were as expensive as they were frail, and those unused to her kind often bucked just at their unfamiliar smell.

Granted, that carried its advantages also; ones she aimed to exploit soon enough.

She moved alongside Hath, taking up position on the left flank of the crossbowmen, behind the two lines of pikes. While the arbalists were still cranking up their weapons, the orc loosened the strap that held her axe against her leg – if (when) the cavalry broke their messy formation, she’d best be served by unhorsing the first man who closed in. By then the cavalry would’ve lost its advantage of speed.

The arrows, naturally, would help.

Scabhair sighted the distance and tested the wind as she slid the antler ring onto her thumb. A swift, instinctive count of the fletching hanging on her belt, and then she was nocking the first arrow. With a sigh of wood and sinew and horn, the bow in her hands deformed under the will of practiced muscles.

Honestly, shooting on foot was almost too easy.

“Release!” was quickly drowned by the twang of string vibrating in unison. Black streaks hurtled through the dust, and the cries of wounded animals soon joined the cacophony of battle.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath wasn't very good at making bows. He was getting better, but Dizhail made the best bows so he had his made by her. He did, however, make good arrows. Hath took the time to match them closely and he knew exactly how stiff they should be for his draw weight and arrowhead weight.

He took care over his arrows, which was why he was content to wait and watch as the crossbowmen started to reload. He could see the dark sharft and bright red index fletching as his arrow took a flatter trajectory. The wind affected the heavier broadhead he had used less than the light points of the small crossbow quarrels. Wouldn't do much for armour, but if he struck the flank of a horse it would be going down.

He gave Scabhair a shrug and the others continued cranking away.

 

[Faelin K'Abveirin]

Just as he joined and the rumble of war had already begun. Men were assembling left and right. Faelin was not quite yet able to properly get to know the company or his place. Though it was a safe guess that he'd go with the crossbowmen, joining their ranks just as they began to assemble and marched with them.

Crossbow loaded. Ready.

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Thronebreaker Faelin K'Abveirin Scabhair Hath Charosh

Joane wheeled her warhorse around in a tight circle behind the pike formation as the first of the band appeared. At the same time, the archers released their bolts, and the dark shafts whistled through the air plunged into the first few ranks of riders. They went down with screams and hisses.

"Reload!" The following order came as smoothly and quickly as the first had come. Joane watched along the line as her soldiers went about their business to the best of their ability. It was good, but not as good as it needed to be. Still the riders came on, splitting into two bands of horsemen to start circling around the formation.

"Eyyah!" Joane cried out and held her sword high. "Cavalry, with me!" She urged her horse forward and it surged towards the left flank, followed by the rest as they went to meet.

"To the right, march!" The infantry commander's voice rang out through the formation and the entire block of pikemen and crossbows surged to the right. The right flank's pikes crashed into the attempted flank attempt while the lack of resistance pulled the enemy riders further into the formation on the left, between the pikes and cavalry.

The lance shuddered with the impact as the cavalry forces collided around her. A high, wild yell ripped from her lips as she screamed a wordless battle cry that plunged her into the enemy ranks.