(1868-12-14) All Feast Day Eve Battle
All Feast Day Eve Battle
Summary: On the Eve of All Feast Day, the combined might of the Kentaire's Legion II, VIII, and XI attack the Arrani Legion. Coming from the North, the South and the East across the frozen Silver Cresent
Date: 12/14/1868
Related: Westwar, Battle for Evalle pt I and pt II
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Bertram  Dario  Eisen  Havelock  Myrana  Tavi  Ramius  Zayne  

Room Name
Room description
IC date of RP

DECEMBRE 14th, 1868
(Two months since the battle of Evalle Province started)

The area around the Crescent River is covered in snow. As usual the Kingdom of Aequor, even this southern portion of Aequor, grew cold, and the snows came. The ground froze, and the war, ground to a halt. Soldiers where more interested in staying warm than shooting, stabbing, or in general murdering each other. So on this, the eve of All Feast Day, the troops are huddled in their fortifications. Still watchful, but fires are lit to stay warm.

Somebody had arranged for a special meal, Traditionally Honey Glazed Ham on on this day, for the troops. While there isn't much, each soldier has a slab of that Ham, sans honey, with mashed potatoes and a hearty gravey with nice warm tea. Soldiers whisper to each other and clink tin mugs filled with steaming tea. Reminiscing of their families back home and what their wives, children, or mothers and fathers are doing right now.

Dario has been exceedingly grumpy of late. The reason for this surliness became apparent only recently when the empty kegs were discovered. Kegs of brandy the Bishop had smuggled in with the supply lines. Now with the war dragging on and his drinking habits not wanting to be put on hold, Dario has run out of booze. So now the Bishop sits glaring heatedly at a mug of tea in his hands as though its the source of all his woes. He is in no mood to be cheerful or offer well wishes. If anyone strayed close to his tent at night they would have heard the screams, apparently the man is plagued by nightmares. But still he sits, likely somewhere near his sister, no food in sight and merely glaring at the tea that is more for warming his hands than drinking it would seem.

Havelock himself is for once attired in his armour, having decided to stalk the front lines for a bit. The heavy plate padded by furs and leather, adorned with the red warcoat of his Order Militant, not to mention a rather tattered cloak that does little to keep the chill at bay. But Havelock is at least alive as he moves through the ranks of those not partaking for the moment, slapping a shoulder or two, offering a quiet word of comfort and letting them know of the food that awaits when a comrade or two return. Though in the meantime, with a hearty fat-bottomed bottle of Galenthian fortified wine form the Abbey of Saint Constantin, he blesses each of the men with a sip and a prayer. The Reliant himself doesn't partake for the moment, wiping the neck of the bottle with a rag between blessings. The Reliant's attention between blessings on this All Feast Day drifts across to the Kentaire host and the cold that at least provides a moments respite.

Over in the area where the Black Bears have set up camp there is a very loud bit of celebrating going on. The Bears dig heartily into thier food, swapping stories about thier families and lovers. Zayne watches in amusement as he eats his own meal. His second in command the burly blonde former White Haller Rolf is in the middle of telling the lead scout Severin about his family and thier traditions in a booming voice. Most of the Bears Zayne included have thier armor on still. Zayne has his massive lightsilver blade within easy reach as well, rarely is he seen without it. He finishes his food and rises to his feet. He begins to wander through the camp a bit watching the other soldiers as he moves toward the front. A polite dip of his head is given to Havelock as he spots the man heading in the same direction.

Ever since Magic came burning out of her like lit oil poured from a tipped lamp, Myrana D'Armaz seems to have lost all ability to regulate her own body temperature the way a normal person would. The snow therefore presents a new problem, one that she's only starting to understand.

Wrapped up in a heavy fur-lined cloak many sizes too big for her, she holds her chapped pink hands over the fire beneath a steaming kettle, the rose-pink skirts of her warm kirtle rustling as she shifts in the crunching snow, thick winter boots with curled snow-toes buried up to the ankles in the stuff. Her white braid is down her back like a cloudsilk plait, and her breath fogs before her lips. She opens the fingers of her hands like they're quite stiff, and closes her eyes.

"Ay—" she sings quietly, her smoky voice pleasant but jittering a little with shivvers.

"Our boots and clothes are all in pawn.
Go pull ye blood red roses
Go pull a man down"

Snow isn't anything for a man of Ramius' size to concern himself with. You throw a few layers of fur on, make sure your armor's packed nice and cozy and you've got something to cover up your face, and you're pretty much good. There's always the risk of falling into an icy lake, but given where they are right now, that's probably not going to happen. The commander of the legion sits next to his wife, nursing a plateful of fragrant, honeyed ham and a mug full of steaming soup.

How many here would have another meal after this?

Half, maybe. Two-thirds. Any more than that is needlessly optimistic. This battle, whatever the result, will dictate the course and tone of the rest of the war.

Snow continues to fall, lazily drifting down in the cold and dark night, and the two moons are but faint glows behind the clouds that allow the snow to drift down. Tavi and his contingent of Cavaliers stay near Myrana and Ramius. Tavi wrapped in his full length blue cloak sips his tea. "Damn booze is out. Some asshat has been drinking it all. Would have been nice to celebrate this wi - " He stops as Myrana begins to sing and just smiles. Sipping his mug and silencing his complaint.

ELSEWHERE

The Soldiers had crawled into their armor, heavy and light alike. The Centurians making sure they had plenty of shot and nice warm drinks as well as bellies of food in the morning. The Centurians NOW however moved up and down the ranks, inspecting gear and making sure the men where in the right frame of mind. The minds of soldiers. Dedicated to their Prince, and the Royal line. Dedicated to the Imperial beliefs. Dedicated to the Legions.

The Praetor of the XI moved behind them astride his horse, the purple horsehari crest almsot visible despite the snow falling from the sky. They knew that the VIII, and the II were in position, and once this was done Alasce woudl fall. At this time the Legion alchemists moved among them giving them drinks. This fortified them agianst the cold, but only for awhile. However this would allow them to move in the winter, while their enemies, unaware, would be liekly eating their food, some Ham concoction likely, and quietly celebrating the Eave of All Feast Day.

Somewhere alone the Northern positions of the Camp a Century of the Arrani Legion shivers but sips his tea. As he takes a sip he feels something punch him in the chest. The tin mug slipping form fingers that suddenly felt even more numb than what the cold made them He was on his knees suddenly and looking down. A bolt had punctured his chest and as he started to cry a warning a man in black slipped up and slit his throat.

As red spilled on the snow and the world slowly becan to fade to black, he saw his two companions similarily dispatched. A tide of men in Lorrica crept forward, their Gladii bared. As the first boot past him of this tide the world was gone…

Dario turns his glare from his tea to Tavi. He looks annoyed. "That was MY booze. I smuggled it in. And yes its gone." He huffs and rises to his feet setting his untouched tea aside. He too is armed and armored. His black brigandine covered partly by a heavy black cloak trimmed in darkly colored wolf fur. His twin hand cannons and mace rest within easy reach at his belt. "I'm going to check our medical supplies. Excuse me." And then he stalks off to go do as he said he was.

