Sellswords and Turncoats (EIS)

[Cebron]

Cebron sat atop Dancer, his mare, the great white horse he usually like to ride on raids. She was smarter than his other horse, and seemed to be more aware, somehow, of her surroundings at night. On either side, he had a few of his top men waiting for his orders.

On his right, as befit the man, was his right hand, Eckhart. Eckhart was a large man of Bern with a nose that had looked like it had been broken four times before it had ever been broken, and looked even worse now. He was a bit rotund, but possessed thick shoulders. The man was the leader of Cebron's vanguard in most battles, and took the position as an honor. He would never dream of thinking, and that was part of why Cebron liked having him as a second in command. Cebron himself was practically his own second.

Immediately to Cebron's left was Anselm, the man who served under Cebron in battle, making him second in command of Cebron's light cavalry. He was Lycian, from Laus, Cebron believed. He was a decent tactician, and for that reason Cebron would often give him autonomy with his unit. He also managed to be one of the few men capable of keeping a conversation from boring Cebron.

To the right of Eckhart was Kal, a young Ilian who had a smart mouth and a hot head. He looked like a commoner, and if Cebron's guess was right, he was. He led the heavy cavalry into battle, and was the third man this year to hold the position. Cebron liked the man leading the heavy unit to be bold, and it tended to have consequences for the man wearing the armor.

Lastly, to the left of Anselm was Nergui, a rather tall Sacaen man, who was usually quite talkative, but ever since they had crossed into Sacae, the man had been almost silent. Like all who came to him, Nergui was motivated by coin. However, Cebron doubted it didn't hurt him a bit to fight his countrymen. He was from some southern tribe, its name began with an A, and he led Cebron's mounted archers, his smallest unit.

Cebron finally gave the order after the brief rest they had taken. It was midday, and he was sure the men had grown tired. "Let's march."

[Cebron]

As Dancer moved forward at a slow pace, a leviathan of armored horsemen trailed behind him. Weaving his way through the band came a frail bishop atop a small Lycian horse, who Cebron had guessed was somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. He hurried up to Dancer's side, but did not say a word. He merely stared ahead, his head as straight as his horse's eyes which fell squarely on the horizon. To Cebron's annoyance, the man occasionally took his gaze away from above his hooked nose, and stared a hole in the side of Cebron's face. The large rider finally sighed and said, "Girolamo, what do you want?"

The little bishop straightened his back, and said, in his annoying accent. "Your men are not behaving within the parameters of the agreement you made with sister Agatha. They are drinking, swearing, and when they have a chance taking pleasures outside of Elimine's bonds." Without looking at the bishop, Cebron said in a level tone. "So in other words, they're soldiering?" Girolamo adjusted his seating again in his saddle. "At no point in your agreement did you tell the sister that you led a band of brigands."

Cebron shot an angered glance at the bishop. "Correct, because they aren't brigands, they're mercenaries. Your church wants the plains? Well guess what? You don't have the soldiers to fight a bloody damn war in every bloody damn nation on Elibe. You bought every sword riding behind you, and let me tell you something father," Cebron leaned down to speak at a volume that was almost a whisper, "you get what you pay for."

Ooc: If you joined the Long Company, feel free to jump in when you're open.

[Bones]

"So F#$%ing Sacae", spoke Bones as she marched along. The maiden had her battle axe tossed over her shoulder and her breastplate firmly strapped. She was cursing aloud on purpose. She wanted the priest to hear her, she knew it made him uncomfortable. Bones was that kid of women. To be truthful though she was a bit uncertain about her feelings about being in Sacae again. Technically she was from sacae, thought she grew up in a bandit camp. Her father use to raid these lands and so did her old gang. Now that they were split up she figured she would never see the plains again, but fate had different plans. Bones was once again thrown back into the endless sea of grass. Hopefully this time she could burn it all to the ground.

"I don't see why Eturia paying all this gold to have other people conquer the land for them", spoke Bones to her fellow mercenary. "I mean lets be serious. Paying mercenaries to conquer a land. That is not showing the strength of your nation or the power you hold. All it shows is that your pockets are deep and that you are willing to give coin to see them placed under heel. All the sacaens are going to do is resit you and wait till the mercenaries leave. Then your weak soldiers are going to have to come in and try to hold the land. Once that happens they will rebel and Eturia would just hire us again."

