Completed The Battle of Ninagal

[Gerra]

“Great Shah,” cried the messenger, falling prostrate upon the audience hall. “The accursed Djinn once again demands our surrender.”

“Does he?” Shah Bardya seethed beneath an austere veneer, the regal curls of his black beard perfectly oiled. “Call forth the generals. I will crush his horde of desert rats and feed his soul to Hissut.”

***

A mighty tributary from the Baal-Asha runs west to join the Baal-Duru. It is known as Ninagal, the little prince. On a flat plain not far from the banks awaits the host of the Shah. Their tents dot the field in an orderly fashion and their banners snap in the wind, a golden elephant on a field of red. Across from them, upon the same side of the Ninagal, lays the camp of Gerra. It is a mismatch of tents, with the Kaliti nobles and their silks competing with the Abtati sheikhs to see who can erect the largest structure in camp. Though this army nominally fights together, hostility is rank in the air as sand elves mix with human nobles and mercenaries and slaves. Their hate for one another is palpable and it seems only fear, or respect, for the giant in their midst keeps them in check.

While the armies encamp, scouts ride out and skirmish in the plain between the two hosts, which is known by the local shepherds as the Flats of Hamal. A small taste of what the morrow might bring.

 

[Djana Mahin]

Djana stood in the back of the Shah's large command tent with a gaggle of Captain's and Commanders who were too busy talking among one another to pay her any attention.

Her gaze flickered towards where the Great Shah stood, his features dripping with sweat and his skin redder than that of the great eastern cliffs. She could see the concern crease his face, the worry that he did his best to hide. It was there, and she well understood it.

Fingers strummed along the small glass that she held in her hand, the water within it swirling slowly as she thought.

It had been near three years since she'd returned to her homeland of Amol-Kalit, but the Great Lord had called and she'd answered. The intent of his call was still unclear, but she'd managed to insert herself besides Commander Arruk of the Shah's seventh Infantry.

The man's wife was a believer, and even though he was not, her word had been enough to grant her a place here within this tent.

Everyone else was too busy to question it.

"Lady Mahin, there will soon be talk of battle. Killing and the li-"​

Djana cut off the Commander, smiling and reaching out with a hand to softly pat his face. "Please Commander, worry not about me. My sensibilities are not so delicate."

A smile touched her face, one that seemed to almost transfer to those of Arruk. The weavings tied their way around his mind, and within the passing of a heartbeat he was but putty in her hands. The Commander nodded, turning back towards the others and walking towards the Shah and his little map.

She could practically feel the tension in the air.

There was a reason the Great Lord had sent her here, and she would find it.

 

[Halul]

The mercenary sat outside his tent located in the midst of the Order of the Bronze Claw's camp. The tents, decorated with Bronze Claw banners and colors, surrounded the masked man. He already wore his padded clothing, with lightweight pieces of plate armor over it. His sword, foreign in appearance to those more commonly seen in the desert, rested across his lap.

His head would subtly rotate at times, and he would observe the bustle around the Bronze Claw's camp. Uvogin joined the Bronze Claw in Annuakat and was involved in the massacre that took place in the palace. He had cut down the nobility alongside the Third Talon, Grozkalla. Despite being new and relatively untested, his mere involvement in the massacre earned him some small form of respect from the mercenaries of the Bronze Claw.

Now, the masked man sat under the unrelenting sun with the sweltering heat beating down on his seated figure. Bringing a hand up to his chest, he cast a cantrip upon himself and felt cool air circulate under his attire. It would last for several minutes before expiring, allowing the mercenary some comfort as he awaited the orders of a Talon.

 

[Aivrid]

It's fulfilling, watching a child become a man.
Tag: Gerra Uvogin Djana Mahin
​

He came in the night.
​

No whisper of him was heard from the night sky.​

The dragon was one with the darkness.

Scales of midnight rasped against the sand as the behemoth prowled the desert; if he were any closer the guards would sound the alarms -- after all, only one knew that the mighty beast had come. Aivrid's little enchantment had worked, quite literally, like a charm. The half-giant had requested his presence, and the black dragon was not one to waste the opportunity to see the little one achieve his destiny. Or at least, part of it. Perhaps more of the favor would be called; perhaps Aivrid would revel in the smell of burning flesh as he once had.

Perhaps he'd earn his endless titles once more.

But for now, the dragon was content, prowling through the night, watching the little ones play their games in preparation for the day ahead. It was much better than sitting at home during an eclipse, watching it all from afar -- he could feel the pressure building, just waiting to explode. And when it did, Aivrid would be the first to applaud.