Havelock pats another on the shoulder, having administered the last drop of the bottle to a Reliant crossbowman, "You'll be relieved soon enough, honied ham, potatoes and gravy. Even tea." The Doctor grinned, and tossed the bottle out towards the enemy, watching it hurtle through the air before smashing on the ground a good distance away, and letting a breath escape all frosty and misty. For now, it was Havelock's turn to reflect, with one hand tugging his helm where it had hung awkwardly upon his belt, he idly traced the laurels etched into the helm with a leather and plate clad finger as he spoke to himself, "You're going to have to find warmer places to fight eventually you know."
Bertram has connected.

Zayne wanders the camp quietly for a time, his heavy boots leaving large imprints in the fallen snow. Still he doesn't seem overly bothered by the cold, or he is good at shrugging it off at any rate. He makes a slow circuit between the gathered groups of soldiers, pausing to speak with a few of them here and there before he moves on again.

A chill wind blows. Ramius turns his face into the breeze, and finds something that sends a shiver down his spine. His eyes dart across the assembled legions, then turn across the distant river. "Myrana," Ramius says with a quiet whisper, "Don't you think it's odd that one would be celebrating a night such as this without any firelight?"

"Something is wrong," he says, after a moment. "I don't know if we've stirred a spirit, or something else. The air is strange. Spread the word, order the men to ready their weapons. I do not think we are alone."

Ay my old mother
She wrote to me
God pull ye red roses
Go pull a man down
My darling son, won't you come home from sea

God pull ye red roses
God pull a man d—

Myrana falters and looks up with newly opened eyes as Dario gets up and stalks off toward the healer's tents. She tracks him for a moment, then looks back down at the fire past her freezing hands. She should be wearing gloves, but she finally ruined the last pair she had with her; they crisped off her hands when someone startled her a few nights ago.

"Eh?" She turns around so the fire warms the back of her skirts and picks through the snow stiffly to lean on Ramius' shoulder and look out past him toward the other side of the river. "Maybe their wood got too wet," she muses. "…The Bears are all awake still, aren't they?" she directs this at Zayne while waving at one of her Thornesmen to carry out Ramius' orders among the Armaz forces.

Tavi looks to Ramius and then wisely swallow shis tea real fast before strapping on his weapons belts. He then stuffs the remaining ham into his mouth. He's been in too many fights to not trust Ramius when he says he has a strange feeling. He shoots Dario a shrug. "Booze is booze. And Rum is delicious, especially when it's not yours." He winks. The Cavlier nods to his fellows who are doing the same.

The messangers whisper to be ready and men set their plates down and take final sips of their drinks. Longing looks are given to the food and drink, but htey are all soldiers, and all veterans at this point. They stare out into the night. Waiting.

The sudden crack of Long Cannon fire is unexpected despite the whispered warning, so too are the trumpets that suddenly blare from across Silver Crescent, and from north and south of the Arrani Legion's positions. Men cry as shot slams into snow drifts and the fortifications, shaking loose snow and ice. Somebody near Havelock suddenly falls from the massed volley. From out of that frozen swirling darkness men in armor rush forward, shields and Gladii at the ready.

Thanks to Ramius' orders, the men are, while not ready, not wholly surprised. Blades clash, and bows return fire at the charging Kentaire line. Legionaire's drop, and the infantry rushing across the frozen river do so quickly, not trusting that the river is wholly frozen enough.

These last few months, Sir Bertram of Harcourt has kept himself busy with inspecting the fortifications. While ostensibly a member of the Black Bears, he's been pulled more and more into his duties as chief engineer of the Legion and, with his section of engineer type retainers, been busy making sure that these strong points are what they sound - strong. Interlocking arcs of bowshot, good entrenchment, obstacles for enemies, especially enemy horsemen, and reinforced walls to withstand Kentaire's nasty bombardments. It's been working. Tonight is no different. While the d'Armaz knight is inclined to drink and revelry, he has decided to take a handful of his fellow sappers out to inspect the line, all clad in brigandine and carrying polearms, with small shields and short swords on their hips, other than Bertram with his arming sword. He comes up upon Havelock and grins at the man, and the rest of the soldiers. "Well met, Reliant. Or are you a cavalier, now? I can't bloody tell." He grins.

The crack of long cannon has the small knot of engineers ducking. Grasping his halberd, the mercenary's head peeks up above the parapet. "Fucking 'ell! They're coming, to arms, to arms!" He hafts his polearm and reaches out to swipe at the nearest Kentairish legionary with the blade.

Dario hears the sound of shots being fired and scowls. He pulls a hand cannon from its holster and rushes to where he can see the Legion charging. Ducking behind a bit of cover he takes aim at a man's head. "Leave it to these brutes to think themselves more civilized and attack on a holiday. Oh well maybe after this we can go home..or be dead. Whichever." He grumbles and fires. His ornate hand cannon firing a shot that finds its mark on one of those overly polished Kentaire helmets. It may very well take the mans head clean off.

The small knot of engineers come together into a kind of semi-circular formation, backs and sides to eachother and all with their halberds out. They strike out at the enemies as those troops flood up from the frozen river side, keeping them at bay but really doing no true damage to them. Still, it's created a sort of bubble where there are no Kentairish soldiers. Bert, wild eyed and engaged, yells at Havelock and the rest of the troops in the fortification, "Retreat back to our lines! We'll cover it!"

Zayne hears the charge as it comes and he roars out as loud as he can, some might swear the ground shook as the Red Bear bellowed. "ROLF!! GET THE BOYS OFF THIER ASSES! THE ENEMY IS HERE TO PARTY! I REPEAT, ITS TIME TO KICK SOME KENTAIRE BUTT!" The sound may indeed carry all the way back to the Black Bear Camp but Zayne doesn't both waiting, he does what he does best he draws his sword and charges.

Myrana gasps as shots crack into the eerie silence and dodges a bullet with mad grace (she hides behind Ramius and it pings off his elbow cop at an angle).

To attack on a holiday- he knew that these bastards were cunning fiends, but this is too much. Bullets scream through the air and spark against the tremendous bulwark of Argetlahm's black face. Ramius roars over the din of the trumpets and gunfire, his voice rising against the howling winter wind, "To arms, men! Man the ramparts! Blast holes into the ice and throw their advanced guard into the river! Archers, flaming arrows over the north and south. Give me flares to the east and west. I want eyes on their advance. They might think they've caught us off-guard, but I'll be damned if I let them get the better of us twice in one night! Give no quarter! Keep them from the ramparts!"