To be truthful Bones was just talking to be talking. Talking made the march less boring and quelled the rage in her chest. Bones was use to being the leader and now she was simply a foot solider. She could operate with these terms, but she was use to at the very least know where they were going. As a common soldier she was told most of the time to march and given small hints to where they were going. It was never a direct we are going here through this route. That was the difference between bandit units and mercenaries. With her band of bandits they at the very least shared all the information with each other. With these guys well, it was almost always on a need to know basics. She figured it was to prevent spies, but shoot. She would like to know what she sighed up for.

"By the way who is leading the infantry this time", spoke Bones to her fellow soldier. Everything always seemed to be about Calvary, but Bones preferred to be on foot.

"Probably Eckhart", spoke a mercenary.

"Man I hate that guy", spoke Bones as she marched on with the rest of the men.

[Cebron]

The Etrurian bishop straightened his back at Cebron's comment. "A soldier, or even a mercenary is not the equivalent of a brigand, Captain. Your men are not simply an unattached mass of sellswords any longer, it is your responsibility as their commanding officer to make sure that they are true representatives of their cause. In your agreement, you swore that your men would be fighting for the values held by Saint Elimine, but it appears you have turned your back on one of those values yourself. You lied Captain, you had no intention of holding your men to any standards, let alone those of the saint or her church."

Cebron let out a heavy sigh. His biggest reservation on taking this job was that it meant that he would have to have the occasional theological discussion with an angry follower of Elimine. It may have been a smarter plan to stay in Bern, fighting bandits the rebels and Ilians couldn't care less about, drinking mead with a pretty girl on his lap. Instead he was here, and he wasn't about to ask the bishop if he'd like a seat. "Is it a value of your saint that her people should ride into other people's lands, converting them not with scripture, but with fire and the sword?" The priest began to speak, but Cebron talked over him. "Your contracts and your coin have bought you a war Girolamo, a real bloody, dirty, hungry war. You've probably read those poems about war, with valiant knights, riding into a city and bringing a bloom to every tree. That's not a war, real war leaves dead men, their legs covered in s**t, not blooming flowers. So my responsibility to my men, that you so casually bring up, is to keep as many of them alive and well paid as I can. As long as you pay well, one of those jobs should be easy."

Girolamo wrinkled his nose in disgust, and quickly spat out. "I was knight commander of the Etrurian Thirteenth Cavalry during the war of Bernese aggression, Captain, I have seen my fair share of warfare. I know what it is to have your men scattered about a field, dieing, wailing to the clouds to save them, to give them a second wind. I have seen armies crumble in front of a dragon, I have smelled the blood of men boiled alive by the fires of hell. Do not lecture me on death. As for this war, it is necessary to bring the savages under heel. Their conversion to the teachings of Elimine will be their first step towards becoming civilized. Their pagan ways will condemn them to an eternity in hell, I do not hold any regrets in sending those unwilling to convert to their graves early." The bishop snapped his head forward, not willing to look at Cebron to wait for a reply.

"Does Elimine believe in killing innocent women and children? Are those who wait in the camps of your enemies worthy of death the same as those on the battlefield? There is a plague, on these very plains to the far west. Your church unleashed him on these lands, and while I don't intend to lose this little war of yours, I won't be heart-broken if he takes a Kutolah arrow to the throat. Do not look for moral high ground with me priest, your church has been digging itself an ethical ditch for years, you've gotten very deep."

[Cebron]

Girolamo's head snapped back to look at the Mercenary Commander. "No head that rejects Elimine may stay atop a pair of shoulders that may one day bear armor and sword against the Saint's children! You have claimed to be of the faith, sir Cebron, but you speak like a heathen. There are those who worship the heroes of the scouring simply because they killed countless. None save Elimine preached kindness. None save Elimine went among their people to teach them of compassion. Eliminism is the only true faith, Captain, and for that reason, her followers must do what she would have wished. The mother would not have wanted any on this continent to face damnation, and for that reason her children must convert those who are willing. Those who are not, are merely dissenting voices. They must be quieted as such."