 

[White Swallow]

Among the meddling rows of soldier tents were even those sent in by the Sayyiduna, every single one of them a cataphract with a lance, sword, bow and arrow. Reinforcements for a favour or payment upfront. The lower in command were not quite so sure what reason for, but they now solely listened to one of the Shah's generals.
Even though most would consider them zealots, it was hard to distinguish which tent belonged to what faction.

In one of the larger tents was a small gathering. The swallow sat along Nariman, the commander of those under the banner of the white horse on a black field and Zakariyya and his second in command, who were under the banner of the white shield and a golden flower field on verdant green.
The swallow and Nariman were only equal to Zakariyya's second in command, who leaned leisurely in the back with his face that gleamed a certain kind of calmness and reassurance.

»And I may yet see your battle worth, Alsanunu, I heard you fought well against this man's forces before. Near Maraan, correct?« Zakariyya smiled lightly. »Had Arsalaan not heard of your worth, he'd have your head now on a silver platter for wasting a week worth of time in that town.«

»He only had but a handful of sand elves then,« The Swallow leaned forward and supported himself by his right, flustering lightly and looking away at the mention of Arsaalan. »I wouldn't be surprised if he had something hidden from us. Something the Shah did not account for. The Abtati don't do well on the open, they are masters of subterfuge after all.«
Nariman put a hand on the chin and shrugged his head lightly.
»We shall see in time, if Shah Bardya and his generals didn't have any worthy, he'd have lost this city years ago.«

A summoning call echoed throughout the rows of tents. Zakariyya stood up, as if ready to jump on a horse at a moment's notice.
»Farewell, for now, I have to meet the general under whom our cavalry will ride. I will convey the details later.« He greeted at the exit to the tent, holding its flap up before disappearing into the outside world. It was rare for them to talk to Zakariyya, who preferred to keep a low profile. In fact, his right hand looked more like the leader this troop.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

"Sparhawk, do you know why we have invited you to the Council today?"

"No."

"We require you to go on a diplomatic mission for the College. This is no ordinary task however; it concerns you personally."

"How so, Maester Toren?"

"It concerns your old friend, Gerra of Molthal."

______________________________________​

“The past was always there, lived inside of you, and it helped to make you who you were. But it had to be placed in perspective. The past could not dominate the future.” - Barbara Taylor Bradford

He feared this day would come.

He knew he couldn't run away from his past forever. He knew his past is what made him who he is today. But Gerra. To think he was still on his road to 'fix the world' and conquer nations that, in his eyes, were unjust. It surprised Sparhawk, unsurprisingly.

Using Nemesis was out of the question, as it would draw far too much attention to himself. Instead, he had to go on horseback. He was provided with enough dried meats and water to supply him for a long journey, as did Alistair. But despite this, they still had to take many breaks to smaller villages and towns to refill on supplies. He knew he could likely summon up some water or the like, but he wanted to save his energy, for the beating sun tired him, and the long travel fatigued him.

And if that weren't enough, the council decided that taking Alistair Wren along with him was a good idea. They believed that, since he wanted to travel the world, it would do him some good to on a diplomatic mission to Amol Kalit, and would perhaps gain him some practical experience. Of course, Sparhawk liked the young man, but he wasn't sure he'd like what he'd find in the desert. Finding out about his past wasn't something he wanted either...

Each night, he had nightmares about that faithful day. The dream that never ends. Living through it night after night, the screams never seeming to find an end, a bombarding of his mind. Every night, he'd make camp with his small tent, sweat staining the cloth pillow he used to comfort himself. Alistair had brought his own equipment on his horse, setting up next to him each night, comforting him in the morning after his nightmares.

They'd been travelling for about a month when they'd made it near where the encampment was meant to be. Sparhawk had to barter for several different maps, with no singular trader having a completely accurate map to where he needed to be. When he'd seen smoke in the sky, he knew they'd come close.

To confirm his suspicions, he summoned a small Sparhawk bird, and inhabited it for a short time. It was a skill he picked up whilst studying to be a Professor at the college, using the skills of familiar magic to take advantage of such a skill.

As the bird flew over, he saw the large encampment; very fit for war, sand-elves seemingly everywhere, with slaves and nobles mixed in. He noticed the large amount of weapons they had, along with very large animals being fitted for battle. It seemed like he'd come very prepared, and had won the support of others in Amol Kalit.