Havelock swiftly dons his helm as his fellow Reliant is spent spinning to the ice cold ground, there's simply nothing to be done for that poor fellow. Drawing his sidhe steel blade, Havelock holds his own against the enemy charge, rallying those about him with a roar of utter annoyance at the Feast day being so tainted. Havelock himself cuts into the enemy, kicking at another and grasping another unfortunate by the throat, clutching the man's neck within his gauntletted grasp as he rams his sword through the man's stomach, "For Aequor and the One!" The words roared loudly as the battle is joined. Bertram's own shout is heard, and even as battle is joined the Reliant yells loudly, roaring his defiance and pushing away the corpse. Sir Havelock lashes out another, cutting down the enemy and not giving an inch.

Trumpets blare again and men scream and die and fight in the swirlign snows that continue to drift down. No cannons boom, but Long Cannons crack and thunder. The Praetor nods to his cavalry. "The Infantry are across. Now it is our turn. Kill these Aequoran Vitches. We'll give Alasce to the Prince for a Feast Day gift!" He levels his sword and the horses begin to move forward, sweeping across the frozen lake toward the beleaguered lines.

Amidst the rage of battle and swirling snows, the Praetorian Guard were a place of serenity. They formed a defensive screen around the Praetor who led the Kentaire Legion, keeping him safe in case any rogue elements broke through the secure battle lines. In the light of the day, his armor glinted, the polished steel a beacon for his troops in the battle, his purple cape and plumage indicating his noble status for all to see. His orders were efficient, tactical, and every decision was made with the experience of decades of military service and experience.

In the midst of raising an arm to deliver what would have been a signal for a crushing cavalry charge, the strangest thing happened. No one quite knew where, or why, but all of a sudden, the silver helm was suddenly stained brilliant crimson…or what was left of it anyway. A bullet, meticulously aimed and planned, had crossed the battlefield, just barely at the weapons maximum range, and ploughed through the armor, which offered little resistance to the high-powered firearm's payload. The resultant clash of bullet and skull resulted in a brainpan that was violently dashed about and left a skull exploded like an overripe fruit. There was a stunned silence for a moment from the Praetorian Guard as their officer swayed in his saddle and then fell, unceremoniously to the ground, very, very dead.

Having run to a position, and lying atop a nearby hill, a solitary figure allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps there was something to these long cannons after all. Quietly, he slipped back down the rock formation where he had perched, and slunk away. It was a good shot…

The Cavalry falters for a moment, surprised at a Long Cannon taking out their Praetor. While it doesn't STOP the enemy attack, it does slow the Cavalry at this time ….

The knot of engineers begins to find its ground, planted firmly in the snow. The Kentaire legionaries back off for a moment, and then under the lead of one of their centurions charges back at Sir Bertram and his gang. The knight's halberd ploughs into the centurion's head, crushing it from the side and dropping him to the ground in a bloody heap. Unfortunately, his charge is still kept up. The engineers again stop them from advancing, but it's a very near thing. "Move! Move!"

Zayne is now in the thick of it. Several soliders have rallied around him and together they fight back the Leigon as they cross the river. Zayne sweeps his glittering lightsilver blade in a wicked arc, neatly slices two men across the toso. The blade bites through their armor and thier guts spill out steaming onto the snow cover ground staining it red. Zayne grins and whirls around bringing his blade up to face the next enemy. "Come on you flaming idiots! Come and face me if you dare!" That maic grin and giant blood stained blade are intimidating enough but the way Zayne fights makes it likely the more inexperienced soldiers will wet themselves before facing him.

Hooves crushing snow and ice produce a distinctive sound. It's one Ramius knows intuitively now. He still hears that sound in his nightmares, when the Clan of the Horse surges through the fields and valleys of his homeland. He turns just as the cavalry begins their charge and he feels his heart catch in his chest.

And then he feels his rage tear through out of his throat.

Ramius does not know that the Praetor has fallen. All he sees is the blood dashing the snow and those terrible shapes charging through the blizzard. The hooves charge across thick ice. Their riders grin and thirst for blood and victory.

Their avarice, he decides, should be properly punished.

Ramius stands up from behind his bulwark. His eyes suddenly burn with the light of dawn. Tongues of flame leap up his arms, into the glinting rubies encrusting the heart of his heirloom blade. Argetlahm burns, its black blade transforming into a slab of molten sunlight.

"You," Ramius intones with all the fury he can summon. "Have chosen a dishonorable path."

Ramius brings his blade down. Argetlahm explodes, unleashing a roaring crescent of fire and light and heat that smashes into the frozen river and sets the ice itself ablaze. "Burn, you whoresons. Burn, and then choke on your own sins!"

Dario loads his hand cannon again, just as he finishes doing that he lifts his head. But its too late, a shot grazes his shoulder tearing the armor there and drawing blood. He sighs as if its more of an annoyance than anything else and takes aim again. Though he is moving a bit more carefully now.

And with Bertram's yell, Havelock growls his frustration as he hacks at the enemy, "Fall back!" The two words yelled as he orders his men to regroup with Bertram and his engineers. Havelock himself stands firm, slowly stepping back a pace at a time as the line of Reliants seeks to hold as they draw back to join up with Bertram and his men, "Protect the engineers at all costs!" Again havelock's voice roars above the din of battle, the Reliant standing tall and proud, his laurelled helm marking him out amongst the many others. Well that and all the yelling and the rather glorious sword he wields. Pausing only for a moment, Havelock eyes the shooting flare as it goes up, and that alone draws the eye to the second legion marching their way, "Retreat!" Again he roars, redoubling the effort to fall back as he barks at Bertram, "You see them?!" The very words yelled as he thrusts his blade against an enemy's shield with a clash of sparks. Havelock and his men seek to fall back under the cover of Bertram's men.

Myrana stays behind the bulwark as burning ice showers everywhere in a hissing golden explosion, an arm flung up over her eyes and Ardaigh shining like neon with a screen of electricity.
Eisen pages: Is the First Spear fellow here?

THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO

"My Emperor. There is an Army and we are but a cohort. You MUST retreat. You must escape!" The Centurians eyes were earnest with lvoe for his emperor. With love for his Empire. It was one Darius knew. He clenched the man's shoulder and smiled as he let the Centurian go and strode to the front line.

The Enemy charged across frozen fields. Thousands of them. He narrowed his eyes. The Garali in the North were nowhere near as bad as those in the South East. Those where men of honr. Warriors. These were opportunists and riaders. They ahd burned and pillaged ethe Empire's caravans. Killed women, children, and innocents. But now they faced him, Emperor Darius Firebrand. "It's okay centurian." He says and squares his shoulder.s Hefting his massive Sidhe Steel Blade. "I am an Army." Then he channeled his sorcery through the blade. Fire erupted in thousand beams of molten light and pierced the incoming army. Shattering armor, burning flesh and incinerating hundreds.