If Cebron had been in another profession, he might have twisted his face in disgust. He was however, being sent to quiet those voices, and therefore had no room to talk. He talked anyway, "Ah find that there are many justifications for violence, father. You're starving, you're defending something, or you're seeking revenge are the big ones. This war is providing the Sacaens with all three. Ya burn their land, killing the animals most of them hunt. Ya give 'em an enemy to face, a big, powerful enemy. Their sons an' daughters are killed, meaning they have a vendetta. This war is bloody, and poorly timed. The Sacaens are tired, they are in pain. You have chosen now for your war, when the Sacaens are weakest. This would seem to be a good plan, doubtless that is why your tacticians chose now for their attack. Lycia is showing naught but neutrality. Bern is in shambles. Ilia is Ilia, Nabata is Nabata. Sacae has always had someone to come to their rescue, but not now. Now it is just them, the fractured plains. Yet, that's it, isn't it? They are alone now, facing a massive threat? Seems to me you might just have given them a reason to unite."

He could have believed the priest would fall from his horse with how hard he laughed at that. It was a bit in jest actually. Cebron looked ahead, seeing smoke rise over a hill. Over that hill lay a big reason the plains would fall.

[Cebron]

Cebron signaled a total halt, then gave Anselm a signal to follow. Together with the Etrurian Bishop, they rode over the hill, and spied the camp of the Quaital, the Sacaens who longed for Etrurian occupation. Cebron had considered bringing Nergui, but that could have backfired in two ways. Nergui was Sacaen, and though he had a bad relationship with the plains, he still might object to the Quaital deciding to abandon every custom that made them Sacaen. Still, he had a bad relationship with the plains, and was one of the Kutolah who had helped Cebron sell out the large tribe, if any in the tribal camp still had ties to their Sacaen roots, they may object to riding beside him. Some traitors only saw the act as right on their terms.

As the three approached the camp, a group of five men walked out to meet them. One of them, clearly the chief, wore somewhat gold painted leather armor. He looked purely Sacaen in the face, but from the neck down he looked positively Etrurian. The others wore similar garb, but they were painted silver. A good way to identify rank structure. When they were close, all five men went to their knees.

The one in gold called, "I Chimeg of the Quiatal greet you father. It is the wish of Elimine that I and mine aid you in your holy war against the pagans of these plains." Cebron was tempted to let out a cough, but he held back. Girolamo dismounted, with a grace that showed Cebron he was being honest when he said he was a knight, then walked over to the chief. Placing his hands on the man's shoulders, he said in a voice mush softer than that he had used with the Lycian, "Rise my son. I am no king, or no Khan. I serve Elimine as we all must serve, and do not accept praise because of it."

The chief, or Khan, did stand up, and he and all his warriors beamed at the priest. Cebron looked over at Anselm and smirked. Sheep were the same wherever they were from. Cebron kicked his horses hips, and Chimeg gave him a look for the first time. "Is this the Lycian commander we have heard of?" Girolamo nodded, "He has my blessing and Elimine's. His lance will bring down the savages, and his bow will spread her light. You are to follow him, he is a competent commander." Had they not discussed what they would say, Cebron would have been happy for the compliment. Now came his part in the little show.

Chemig eyed him, and said, "Do you walk in the light of Elimine?" Cebron almost gritted his teeth instinctively. His eyes drifted to the priest for a moment, then shot back to the chief. He had remembered the old saying from his childhood when the priest had told him he'd probably have to say it. Didn't mean he liked saying it though. "May I never step in the shadow." The chief gave him a smile, and shook his hand.



For a time he would have to keep up this charade. In two days time, they were going to meet an offshoot of the Djute tribe in battle, and once Cebron proved himself their, he could drop the school boy act. It would be a long two days.

[Cebron]

Sitting atop Starry Knight, Cebron looked over at all of his officers. They were not nervous at all, they were anxious with anticipation. They had been long without a fight that wasn't a rabble of bandits, they knew this would be a difficult fight. If one speaks to a soldier, he will tell them that the worst part of a battle is the waiting. The waiting for the killing to begin, or for you to die. It was far more nerve racking than riding in the charge. Looking past his officers, he saw the other 'commanders' in the battle.