As the bird flew round and returned to him, he decided it best to setup his own small tent, just outside of their encampment. He created a small fire, as the evening had hit, and he didn't want to find himself freezing to death. As his horse rest on the ground, and the smoke from his fire rose in the sky, he thought of what could happen next. Alistair sat next to him, bringing out a tome of College Magic, and a small book on Amol Kalit history.

Death is all that could come of this.

 

[Gerra]

In the quiet of evenfall, the dying light of the sun turned the plain pink. Suddenly, the winding of great horns split the sky. All eyes turned south and lo, there came a third host. Blocks of Mamsis pikemen glittered behind spear and bow-armed Ngonya beastmen from the Aberresai. Armored rhinoceroses plodded on their flanks, mounted by Thakathi sorcerers. Ranks upon ranks of Tel-Madu swordsmen followed their Lugal, the half-man, half-scorpion abomination who called himself Aqra.

The Seven Great Cities of Amol-Kalit had come forth to put down this Djinn who defiled the Annunaki by erecting a temple to Abtatu and a shrine in his own name.

In the command pavilion, Gerra hurled a table across the room.

“Great Djinn,” pleaded Magyar, one of the Marya nobles. “There are too many, we must turn back. Victory is impossible against such odds. We must fall back.”

The eyes of the half-giant burned with molten fury. Staring into them was like looking into the belly of a volcano.

“No,” the word hissed from his mouth like a blast of hot air from a fissure in the earth.

The arrayed might of Amol-Kalit might be assembled against him, but he had an ally against whom none could stand.

“Grozkalla.”

The ogre looked up from where he stood guarding the entrance. “Sultan?”

“Are your brethren here?”

“The Fists of Kherkhana have come. So too has the god in the mountain.” Grozkalla’s tiny eyes watched Gerra carefully, “You know what you unleash?”

“Fire and blood.” Gerra’s lips curled as he looked away to stare at the broken table on the floor. “The price of empire.”

 

[Djana Mahin]

H
Things were practically buzzing now.

It seemed that events had rolled into one another, and now instead of just two armies, there were many. Djana now understood why the Great Lord had sent her here. Things were happening in her homeland, a change larger than any than had been seen in a thousand years.

The Great Lord was wise.

Yet he had not chosen to show her the outcome of this battle, a test that would have to be performed. Djana had to choose the correct host to side with. It was important that she place herself in the right position, important that she be correct in where she was and when. A dozen choices had presented themselves, and she would have to decide which path would follow. Which road the Great Lord truly intended.

Stepping out of the tent Djana left behind the squabbling commanders of the Great Shah. In the distance she could see the rising clouds of dust as other armies moved across the lands. In the sky she spotted birds, messenger hawks and scouting sand owls that would return to their masters soon. Lips thinned for a brief moment, her fan falling open as she allowed herself a quick swipe of cooling air.

She turned to one of the guards besides the tent, a man dressed in golden armor and carrying a curved sword. His face was covered by a mask, though Djana could feel his trepidation within the weaving. She smiled at him. "Commander Arruk has asked you escort me to the stables, I require a horse."

The words made the man anxious, angry, and oddly...fearful.

His emotions were practically palatable to her, floating over her tongue as the man opened his mouth to speak. Before he could deny her though a lattice lashed o to his mind, and all emotions within his mind were replaced by only one. He stared at her, his voice shaking as he eagerly nodded and stepped towards her.

"Yes, of course my lo-lady." ​

Djana smiled as the man turned and quickly moved, falling into step behind him.

Love was a foolish thing, but so useful.

 

[Halul]

When many of the Bronze Claw mercenaries rushed out of their own camp, the masked one was quick to follow. Without tiring himself, he maneuvered through camps belonging to other groups joined under Gerra and soon reached the edge of the army's tent city. He listened to the murmuring of his fellow mercenaries and looked upon the considerable reinforcements that bolstered the army across from them.

Perhaps it was his imagination deceiving him, but it felt as if the ground rumbled under him. He looked over his shoulder in the general direction of the Bronze Claw's camp, which had been erected next to Gerra's grand tent. He wondered what deliberation was taking place among the leadership, then turned back to observe the enemy's movements.

After some musing, he turned and returned to camp ahead of his companions. Staring would do him no good. As he leisurely made his return to camp, thoughts of food and refreshment occupied his mind, as did the sizable army that mustered nearby.

After returning to the inside of his tent and filling his stomach with food and water, he again found himself sitting vigilantly outside his tent. As he sat, he appeared more statue than man. The mercenaries came back in waves and as the final group returned, excitement began to stir.

The eve of a great battle had arrived.

 

[Infernal]

You are sure of this?