NOW

The vision punshes Ramius like a memory as he channels hsi rage through the blade. It fills his vision so much so that he doesn't see the effect at first of his attack. But everybody else does. The Night is suddenly as bright as a summer noon. That mean of energy, hotter than the hottest fire slams into the river exploding liek one of Bertrams explosive packs. But bigger. Ice flies in every direction Men and horse alike scream as they are either pieced, cooked alive by that intense beam, or are thrown into the swift icey currents and swept under, their armor pulling them down.

At least a Century of infantry is fried from Ramius, as the beam goes directly toward that river. However despite this sudden destruction, the Infantry Cohorts were mostly across, and they fling themselves at the Arrani Legion.

The ground about the packed group of engineers is turning red as legionairies continue to charge against them and repulse, wounded. At one point, a particularly bold soldier vaults over a pair of halberds and into the formation, intent on fighting through them and letting his cohort advance. He slashes, opening a terrible wound on the face one of Bertram's comrades, who collapses in the snow. The man quickly meets his maker though, when Bertram lops his sword arm off with a downward slash of his halberd. "Sir Havelock! I bloody well did! Get the fuck out of here! Let's go!" Enough room has been put between the engineers and their enemies for them to start to retreat. One of them grabs the wounded man and starts to drag him backwards through the snow.

Falling back to Bertram, Havelock stands firm and uses his blade with such cold and lethal efficiency. With one legionaire slashed from collarbone to hip, the Reliant briefly steps forward and thrusts the bloodied Sidhe steel blade into the gut of another, before stepping back once more and pulling his blade from the toppling legionaire to fill the brief gap he left, "Hold fast, do not break nor waver, the One is with us this day!" And there is honied ham and potato and gravy and tea for those who live! The thought trickles through Havelock's mind as he turns, deflects a blow meant for his chest and slashes the man across his throat with a skillful riposte that sends blood spurting and another legionaire to the ground. Not once does he falter as he seeks to do his best for those he has been sent to aid. Anything less… doesn't bear thinking about.

Myrana surges up to her feet when the shock of the blast lets go of her, face alight with startlement and disbelief as she looks out toward the bizzarre inferno of the river. It mesmerizes her for a moment as flecks of burning ice patter her face harmlessly and her hair is blown back with a wild snap, cloak blown off and lost somewhere in the snow. While Ramius rocks back on his heels slightly, perhaps, Myrana ascends the bulwark with a flash of the glowing teal Ardaigh, standing astride it as the first of the Kentaire soldiers reaches their position.

She looks down at the soldier like a white spectre amid all the gold and red and burning black smoke, her lightsilver cutlass dripping fat pearls of lightning, waiting as he runs toward the target of the Arrani Legion's general… then leaps down to meet him with a deadly fluttering sound and a crack-jingle of jewelry.

Ramius' vision disappears into a flashing daze of his own making. The Baron stumbles and falls to a knee, using his blade as a crutch to keep himself upright. It's not the light that causes him to stumble, but the memory, like a hammer into his frontal lobe. It dizzies him, staggers him, and only the creeping cold that washes away the lingering heat of his tremendous onslaught reminds him that he's still here.

More importantly, it reminds him that he still has a battle to win.

"Maintain your ranks, men," Ramius orders. "Shields, pikes, force them back into the river. Guns, archers, keep their snipers pinned. Do not let up- show them their folly. They came at us in the night, knowing that one Aequoran was worth five of their own in a straight fight. They thought they could beat us in the dark, well…!"

"Show them what every lady in the West already knows. When the lights go out, nobody can possibly match an Aequoran!"

Dario fires a few more shots, but they all miss thier marks. He takes another hit, this time in the leg. He grimances in pain but loads another shot and prepares to fire again. He looks angry, a tall figure clad in black to match his current mood.

The flash of light blinds Bertram for a moment - not to mention the others around him and stops his retreat. His body tenses up all at once and he drops to knee, almost dropping his halberd, too, though in the end it barely stays clenched in his hand. "ARGH!" He yells, in pain from the massive light. WHen he opens up, the battlefield is still for a moment. He rises. "Get Lucky back to the healers, Pickles. Arbor, Murgen, on me! We stick here and show these apes who's who!" The retreat is over. Bert and his two remaining companions charge to get alongside Havelock

Across the way Zayne sees the blinding flash of light and the river set aflame, he blinks. "Whatever the hell did that, I want one." He grins, some of his offense is sacrificed as he stares at the flaming river, but he manages to hold his own and not get so much as a scratch. Then he swings his blade again, going on the offensive once more.

… though after the third death, as the night's sky is illuminated, Havelock pauses in dealing death and flinches away from the light as he briefly gawps at the brightly lit sky. Awed, concerned, shocked… and confused. At least till blades begin to ring once more. And the shock shows, etched upon his features. Silence mostly as Havelock and his men hold the line and hack at the enemy, except for a muted, "By the One…"

As the light of that attack fades, the screams of men in the river being pulled under also begins to fade. As if their life fades as well as the light. Still the Infnatry advance. Still they fight. And the Arrani Legion HOLDS. Bolstered by their commander, the officers scream to hodl the lines. To push them back To turn the snow RED. The Arrani push back as commanded in the front. And though they too take losses, they drive into the Kentaire there, and the Legion, leaderless thanks to Eisen's shot, and without it's punching power as per their plan thanks to Ramiu's magic, find themselves stepping backk. Step by step. Until many are fighting int eh cold unforgiving waters. The Berserkers of Arrani, though suffering terrible casualties raging and crashing there to drive them further into the river.

To the North, orders reach and the Relients set up a crossbow line. Firing to try to delay the advancing legion there. The Spear set up and continue to fight, allowign the crossbows to be ready. The Cavalry, despite wanting to get into it. Hold back. Pracning in place. In the South, the Legion's heavy Infantry rushes into place even as Scorpians and Ballista are turned or rolled into their own palce. THey open up on that southern advancing Legion. Who bellows and begins to charge. The Arrani heavies setting thelves and waiting.

"Black Bears! On me! Cavalry! CHARGE!" Zayne bellows out just as the rest of his men join the frey. The Black Bear Cavalry is prepared and they charge a heavy infantry cohort along with several others at top speed. Zayne grins as his men drive a large portion of the eemy into the freezing river waters. Zayne swings his blade once more as he and the other Bears who are fighting on foot start to drive the enemy back towards the water as well, cutting down as many as they can in the process.

"Myrana," Ramius says with glimmering eyes and a slight smile. "Thank you, as always. Pulling my magnificent ass out of the fire again. Well." The Arrani general rises, pushing up from the snow with a sudden, violent impulse of motion come alive. Ramius surges towards the front line to join his fellows, his blade no longer aglow, but still swinging in deadly, crushing arcs. "Keep at them, lads! Push them back! Drown them in the river!"