Chimeg of the Quiatal was going to be commanding his full force as one comprehensive unit. For some reason, Girolamo was going to ride his horse with the converted men, Cebron had to guess that he would somehow be improving the morale of the Sacaens by being among them in the fight, but Cebron doubted he could make it out alive. Even on the back of a horse, it was unlikely he could avoid a hale of arrows. And on the horse, wearing his robes, he was a target. He might last a few minutes, and then he would fall. As would the morale of the converts.

The only other man was a Sacaen sellsword, who had become sort of a voice for the stream of sellswords hired from Bern to here. The name he gave them was Subutai, and he was tall even for a Sacaen. Portions of his head was covered in an odd wrapping of cloth, as were his arms. He was quiet for the most part, but Cebron noticed he talked quite a bit with Girolamo, flashing smiles as the two looked around at the Quiatal.

The sat atop their horses looking out at the encampment of the Djute. It was far from their full force, only about three hundred riders. Cebron's curiosity was piqued by a group of riders who flew an odd banner, a Wolf and a Hawk, both under a mountain. There were five of them, and one that interested him in particular looked like a man he'd fought with in the Bandit war. An Ilian mercenary.

Cebron had decided to ride with his archers for this battle. Fighting the Djute made him nostalgic for the time he rode with the Kutolah, and he wanted to ride with a group of mounted archers once more. He lifted his hand, and swung two fingers in a counter clockwise semi-circle. Eckhart lifted a horn to his lips, and let out a deep roar through it. A thunder of hooves came up behind Cebron. He kicked Starry Morning into a trot, and as Nergui rode up next to him, Cebron kicked the horse again into a gallop. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, and set it to his string. Kal and the heavy cavalry pulled ahead of him, Eckhart behind Kal. Eckhart had complained, his men were the vanguard, they should ride in first. Cebron had told him he'd come in second and that would be all there was.

Nergui and Cebron led the archers in a swing toward the enemies right side. It would look like they were trying to flank the enemy. Hopefully, the Djute would take the bait. Behind them came the light cavalry, and in the far back the unmounted Quiatal and the sellswords. Hopefully they wouldn't fight for too long, and Cebron's men could shine in their time under elimine's limelight.

[Cebron]

A group of riders from the Djute camp rode out to meet Cebron and the archers. Kal and his heavy cavalry split, and moved to truly flank the tribesman. Eckhart and his men rode through the part of horsemen, riding hard and fast. Cebron and Nergui made a harsh turn to the right, riding perpendicular to Eckhart and his men. As they were behind their allies, the whole archer unit loose, casting a shadow over the vanguard as the volley flew overhead. Some men fell in the van, taken in the chest by a Djut arrow. More fell in the force charging to meet them.

Cebron and his men continued to ride, circling around the left flank of the enemy now harassed by Kal's men. Anselm and the light horse crashed into melee, filling any gap, and killing any Djute turned around in the fighting. No arrows flew then from a long company bow towards the clashing cavalry. Instead, they turned and fired upon the Djute infantry, small a unit as it was, rushing to join their comrades in battle. Cebron saw him again, with a better view. He was a tall broad man, bigger than Cebron both long and sideways. He had a thick beard, and a hard set of eyes. His name was Chlane, and he was a terror on the battlefield from Cebron's memory. As the Long Company rode away from the infantry, completing their circle, Cebron saw that Chlane had not been felled by an arrow.

Cebron turned to Nergui and shouted, "STRAGGLERS!" The Sacaen nodded with a grim expression, and kept on riding. Cebron rode toward the infantry, and was met by his aide. He gave the man his bow, and retrieved his long lance. Turning, Cebron fell in with the light cavalry as they pulled away from the massive clash of iron. Riding alongside them, he punched into the brawl, his lance piercing the stomach of a young nomad as soon as he entered the fray.

At the same time, the infantry of both small armies added their steel to the conflict. There were more from the Djute, but they were nearly all swordsmen, whereas his sellswords were all types. Cebron deflected a spear thrust, realizing that the rest of the light cavalry had pulled back. Instead of following, Cebron elected to let the blood in his veins rise. He continued to slay men, hoping to avoid one man in particular.