"Yes." The elf answered, his mind clear, save for the conversationhe had with himself. Walking through the encampment, he heard Lord Gerra speaking, or more accurately, raging, in a nearby tent. "It seems my master is dissatisfied with something."

He entered after the ogre, announcing himself as he did so. "My Lord, I have returned from my mission, and you will be pleased, I think."

His attire was different from last the Great Djinn had seen him. The once shining plate of pearly white was dull, grey even, with multiple scratches, dents, burns and holes upon the surface. Where once there was color, now there seemed only to be dark greys and blacks, but what seemed stranger still was his left hand. Mottled flesh covered sharpened bone, giving an appearance of talons instead of fingers, which had its own eldritch aura within itself.

"I have discovered old magics beneath the sands, and have even accrued..." He thought for a moment, choosing his next words carefully "like minded individuals who wished to obtain the same knowledge that I have acquired. We are prepared to fight with you, my Lord, and bring this war into your favor."

Words of smooth silt fell from his mouth, the charisma he emitted drawing ones eyes to him, though it was difficult to see his face with his hood drawn up. Just like his arm, just like the rest of him, his face had changed from the discovery of this Arcane information. Everything had its cost, and Telenar was more than willing to pay it for what he knew now.

 

[Aivrid]

A battle for the continent. This is worth seeing in person.
Tag: Gerra Infernal Uvogin Djana Mahin Maho Sparhawk White Swallow
​

If there was one subject that confounded the dragon, it was warfare. He could understand the basics, perhaps. More men were better than less. But to Aivrid it did not matter how many mounts or little ones they sent -- all burnt the same under the dragon's flames. Tactics were null when facing an enemy of pure might. Subterfuge was always an option, but Aivrid rarely made use of it. Such were the tricks of lesser beings.

So many names and places to keep track of, the behemoth could understand why these people were so divided at times... and yet, here they were, uniting against the one who sought to unite them all, rule them under a single banner. He simultaneously gained hope and sank into despair for Gerra's chances. Even so, if Aivrid had been in the half-giant's position, today would be the day that he would have called the favor of the dragon. Without a doubt, the battle to come would be one to remember...

So far from the camp, it would be difficult to contact and advise the fiery little one who led the now dwarfed army. Destroying the forces of the enemy here would weaken all involved, even if it brought Gerra victory. Still...

There was much to be done before the sun rose in the morn.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

The evening was beginning to settle now.

The heat was still very much hot, the ground was dry, and the clouds were nowhere to be seen.

It was time.

"Alistair, pack your things, we're going down to the Shah."

Sparhawk and Alistair packed their bags, put down their tents, and put out the fire. They both put their baggage onto their horses, and rode down to where the Shah planned to defend his territory from Gerra. He couldn't stop thinking of the worst situations. Best case scenario, Gerra retreats, and the casualties are kept low. At worst, it'll be an absolute slaughter.

Well, at least he'd be able to protect some people, he thought, if the situation turned for the worst. Alistair would also learn a thing or two. Then again, he was a neutral party. Is that allowed? He wasn't sure, but he knew that if innocent lives were at stake, he'd have to do something.

It'd be wrong not to.

Before he rode into the main encampment, him and Alistair were stopped by several guards, all with large spears, wearing decorative armour. Quite expensive looking actually.

"Why do you enter the territory of our mighty Shah?" They shouted at him angrily, trying to be as intimidating as possible.

"I am a representative from the College of Elbion. I'm here to see over the battle. I've brought a young Apprentice to oversee it with me." He spoke, calmy.

"Oh, of course. J'jada!" He shouted for one of the slaves, brand marks around his neck.

"Take this man and his Apprentice to the stables." The slave gave a deep bow, and called Sparhawk to follow him.

"Alistair, whilst I go to the main stable, quickly survey the buildings in the area. Come down once you're finished." He said to Alistair, nodding to the J'jada, who brought him forth.

The whole encampment and all the buildings were quite extravagant, even for somewhere that would likely become a battle-field. He thought that a lot of money must've into everything. A lot of slave labour too.

Sparhawk didn't want to dwell on that.

They finally made it to the stables, close to the Shah's main camp. He clambered off his horse, wiped the glob of sweat off his forehead, and sighed a sigh of relief.

Man, I hope this day ends quickly.

 

[Djana Mahin]

The Guardsmen that accompanied her hurried through the camp, his step so fast that Djana almost had trouble keeping up with him.

She managed it well enough, though by the time they got the Stables she was visibly annoyed. The man fidgeted slightly, looking at her as if he were expecting praise from her. Djana glanced to him with a warm smile, her voice smooth as silk. "Fetch me a horse, please."