Sir Bertram's and his two companions, now hardly a jolly band, make it to Havelock's side. As they move, they're not really able to do much more than keep the enemy at bay, poking at them and simply pushing them away from their group. "Lads, get in with us! We'll keep them away, you poke the ones in the cocks with your swords who get through!"

"Y-You can't just say its m-marvellous!" Myrana objects as Ramius smiles up at her, indignant and embarrassed at once. The man that'd rushed at Ramius is armless and dead. Then Ramius is off and charging even deeper in. "Wait! You have some damn explaining to do!" And she runs after him, having to all but go head over heels to keep up with the much taller man.

The laurelled Doctor, one Sir Havelock Synn nods towards Sir Bertram, "We'll do our best." Indeed, etched upon Havelock's face is a somewhat crooked smirk, almost wolfish as he slashes at the enemy, while mostly parrying a blow or two after the reaping he levied upon the enemy mere moments before, "Crossbowmen! At will!" And bolts thud from the Reliant lines into the enemy, the constant crack and whir of reloading punctuating the clash of blades, hammers and polearms. Havelock himself doing his damndest to stand tall and proud amidst the line, marked indeed as 'that' Reliant. For the laurels upon his helm are pretty damn spiffy, "Sons and daughters of Rikton! We might have been driven from our Holy City by evil, but if we hold here, we'll make it back there and cleanse our glorious city of its foulness and corruption!"

Out of nowhere charges — No, leaps — another soldier into the fray against the front line. Sailing in from high in the sky, Altair hurtles himself halberd first towards the front line troops, in an effort to break the line open and allow a charge to form. However, he looks like he's struggling a bit in flight. He lands against some of the armored phalanx, his halberd failing to penetrate with enough thrust to do any damage whatsoever, more scaring the troops and causing a few to go stumbling into the river. Altair jumps back to land a short distance away as more of the Legion start after him. A little blood also manages to eke from the steel scales of his armor, gainst his right arm. "That could have gone better…" he says to no one in particular, kneeling where he landed a moment before he starts a hasty retreat and regroup.

Archers move to support the southern flank firing at flanks to funnel the incoming Kentaire Legion right into the Arrani heavy infantry. They crash and weapons crash filling the air with screams. In the north the crossbows fire, slamming a deadly fusilade into the andvancing Kentaire troops, who begin to charge. The Spear set themselves, but still the cavalry of the Arrani Legion holds themselves. Waiting. Just waiting.

Except for the Bears. Who rush forward and slam into a heavy infantry Cohort. Those who are not outright killed, are scattered and fall into the waters where they are swept under, dragged by the powerful current. A Light infantry Cohort is about to counter charge along the quickly turning red river when Altair suddenly appears. The BOOM of his landing and the resounding shockwave rippling across the river and sends up a flurry of snow that blinds the rushing Infantry stopping them dead and scattering more than one, knocking a few into the river jsut by their proximity. As he steps back a Solder lands next to him Having been flung straight up and lands with a sickening crunch.

To the North the Praetor of the Legio II stares in horror. How? How could the entirety of the XI and the XIII and the II not have crushed them? What was that Damnable light that shattered the river? The plan had been so carefully laid out over a month. Their surprise had worked. Now an Aequor Understrength Legion is not only holding their own, they mgiht copletely wipe out one Legion and were inflicting LOSSES on two others. "Sir?" He snaps his gaze. "Charge them. Have the Cavalry Charge, and signal the XIII to do teh same. The Siege Breaker DIES this day, CHARGE THE SON OF A VITCH AND KILL HIM!" His words meant to be in anger, are said more in fear …

The First Spear of the XI knew his men were loosing. He didn't understand how, but they were. For the Prince. He was here for the Prince. They all were. "Kill them! Kill as many Aequorans as you bloody can!" And then he spies him. Lurking. Waiting. The man who had snuck into HIS encampment. Damaged HIS honor, and then escaped. "Assasin" he hisses. He rushes through the lines, slashing and killing as he goes. He makes his way directly toward Eisen screaming a warcry as he closes in.

It's when the battle finally turns in Aequor's favour that Sir Bertram of Harcourt takes his first wound. It's not crippling, but one of the Kentairish legionairies finds his way in between the three halberds. This time, neither Bertram nor his allies are able to push the man back, and a sword finds its way through a bend in his armour, piercing a spot around the mercenary knight's thigh and drawing a significant amount of blood. He yelps and draws back for a moment in shock. Then calm finds its place back into the veteran's heart, and he redoubles his efforts to attack his foes.

Again Havelock stands firm as the enemy presses against their line, weapons are thrust and men scream and fall on each side. While Havelock, uninjured and standing resolute, continues to levy a reaping before him. The sidhe steel blade wielded with a certain measure of skill honed in what is almost becoming a countless series of battles and skirmishes. The blade cuts through armour, slashing through muscle and flesh, sending more to the ground before him. The bodies have piled somewhat, to such an extent that Havelock rests a heavy spurred boot upon a couple of those fallen Kentaire, pushing forward just enough to try and clear the area before him, "For the One and Aequor! Down with Kentaire!"

A splash of red paints the snow behind the Arrani general. A charging horseman lodged his spear into Ramius' shoulder, only to find the horse cut out from underneath him. Ramius whispers a curse as he snaps the lance off in his wound. He can keep fighting with this just this much, for now. "Well," he says to the woman fighting at his side. "My rear is pretty marvelous, too. It's always so nice to hear you voice your opinions, dear."

Ramius glares at the charging cavalry, then. He licks his upper lip and raises his blade. "SHIELD WALL! LANCES TO PHALANX POSITION! Gunners and pikemen in staggered rank. Fire when you see the whites of their eyes, men! Break them upon the rocks!"

Zayne is busy, he is fighting alongside his men working to drive the Kentairish enemy into the water. Blood paints the snow around him as his blade finds purchase in yet another man this time severing a leg. The man screams as he goes down and Zayne just continues on slicing the broken mans head off and moving on to the next one. "Come on men! Lets drive these pompous fools back! For D'Armaz! For Aequor! And Happy Feast day! At least the crows will be eating good." He snickers as he moves ever forward blade slinging and swinging in massive arcs as he fights.

And lo, though he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, he would fear no evil. The smell of sorcery was thick in the air and to those who recognized its stench, it was unmistakable. During the great explosions of light and other sorcerous workings, a figure stalked through the battlefield. He towered over the men around him, unconsciously giving…whatever it was a wide berth. The man was covered in a ttattoo that bled sorcerous energies into the air, before devouring them once again. It would seem that there was not only The Ghoul, but the wraith, the All Consuming Void. Body clad in inky darkness, the form of Eisen strode forward, catching sight of the First Spear at the same time the legionnaire saw him. The titan moved, almost by instict now, as he finally found his target. He wielded no weapons, his bare hands clad in what almost appeared like skeletal claws, if you looked long enough. As he squared off with the First Spear, Eisen narrowed his eyes. "I already sent your Praetor to the other side…and now, you're going to join him."