[Cebron]

Cebron thrust his lance through a trim swordsman's neck, and the man fell, his weight ripping the lance out of Cebron's hand. For a moment, the commander panicked. His Gisarm was back at the camp, and he had no weapon in the middle of a melee. He quickly turned Starry Morning back around, and tried to lead her out of the fray. He saw a young Djute rider identify him, and ride hard over toward him. He made a hard strike at Cebron's neck, but the heavy Lycian leant back in his saddle, and the sword made contact with Cebron's thick pauldron. Cebron lashed out at the man, grabbing his shirt, and pulling him off of his horse as Starry Morning continued to make her way forward. He let the man fall, not bothering to try and take his sword. He was far more useful unarmed than with a blade in his hands.

Cebron made it out of the melee, and began to circle the fight on his own. It was apparent which army was winning on the different levels of the field. The Djute archers were dead, dying, or had given up and joined the melee. His archers circled the battle, containing it. Their infantry did seem to be holding against his cavalry, but the were crushing the mercenaries he'd brought. Their mounted fighters in the melee seemed lost, clearly not comfortable with staying so close to their enemy for so long. Cebron searched for his aide among his fighters, and rode immediately towards him. Without a word, his bow was handed to him. He nodded and returned to circling the battlefield. It was a good vantage.

He set a bow to the string, ready to loose at a moments notice. No Djute seemed to be running, or if they were, they were being cut down to quickly to make any lasting impression. As he saw the infantry again, he saw the man, the Chlane fellow, fighting two men at once, making easy work of one fighter from Bern, one from Lycia. The cavalry was much the same, an enemy in disarray, his unit in complete control. Cebron was surprised he did not see white robes lying face first in the dirt, trampled by hooves by all those horses, wouldn't that be a sight? Instead, he noted that Girolamo was positioned someways away on a hill, not riding with the Sacaens. He was still atop that horse of his, looking everywhere on the battlefield Cebron himself would have surveyed had their positions been different. Cebron was sure when the battle was over, when the Quiatal asked why their priest did not ride with them, he was sure the man could concoct some excuse. He was probably praying on that spot, to hear him tell it.

As he circled once more, bow still ready, the self appointed leader of the mercenaries, Subutai challenged Chlane to a fight without words, simply with a look. It was accepted, and the two were suddenly at each others throats. Cebron did not envy the Sacaen Mercenary in the slightest. He doubted this Subutai was nearly smart enough to realize Chlane was holding everything back.

[Cebron]

It was quite funny to think about the situation he was in actually. Of all the mercenary captains that could have been chosen for this invasion, he might just be the best choice for the invasion. He knew more about Sacaen 'tactics' if you could call them that, than any other man outside the plains. The beginning of the campaign would be the easiest, he had spent so long fighting against the Djute, and he knew how to dupe them. If the Iron Hawks would merely pull back, regroup, and then attack again, they could overpower the Company. They wouldn't and he knew it.

As Cebron rode about the battle, shooting at the occasional straggler, he kept his eye on one specific pair of combatants. Subutai and Chlane, two men who seemed to be fighting for the wrong cause. There was a certain humor to it, odd how funny Cebron was finding this particular battle. The Sacaen fought to kill Sacaens, and the outsider who was a former mercenary fought mercenaries from the outside world. One of them was probably in the moral right. Subutai was starting to lose, badly, and the Ilian didn't show any strain on his face. Then something seemed to switch on for the slim Sacaen, and with a lightning fast swing, the man seemed to strike once with his blade and again with a phantom blade. (SUBUTAI ADEPT USED) For a moment it looked like he would do serious damage. Chlane moved his broad blade in the way of the Sacaen's thin saber, but the phantom blade passed through both, and headed straight towards Chlane's face. It was close enough that it could cut his face when suddenly an orange light burst from the broad veteran's skin and the image of the blade disappeared. (CHLANE 1 NIHIL USED)