Had he not been wearing a mask he might have earned a pat on the cheek.

The Guard immediately turned on his heel and stepped into the large tent that had been made up as a stable. Djana herself was left standing there, waiting and quietly contemplating the situation as she spotted a man riding in on a horse.

Her gaze followed him for a moment, eyes focusing on this clothes.

His garb was vastly different than that of everyone else's. Lips thinned as she searched her mind, and then a decision was made. She stepped forward. "You will surely fall from exhaustion before the battle ends in clothes like that."

Djana stepped towards Maho Sparhawk, a smile on her face.

Was he a mercenary or an emissary?

She had just a few minutes to find out. Aqra was nearby, she had seen his banners nearby. They needed to speak before this battle began.

 

[Trahaearn]

Trahaearn had arrived some time ago in Amol Kalit, having slipped through any guards with a few men and a cart, all pulled by horses. He had heard rumors of a great beast of the sky appearing in the area. He wouldn't have come if the news of a large gathering of warriors hadn't been alongside it. The likelihood of a dragon pairing with some great war monger wasn't entirely out of the question or an unreasonable idea.

On the other hand, a dragon dying because one side simply wanted it dead was something else altogether.

While he did not hold any loyalty to either party, he did have a respect for dragons. Majestic creatures, and for all the bad that surrounded their kind, the death of a dragon was in his mind the same as burning a great library of priceless knowledge. Even if it tried killing him or the men he had contracted to assist him, he wouldn't dare to harm a scale on the great being.

The covered scorpion ballista in the cart likely gave the wrong idea to those that saw it. The arrows were actually rounded and blunt, meant to garner attention rather than harm anything he meant to aim it at. Of course, it would likely harm anything smaller than the dragon greatly.

His men circled the cart, nearing the Shah's encampment with their tool in tow.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

Navy eyes scanned the horizon as the sun fell, the sky bleeding pink. Standing at the edge of his encampment, T'suris watched, arms crossed, as a human riding on horseback approached the camp. He was surprised - though it didn't show - to see the guards let the cloaked human in so quickly. His ears twitched, thinking he heard something about a college, when his attention was distracted by a group of humans pulling a cart towards the army. T'suris sniffed - and the scent of acrid metal, different from the swords and spears around him, burned his senses. Whatever was in the cart was trouble.

T'suris walked the edge of his mercenary group - all Komodi - skimming the humans encampments. More than one soldier threw a glare his way, but he ignored it. It was unusual for any human - half-giant or otherwise - to engage an entire band of Komodi mercenaries. What wasn't unusual was the separation; humans were fragile creatures, succumbing easily to wound and disease. If T'suris cared he might consider the segregation an almost kindness to them. But no, death on the battlefield was better for them.

T'suris's tail trailed slowly behind him. Something wasn't right - there was a scent in the air he couldn't place, but he swore it smelt of dragon's breath.

Turning back the way he had come, he narrowed his eyes at the battalion that had joined the opposing forces. This half-giant was determined, the Komodo would give him that. He wondered if it would be enough.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Woah.

The woman who approached him was not what he was expecting when he entered these lands. Long black hair, a perfect figure, and piercing green eyes.

"You will surely fall from exhaustion before the battle ends in clothes like that."

"Oh, uh- yes, of course! I should probably... yeah, take these off." He began to take off his outer robe and cloak, which were - admitaddaly, drenched in sweat, and were weighing heavily on his shoulders. He lifted them onto the back of his horse, draping over it. He already felt far better, and he felt stupid for not taking them off sooner. Strange...

"Wait- What brings you here?" Good question. The only thing he could think of is that he served the Shah in some fashion or another. Women like this had skills you wouldn't expect, using their outer appearance to trick you into thinking they are vulnerable. Sparhawk would not be tricked by such simple, carnal desires. He was a professor from Elbion! And his mind was impenetrable.

Hopefully.

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

"Gerra, that was the second damned table."

Traecon set up a new wooden piece, with the map spread out even again. They had been conversing for hours on how to tackle this little... tidbit. Eventually leading to the little... tantrum they were seeing now.

"I understand our forces may be a wee bit shrinkled against the might of the desert cities combined, but c'mon."

Then came the sudden message with the reinforcements. He would have blanched if it were him a month before. He simply blinked in surprise at the news. He had heard tales of that dragon in the mountains. Fire and brimstone, they were actually true. And it was apparently on their side. Fixing up his own standard attire - the robes and ribbons wrapped around his metallic arm - Traecon kicked away a piece of wood from the tent, leaning over the table with a heavy sigh.