Myrana's free right hand crooks into a claw and electricity blossoms up into it and spills out through her hooked fingers like brilliant, hungry strands as a horseman runs his spear into Ramius before the horse is cut out from under him. Nevertheless, in her left, Ardaigh's neon glow only brightens and burns like a white brand, mimicing the moonwhite fall of her braid. Myrana is no longer lost in Ramius' shadow; though she hasn't seemed to realize it yet, her control is slipping and electricity pushes its way out of her. But for now, it's contained, even if it makes her glow in the smoke and overcast of battle like an infuriated lantern.

"I'm much more interested in how you set a river on fire, Ramius!" Myrana shouts over the din. Then yelps in surprise as a bolt of lightning reaches out from Ardaigh at random and splashes with a hiss off of a passing chestplate.

"Oh you know," Ramius says as he runs his sword through the hollow of another man's chest. "When a man's heart fills to the brim with love, sometimes his sword glows strong and mighty and he might shoot with enough heat and fervor to turn night to day."

"Did your matrons never teach you how men work?"

He sees it. He hears it. The call for a shield wall. The rush of horses. He looks first to the soldiers that are heading for his present position, then towards the horses that are heading for the phalanx. "One help me and give me the strength…" he prays before he leaps sailing high into the stratosphere. Where he comes down is right in the center of the stampeding line, one cavalryman stabbed through and through, including his horse. A number of others in the immediate vicinity are crushed by their horses as they are swept away in the shockwave, while more horses rear up, throwing riders hither and yon or forcing them to try and regain equine control. Altair makes another, shorter leap, o land behind the phalanx wall, his position placing him closer to Myrana than perhaps he might like to be. He kneels there, his bloody halberd against the ground, not returning to a standing position right away, his breathing hard. "Way to go.. Myrana…" he says with a weakened smile between breaths. Looking back out, he hopes he did enough to disrupt that charge…

The First spear staggers back form Eisen's punches and kicks. The firs tof which snaps the strap on his helmet and knocks it off. The First Spear spits out a tooth, and comes at Eisen again. His blade ready to end his opponant. "For the Praetor alone I'll have your Head Aequoran Vitch. For being an asshole? I'll make it fucking hurt." Then he launches into a series of attacks on the Blood Seeker commander. Intent on killing or maiming the larger man before him, Even as men around the two of them die.

The enemy Cavalry closes and slams into the Relients there at the north. Lances lowered they try to break up the enemy formation. However, this was what the Heavy Cavalry of the Relients had been waiting for. The General had told them to wait for this. They wheel and with a cry of, "FOR THE ONE AND AEQUOR!" They form a wedge and crash into the Kentaire troops to the North. Specifically hammering THEIR Infnatry. The Lighter Kentaire Troops are hammered and bleed, screaming as the Relients drive in on them. In the south much the same is repeated. Though with House troops as opposed to the heavy Kngihts of the Relients. While less effective, it is no less devastating.

Though the Legion is holding and bleeding the enemy terribly, the Arrani Legion is bleeding. They are taking heavy losses and men scream as the waves of Kentaire rush at them. With nowhere to retreat, they hold. Soldiers grit their teeth, and prayers are offered. Gun fire rings out all over the battlefield. Arrows fly through the air along wiht crossbows. Horses scream. Men scream. The white of snow has long turned red. A cloud opens up and Winter Moon brightens the area, giving the field a sickening red color.

Havelock smiles crookedly as he hears the thunder of familiar hooves, he knows all too well that the cavalry are enroute to some sorry lot of Kentaire Legionaires. And Havelock almost pities them. At least he would if he wasn't holding his own, a stalwart bulwark against the Kentaire horde! Even as sweat drips down his brow, from beneath that heavy laurelled helm of his, the Reliant cuts a swathe before him and never yields an inch.

To make matters worse for Sir Bertram, the flank of his little shield wall is taken in when Kentaire's cavalry charges in. Shifting his focus from the man in front of him, he and his two comrades pull back into the wall of Reliants and moves to try and deal with the horsemen. It's when he swings his halberd to push one man off of his horse that the horseman's lance finds its way under his arm, opening a second wound. He grinds his teeth in pain, but keeps at it. "Get these bloody horse fuckers back!"

It was clear to the men around them, that the duel between the First Spear and the d'Geroux was their own, and no one was to interfere. The pair traded blows, keeping a frenzied pace up at each other. They had both suffered wounds before, and it was clear that they both still had plenty of give. In exchange for the helmet removal and the likely partially broken jaw, the legionnaire had blooded Eisen, finding a way through his armor with his gladius. As he was cut, the Ghoul didn't even flinch. He had suffered far worse, and besides, this man was /his/, even if he had to fight off Death itself in order to do so. He re-engaged the man, his face still covered in the rictus-mask of shadow. "I've heard plenty of people talk about how they were going to kill me, and none of them has ever succeeded, legionnaire. I'll add you to the tally after the battle, don't worry."

Myrana suddenly breaks into a smile, laughing despite herself. Sparks fall off of her and she bats an arrow away from where it was whistling in at her with a swat of her cutlass. "Don't think I'm going to forget just because you flash those eyes at m-UCK" And is suddenly three feet /that/ way as a horseman comes flying out of nowhere and hurls a spear that knocks her off her feet.

"Come on you bastards! At least give me a fucking challenge here!" Zayne cries out with a wicked grin and a gleam in his eye as he continues his onslaught against the enemy. Men fall around him, blood sprays out from the wounded and the dying, screams create a symphony of agony, and yet still the d'Rana remains unfazed and dedicated to his work. He seems to enjoy it even.

For the second time tonight, Ramius feels his blood run cold. The winter and its accursed moon be damned- he can tolerate that kind of cold. Weather is nothing. But seeing your wife go from grinning to floored in the time it takes for a soldier to hurl a spear is something else entirely.

Rage pours through Ramius' veins like a dam burst upstream. It explodes from his throat in a terrible roar. Argetlahm's black blade reflects the cold light of the moon as he scythes forward, hewing horse and rider in one smooth motion before continuing his advance a second step, killing a second man by decapitation and maiming a third before going to stand over Myrana's fallen form.

"Myrana, wake up," he hisses aside as his blade turns another soldier aside. "Come on, don't scare me like this—"

His voice surges again, "MEN! YOUR WOMEN, YOUR CHILDREN, FOR EVERYTHING YOU HAVE, MURDER THESE FUCKERS! They seek to take what you love. What you hold dear. They seek to tear husbands and wives from their beloveds, rip parents from children, brothers and sisters from siblings. Kill them. Strike them all down!" Another pivot. Ramius deflects a second javelin, "No matter how they push, you must push harder! There is no choice here. They will spare no quarter. Victory or death! With me! Shatter their lines!"