"Back to the map. Having a dragon means naught but sand dust if the armies before us have the numbers to overwhelm."

He gestured at the enemy's current positions and equipment, marked on the map.

"If your dragon is whimsical and does what he wishes, recommend the elephants. Big, slow, easy to pick off. If he follows orders, again, the elephants. Those beasts will lay our troops flat if they aren't tackled early."

He looked up as Telenar too, spoke of his own bolsters to the ranks. Well, at least additional factors would play into this scenario. Hopefully one where the Sand King emerged victorious.

Aftrer that however... he had his own path to tread. Nevermind that.

"I can sneak in during the fighting to take out the leading captains and sow discord in their ranks. Although from how our own is barely holding together, that's merely evening the scales."

He gazed up at the giant, mercurial silver eyes glaring into the volcanic without either fear nor fright.

"In the end it's your call. Make your choice."

Gerra

 

[Gerra]

"No," Gerra ordered, turning to the mercenary. "I will need your sword fresh for the battle tomorrow."

Besides, he thought, if he once again turned to subterfuge to gain victory the nobles would never be fully cowed. He needed to humiliate them in open battle. When they saw their best soldiers and fellow kings disintegrated by dragon fire and naptha, nothing more than charred mounds of corpses, their will to resist would become like a wet reed.

The half-giant's gaze now looked to Telenar, moving from the desiccated state of his hand, to his face, shadowed beneath the hood. Gerra's lips compressed for a moment, then he nodded slowly.

"Welcome, Telenar. I am glad to see you still live, though worse for the wear, it would seem. You return in an hour of great need."

He gestured toward the map Traecon had smoothed out upon a chunk of wood.

"Shah Bardya of Ragash has come forth to meet us, with an army of elephants, royal cataphracts, and the numerous Red Sands infantry. He has been joined by armies from Mamsis, the Ngonya beastmen, Thakath, and Tel-Madu." He pointed on the map to indicate their positions, then drew his finger back and tapped on another spot. "We are here, with Marya chariots and their peasant retinues, hordes of Abtati light cavalry, mercenary companies, and several Fists from Kherkhana, who have chosen to follow the dragon Aivrid down from the Seret Mountains. We are outnumbered and the hatred between elf, human, and orc threatens to shatter this army."

He looked up to regard Traecon and Telenar.

"I will not let it. At midnight, my newly formed Kemist Corps will begin artillery fire on the enemy."

He had taught the Abtati elves much of his knowledge of engineering and the great mangonels they had constructed would hurl large pots of naphtha at the enemy, a white and incredibly flammable substance that sprung up from the earth like water and was very difficult to put out.

"They will be forced to advance or retreat under the barrage. But they are far more numerous than us. They will advance. The bulk of our force consisting of the mercenary companies, the ogres, and the Naphtalite hurlers will advance to meet them, the scythed chariots carving paths through their formations. Our Abtati light cavalry will harass both of their flanks. The dragon Aivrid will attack them from the rear and create such an inferno of their rearguard that retreat will be impossible. Surrounded, we shall continue to pound their force until it is molded into a shape of my pleasing, like iron on an anvil."

 

[Djana Mahin]

Maho Sparhawk

Djana smiled at the man as he stripped off the heavy robes and pulled himself back up. His question was not expected, and she offered the answer that had been prepared hours ago. "I am in the service of the Shah."

It was a lie, though one difficult enough to ascertain the truth of.

The falsehood was immediately aided by the return of the Guardsmen that she had cajoled into her services. By his left was a massive stallion decorated in golden scales, it's mane half laying down it's side beautifully combed.

Djana half turned and raised an eyebrow at the steed, lips thinning for just a brief second as she realized that her weaving might have been a bit too heavy handed.

"I suspect such is not true for you." Djana said to Maho. "You're clearly an outlander."

She mused. "Come to sell your sword to the coming battle?"

Djana would not guess it so, but she had been wrong about these things before. The man did not have the look of a sellsword, at least not any of the ordinary sort.

 

[White Swallow]

The tent got enveloped in a brief bout of silence when Zakariyya left. His second in command was as silent as a mouse, briefly mumbling while leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

Nariman gestured at the side, »To be honest, I can hardly wait to saddle my horse. «
»You're too eager to battle, hold yourself« puffed the second in hand.

»Oh? And they say, OH Yelhix'w, he's so fierce! First on the horse and like an unstoppable lion in battle!«
»Who says that,« the second in command rose his head briefly in interest.

»Zakariyya,« as The Swallow spoke, Yelhix'w furrowed his brows and leaned down dismissively, sounding pretty disappointed. »Neh...«


»Regardless. We will only move when Zakayriya tells us to.« The Swallow averted his attention from Yelhix'w and moving part of the tent cloth to gaze outside. It's been growing darker and darker while a lonesome Azrail perched upon the post. It clicked with its beak when gazing at him.
A bad omen.

»Oh, I wouldn't mind returning to As Nineban as quickly as possible. Too many Heretics around us.« Nariman shook his head.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

In service of the Shah. Yeah, I bet I know why; for a bit of the whistle whistle.

The guardsmen that came with her horse showed otherwise however, a horse - or better yet - steed was magnificent, with golden scale armour adorned on it. It was a well kept horse, clearly loved.

"I suspect such is not true for you." Djana said to Maho. "You're clearly an outlander."

She mused. "Come to sell your sword to the coming battle?"

A sell-sword? Really? Oh yeah, with my staff on my back, my large robes, big beard, and emaciated body. I look like a mercenary. Well, to be fair, there weren't a lot of good reasons a man in his position would be there, so he didn't blame her.

"No, i'm on a Diplomatic mission from Elbion. If it comes down to it however, I might have to throw my hat into the fray, so-to-speak." He wasn't sure why he added that last part, since he wasn't planning on fighting at all. But something was off, something was wrong.

"You don't seem like a warrior. How do you serve the Shah?"

 

[Infernal]

"I assure you, my lord" Telenar stated "I have never felt more alive than ever before." With a respectful bow, he exited the tent, his mind wasting no time in figuring out a suitable battle plan for tomorrow. The odds weren't in their favor, but that mattered very little to him.

Human, orc, elf, they all gave him room to walk, and soon he was flanked by others. They too wore dark clothing, which hid the thick, magical plate armor beneath, protecting them from both physical and metaphysical harm. There were only a handful of them, a dozen or so warriors, but they all had this aura about them, something that screamed out "move, or wager your life" and it was most potent around Telenar, who lead the solemn group.

"Lord Gerra demands the destruction of the opposing army. Find your places, and await my command."

There wasn't any sign of acknowledgement from the others, but they split away from the main group, silent as the shadows as they made their way to their respective posts. His followers, the Shadow Hands, we're loyal to him, and to him alone. Before this they were elves, cowering in the sands and striking when their victory was assured. Now though, now they had become greater than that, just as he had on that fateful day.

"Commander." The voice said, bringing forward the cowering form of a man. It was one of the sand elves, and he could tell he was trying his best not to look him in the eyes. "We found this one, he says he knows you, but we believe him to be a spy."

"Please, please milord, show mercy on me." The driver...it felt so long ago, but why was he here? He asked as much, and the weak, pitiful human explained. "I...I lost the money you gave me...I was always gambling too much, and so I was strapped for gold. Word had it there was some fighting going on and I thought uhm...maybe well...I might get a look around and..."

"And report to the Sha for a reward." It was strange, how quickly the next actions happened, in a way, he didn't even think, just acted upon instinct, as if he had done this a thousand times.

Grabbing the traitorous spy by his throat, Telenar looked into his eyes, the sharp ends of his fingers digging into his skin. One second he was begging for his life, the next, he was letting out a silent scream while as Telenar sapped the life force from his body. The sand elf watched in a mix of horror and fascination, the skin of the human shriveled up, turning gray, his body going limp in mere moments. One more second later, and the human was nothing more than dust and empty clothes, blowing away in the wind.

"Bring me anymore spies you capture." Telenar said, walking away from his murder, soul ablaze with fresh power. "I shall deal with them personally."

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

Traecon would retort, that victory by any means was more crucial rather than victory through show of force. Both side had aspects to show. Either had hidden secrets and cards not shown. He had not known any from his previous trespasses into the enemy camp, but it never hurt to be cautious. And the bodies were getting harder to hide.

But at least the intelligence had borne fruit; the enemy side's forces were just what Gerra described as, with no additional nasty surprises. Of course, select individuals of note would be considered, but overall the enemy machine was woefully... bland.

"If your Kemist Corps are as devastating as you claim, then by your will. I'll be with the cavalry, harassing both sides of the army. I'm not as bulky or tough as your other hired helps, even if I brought down that undead elephant in Amol Kalit."

He pinched his chin in contemplation. The so-called mountain god was the wildcard. Sure, brute force and power was a literal godsend, but if it didn't differentiate from ally or foe?