Altair blinks as he sees Myrana fall, finding a newfound reserve of strength to rush to her side. As he moves in, he deals the horseman that felled Myrana a death slice, watcing the man fall into the muddy, bloody snow and bleed out while the horse goes running. He stands over Myrana, a furious glare in the towering white walker's eyes. He lives true to his monicker 'White Dragon' as he thrusts and slices at the oncoming cavalry, felling them left and right, leaving a wake of bodies around he and Myrana. "Myrana!! Can you retreat??" he says, glancing back to her for but a moment, hoping she can get off the field while he plays meat shield.

The Praetor of the II stares. "Impossible." He says under his breath. Was The Betrayer from Galenthia here? Was this Ramius d'Arran, the Wall breaker, actually Darius Firebrand reborn come to punish the descendents of Marinor one more? He stares in horror as he watches his men ebing cut down. He hears the trumpets and sees the signal flares despite the swirling snow. Somehow. Somehow the Arrani Legion was holding against Three Legions, and they were WINNING.

The First Spear sneers at Eisen. "I'll try to be afraid pissant." He replies and continues to try to kill the large man before him, Despite the fact that he was fighting with his hands and the First Spear a Gladius. He had to admit, the man was good. But he refused to give in. If he was to die here, he'd go to the Kingdom of the Sun with blade in ahnd and tell the One he died how he lived. A loyal Solider to the Imperial Throne.

The snow swirls around the soldiers fighting. So much of the XI Legion had been driven into the waters of the Silver Crescent that there was maybe three Cohorts of troops left on the shore fighting. Three Cohorts out of Ten. The bears hoot and holalr as they fight on. Stabbing and slashing. Fighting like the mad men they are known for, while the Arrani Legion soldiers continue to fight as they can.

In the North, The II Legion Infantry Line begins to falter, but hasn't broken yet. They continue to fight even as their Cavalry tries to desperately savlage this fight. The same goes in the south an almost mirrored that is eerie to behold. As Ramius calls, the Arrani soldiers till standing roar. And somehow find the reserves to fight HARDER.

Myrana isn't dead; dead people don't have spears slowly heating up where they're sticking out of them and starting to smoke where the glowing-hot, sparking and hissing spearhead is beginning to combust the wooden haft. She has been knocked senseless, though; one heel shoves convulsively at the snowbank she's been hurled into and she groans. Where the snow touches her it hisses, and there's a terrible dangerous-smelling aura around her, like the air before a lightning blast as the sorcery tries to find a better 'out' than the spearhead, which is now spitting a tongue of lightning

The pushing back of the line finally stops. The wounds put into Bertram's body still bleed freely, but the swinging of his halberd is forcing the enemy horsemen to edge backwards, even if they're not being cut down by the large blade. The enemy horse is effectively pinned in this sector, and that's all that counts. There's no question, though, that Sir Bertram and his two comrades are tiring out rapidly, pouring with sweat though they'd dropped the furs that they'd earlier put on to keep the cold away as soon as the battle started. Once this is over and if they survive, they're going to get very cold, very fast. That beats a fast but methodical pattern with a sound like ripping paper.

It's time to try something new. Seeing that Myrana isn't moving and Ramius is obviously someone who cares for her a great deal, Altair glares forward at the incoming charge. "Guide me…" he says in another prayer as he charges forward against the incoming horde. Backed with force magic, he manages to clear the space immediately in front of Myrana, but not without suffering himself. A bowman sees an opportunity and strikes out with an arrow, an opportune shot that snags his shoulder and reels him back a bit, halting any further charge for the time being.

Havelock tires also, though he continues to stand his ground, for as he hefts his blade to slice at an enemy, some Legionnaire thrusts a blade into his side, needling between plates and through padding to pierce his side deeply. A pained grunt is all the recognition that deep and bloody wound receives, for the wind is forced from his lungs. Even as the snow swirls about them and the cavalry harries them, Havelock seeks to right himself as best he can, his one arm pressed against his side, while his other hand wields that blade. With blood trickling down his flank beneath the blood soaked armour, the Doctor roars a spit flecked roar, "Make them bleed!"

The veteran fighters clash, again, and again, and again. They were almost perfectly matched, the pair. And if it weren't for the fact that they were fighting, they might have been peers. Unfortunately, fate had cast them in this role, this battle against each other. Clenched fist met blade, shield met shoulder. As the fighting around them thins and the pair fight through the corpses piled around them, the nearby men watch, those from Kentiare desperately hoping that if their First Spear kills this…whatever this man is, if he is even a man, that they might be inspired, and turn the tide. Off in the distance, the Blood Seekers watch their command through spyglasses, knowing that even though he was in his element, there was still a chance he could fall.

The First Spear seems to gain the upper hand for a moment, and a hole opens in Eisen's guard, and the man lunges… The sword blade found purchase, gashing open Eisen's side, spilling his blood to the snow in a hot spurt. The hearts of the Aequorians watching leapt up in their throats…but then, Eisen actually smiled. The feint had worked. The First Spear had made an error, and did not check his swing. A tiny misstep, but the d'Geroux never missed an opportunity. With a hammer blow, he smashed his fist into the armored elbow of the First Spear, shattering the joint with the force of the impact. To his credit, the man didn't scream, but his gladius did fly from his hand. Before he could draw any other weapon, a massive hand clamped itself around his throat, lifting him off the ground, gripping tightly, choking the life out of him, even through his armor.

"Someday, someone will best me…but it won't be today, and it won't be /you/." With a roar, Eisen actually /threw/ the man into the air. It would have probably been unsettling…but then, with a single blow, the d'Geroux slams his fist into the man, crushing him into the ground, neck first, a loud CRACK coming from snapped bones.

Myrana isn't dead, and Ramius isn't alone. He glances back over his shoulder as Altair draws up behind him. "Watch my back, soldier. I will be damned before I let these bastards lay even so much as touch her."

"Men of the North," Ramius growls as he sees his men rally— as he watches as these veterans of so many battles surge with the fury that he knows so well. The fury of the thunderstorm. The fury of the landslide. Of the volcano. Of the avalanche. "MEN OF THE MOUNTAIN! I have no more orders to give. No more instruction. Not because there are none left to give- but because there is no more need. I know your hearts, I know your souls. You know mine. Blood spilled upon blood."

"Do what you must do. Show these southerners how Arrani fight— show them why we are the Bulwark of the North."

"Bury them with your bravery, drown them in the blood of the fallen. Drive the barricades upon them," Ramius says to his berserkers with a terrible grin, "And throw open the carnage-gates."

His blood throbs against his eardrums. The fury of his ancestors howls through his veins. Ramius' voice goes up again into a tremendous shout. He leaps ahead of Altair, gently shoving the man back before transitioning seamlessly into a devastating cleaving blow. Three men barrel back into six. Ramius opens the door.

Carving plenty of room for the Arrani to press in after him.

"COME ON! Surely ONE of you is man enough to land a blow on me?!" Zayne challenges the soldiers as he fights them. Around him his bears are tearing into the enemy as well but none do so quite as gleefully as the d'Rana. He slices through man after man. Wading through bodies as he agressively pushes ever forward.

Having paused breifly to bandage some of his worst wounds up Dario is now back in the fray. Another shot is fired from that ornate hand cannon he carries. It flies through the air and impales itself neatly between the eyes of the last Centurian from the Legion XI. He smirks faintly in satisfaction and loads his hand cannon once more. He glances around, looking for any wounded that need emergency tending.

With that, they two sides clash. For hours. Though the night, the twin moons dance their dance across the sky. Sometimes a break int eh clouds reveals moonlight from one or both moons, and the carnage is laid bare for all to see. But for most of it, the night is dark, and filled with the sounds of war. With screaming. With horror. With Blood.

It's a trickle at first. Men turn and flee the lines, running away into that swirling snow, back toward their own lines. Away from the ground turned red. However, that trickle becomes a stream and then a flood. Then the Legions are straight up running. The Praetor of the II Stands there. Unbelieveing. It was just … "Impossible." He whispers under his breath. No general. No Army. Could do what he jsut saw. Not even what he'd heard of the Betrayer. Sure. The Betrayer had fought twenty Thousand with jsut Two. But they had been those savages from the Partharian Empire. Light Infantry, light Horse. Here, Kentaire had brought to bear close to Fifteen Thousan Legionaire. Three Full legions. "Impossible."

The Last Gunshot along the river has a Kentaire soldier fall backward into the river. Despite the swirlign snow the panting hard to breath out of breath men, there were NO Kentaire Soldiers on this side of the Silver Crescent. The entire Legio XI had been pushed into the river and either killed by blades, lighting, spears, arrows, or the swift icey currents. Close to Five Thousand Men. Gone.

As the realization hits that the Arrani Legion, against all odds. Against sanity, still stands, the Sun rises. Cresting and stabbing over the horizon as if the One himself came to look on the carnage. Snow mostly stops falling as ALl Feast Day breaks over Aequor. The enemy is gone. Almost.

There where the Legio II had advanced is one man. His purple cloak and crest on his helmet part him a Praetor. He stares unbelieving. Standing there, eyes wide in shock. If anybody approaches him he merely says over and over again, "Impossible…"

As Eisen finishes fighting whatever he was fighting, he turns, and returns to those that he knows on the battlefield. He is still shrouded in his sorcery, the Consuming Void, as he approaches the fallen Myrana and those around her. Healers couldn't touch her, lest they want to get a…shocking experience. In grim, bloody silence, the d'Geroux stands over the fallen Arrani woman, eyes staring through her. "I said that once, I would be the one to kill you." He reaches out a hand, holding it above her. Before anyone can stop him, he grasps ahold of the spear that spat the tongues of lightning, which arc over him like a second skin. The electric maelstrom rages in the air, vainly trying to harm the man, but slowly, inexorably, it dissipates, the sorcerous energy that sustained it being leeched away into nothing. "It is good that it won't be today."

Twelve hours. Twelve hours of fighting through the night, through the snow. So much blood was spilled. Thousands of lives lost. By the end of it, his legion is in tatters; a holiday turned inside out. But in their sacrifice, they had painted the snow the colors of the season.

And somehow, by the end of it, Ramius… Is still alive.

Myrana is still alive.

So many are dead, but he knows that, at least.

The Arrani commander drops to a knee as the battle comes to an end and the strength finally leaves his body. He turns his head up to glare into the very heart of the lone, standing Praetor.

"Capture him," he says to anyone who will hear. "I'm sure he has quite a few stories to tell."

Eisen looks over to Ramius, nodding. "I am sure that he will. He wasn't the one I saw when I infiltrated their camp…but the one that I /did/ see was the one who got his brainpan rearranged." Ignoring his already coagulating wounds, the d'Geroux lets out a long sigh, his breath holding in the air, and his inky visage disappates into the air. "An interesting sword…but that can be a discussion for another time. Well fought, Arrani, well fought."

Zayne spies that Preator standing by his lonesome babbling like an idiot and sighs. He shakes his head and stalks his way over to the man. Six foot seven inches of D'Rana Lord now looms over the stunned Legion leader. "You people really are idiots." And then Zayne knocks the man upside the head with the pommel of his blade. Catching him in one hand he throws the now unconcious Preator over his shoulder. Blade in one hand and captive over the other shoulder he makes his way back to Ramius whistling a jaunty tune. Uncermoniously he drops the man at his commanders feet. "There you go Boss. I bonked him good but he's alive. Let me know if you want him interrogated." He grins wickedly. Then he notices Myrana. "Aww shit…who stabbed the Tiny Boss?! Someone is going to die…wait we killed them all already didn't we? damnmit."

Dario says, "hey Myrana?"

As Eisen pulls the spear out Dario hurries over with his medical kit. A glare is given to the d'Geroux. "Yes yes. You will kill her another day. Thats nice. I'm sure you will try very hard. Now move along. I have a sister to save." He starts to work after that, and he manages to have Myrana stablized and treated in record time. Her wounds will take time to fully heal. But Dario is able to make sure his sister was well cared for.

Ramius peers up at Zayne as an unconscious body hits the ground at his feet. "…Thanks," he says. "I see you're as jovial as ever. I trust you had a good run, then?"

He looks to Eisen then and shakes his head. "You killed one of their Praetors? Well done. That may have saved us." The topic turns to his sword. Ramius glances askance at the blade. "I thought that much was obvious after that time in Gendiel. It just keeps on surprising people, it seems."

"I wasn't there for the battle at Gendiel, actually." As Dario shoos Eisen away, the big man simply takes a step to the side so that he can tend to his sister. He's not /too/ tired to rough him up, but it isn't worth the effort, at the moment. When Ramius mentions the Praetor, the Ghoul nods. "I used one of their long cannon that I acquired…I only learned his identity after I broke into the camp…your men actually helped fish me out of the river a month or two ago." Eisen manages a smile, despite himself, and then rolls a stiff shoulder. "If they didn't know me before the battle, they will now…but it matters little. Soon, I will not be in Aequor."

"No?" Ramius frowns, casting his memory back to that terrible day. It seemed like such a blur at the time. "…No I suppose not. Well. I'm glad that my men could be of service, regardless. I fear this won't be the first time you hear of this sword- if I'm not careful, its legend might outreach my own."

He sighs, quietly cleaning the viscera from his blade. "Aequor will miss you while you're gone. I assume you'll be back sooner or later, though. You don't seem like a man who leaves work unfinished, after all.:"

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