"The mountain dragon, we can't trust that one will be generous as to avoid collateral, even if he is as great as the legends tell. We will suffer losses, that's for sure. Even if he attacks from the rear to minimalize death. Then again,"

He stabbed a dagger into the center of the enemy army, right where their leader would be.

"The price of empire is paved with blood and death."

He echoed Gerra's words with a grim acceptance. "I'll be on watch then. By your will, Lord Gerra." He left the tent with a bow, leaving the dagger where it planted. He had a better knife tucked away anyway.

He ignored the spy being killed at Telenar's hands, already intent on flushing out what other eavsdroppers he could find.

 

[Djana Mahin]

Shah's Camp - Stable
Maho Sparhawk

Elbion.

Well wasn't that interesting? An emissary from the College all the way out here? This really was shaping up to be an event if importance. Djana mused for a seconds, mulling on what it could mean for the Great Lord before she answered. "Don't seem a warrior?"

A soft smile touched her face.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to judge." Though the Shah did not employ women in such a way, there were those among the sands of Amol-Kalit who did. "Rasdam Hashem employs a dozen women just like me as assassins, killers, and soldiers."

She mused outloud as she patted the horse, smiling at Maho for a moment.

Rasdam Hashem was a man known for his...proclivities. He was not here on this day, at least as far as she knew. He controlled but a few small settlements in the far west. He had no army to speak of, but instead focused almost the entirety of his resources on the training of Assassins.

Djana let the words linger a moment more and then continued. "Alas, I am but a humble Voice."

She smiled.

"The Shah sends me with a message to Aqra the Scorpion." Did this man even know who that was. "He is...a dangerous creature, but I serve where I must."

Djana allowed a hint of fear to show on her face for just a moment, discomfort in the absolute as she looked at Maho.

It disappeared quickly, but was there all the same.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Sitting around a campfire in the middle of the Amol-Kalit desert, Alistair studied a tome on college magic. The journey had been long, and the desert unforgiving. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck and he raised a hand to mop it up with the sleeve of his robe. His fair cheeks were sunburnt and he was increasingly stressed, the cost of spending the last several nights siphoning Maho's negative energy every time he awoke from a nightmare.

Maho put out the fire and told Alistair to pack his things and the young mage nodded. Shoving his book into his satchel, he helped Maho clean up their camp and load their things onto the horses. The last night he had been able to get some sleep, fortunately and the next morning, the two of them and headed for the Shah's camp. Wearing canary yellow robes, Alistair sat on his horse while Maho addressed the guards, who let them in once they knew he was a representative from the college of Elbion.

Alistair was not aware of the history between his favourite Professor and Gerra, the warlord from Molthal who threatened the Shah's territory, but he was about to find out today. The college had instructed Maho to take him to gain more practical experience, and Alistair had leaped at the opportunity. He couldn't wai to use his skills in the field.

The desert spanned for miles behind the camp, a sea of orange split by the line of the sun. Alistair and Maho dismounted their horses, and the guards took them to the stables. As he motioned to go with them, the Professor turned around and instructed Alistair to survey the surrounding buildings, to which the young mage nodded.

"Yes, Professor," Alistair said assuredly, then turned around and darted in the opposite direction.

Clutching his robes, Alistair ran around the side of the compound and found a ledge, which he used to climb up to get a better look of the surrounding area. Climbing up the side of the building, he flopped onto a roof and scrambled to his feet. Standing at his full height, he brushed down the front of his robes and ran across to the front to survey the compound. He raised a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun and scanned the compound, as well as the surrounding buildings. Their defenses were well built, but didn't look especially resistant to fire. Squinting, Alistair nodded to himself, turned around, and clambered down the ledge.

He jumped onto the sand with a puff and brushed his hands, the spun around and ran towards the stable block. There, he found Maho talking to a devastatingly beautiful woman. Hand against the edge of the stables, Alistair swallowed a gulp. He tensed up at the sight of her. Ebony hair, perfectly curved body and eyes the colour of emeralds, every movement she made caused Alistair to quiver.

"Professor Spahawk, I..." Hand raised, he scratched the back of his head and looked down, eyes wide as he stammered, "Lady Mahin, it is an honour," he blushed.

A pause followed, and Alistair almost wanted to take Lady Mahin's hand and kiss it, but he was too nervous. Breathing in, the young mage retained his composure.

"Professor Sparhawk, I have surveyed the area, the buildings are well-fortified, but easy to set on fire," looking up, Alistair straightened his back and nodded, focusing his attention on Sparhawk.

Maho Sparhawk, Djana Mahin