Cebron rode on, amazed at what he saw. The man was even deadlier than he had remembered. There was no way he could see the arrogant Sacaen getting out of the fray alive. Cebron saw a Djute soldier trying to lead a few horsemen out of the circle. This one didn't look like a runner, he looked like an Arban, a leader of ten in battle. Cebron pulled back an arrow at the sight of him lifting his arm and shouting. Technically this could be shooting into the melee, an offense he had made men flogged for in the past, but this was different. It was a clean shot at a relatively short distance. Aiming low, Cebron loosed, and his arrow took the man in the stomach. The Djute Arban fell from his horse, and the men he'd been leading turned back to the battle. They were well trained men, they would mourn their leader after the battle, but for now they were fighting. That was one thing Cebron had never envied soldiers for. He still felt hit in the chest when he saw a friend die. Not that he had many left. If only he had his lance, he could actually join the fray. Instead, he would continue to circle the battle. Looking over to Girolamo once more, Cebron saw that the man had his staff pointed at the sky. It must be a prayer of sorts. Cebron found another thing to laugh about, the only god out here was death.

[Nadarr]

The cloak was probably going to need some repairs after this battle. It had a few slashes and cuts in it, and of course where that one guy set it on fire. Jared followed the calvary in the second line of the infantry, him and the other magic users knocking off the swordsmen who managed to break through the first line. Occasionally, Jared got a glimpse of the battle between Subtai and Chlane before his attention was brought to the line of swordsmen. And now his arm is cut "Ow!" He blasted a lightning spell in that guys direction. Screw that guy, he's an ass. As expected, none of Jared's attacks had hit that close to home. His attacks were too weak to damage the higher-level people in the enemy line.

New plan, Jared. When you sign up as a cook, stay as a damn cook! Jared continued throughout the fray, panting. He wasn't doing to well. In fact if it wasn't for the rest of the group he would probably be dead. All of these damn throwing lances are going to be hell for Jared.

Jared spotted a soldier he had previously spoke to, Richard, and decided to team up with him and about eight other assorted soldiers of all classes. They charged at a smaller troupe of Sacaen Calviers, taking them by the flank. Horse and man both fell down onto the dirt as the two axe-men finished them off. Jared, being Jared, stayed around the back and took on already injured enemies. Of course when the group had finished off the riders, another group had come from behind and taken them by surprie. And Jared was at the front of their attack.

He took a sword to his arm, his left one. Well there goes his tome-using hand. crap. This day isn't going well, is it?

You know what these guys need? Yellow hats. Just need them.

[Cebron]

The Mercenary Commander circled the battlefield still. He watched the horrors of war play their parts the way they always did. The violence was gruesome, any man who claimed his sword punctured skin with no remorse was either a liar or someone who'd lost his humanity a long time ago. He watched as the spears of his men were thrust through chests and throats, as his men fell from their horses with crimson faces, their heads coated in their own hot blood. He saw the bodies of men on both sides shaking with fear, seeing and smelling death. Some turned to flee the melee and try to regroup, mostly the men on the other side, which was sad. They didn't breed wolves like they used to. As he pulled his string back, an arrow upon it, he recalled battles twice as fierce when he rode with the Kutolah. A rolling battle of two tribes that hated each other, and had spent centuries hacking the other to bits. When an army marched on them, they gladly offered to assist in decimating the other, and if they could fight the Lorca too, fantastic. The hate had boiled their blood, and many of the tribesmen threw all caution to the wind, preferring to fight until they were killed than do something as simple as fallback to a strategic position. Now, these men, these brave young fighters of the plains, were trying to win a battle. They didn't hate these men who came from across their southern border, they didn't truly know who they were. Their scouts had noticed them only days ago, and now they were trying to defeat an army so that their families would be safe. Without hate, they weren't wolves, they were men. It hurt Cebron more to kill men.

The arrow sprung from the lime haired trooper's bow, and pierced the eye of a young Sacaen lad. He couldn't have been more than fifteen. The boy wailed, and Cebron was glad that he couldn't hear it over the roaring battle. He put another arrow to the string, but was too far away to put the boy out of his misery. So the commander was forced to watch as the young man clawed at the shaft sticking out of his face. That was someone's son. Cebron rode on. He spied Subutai and Chlane fighting once more, the large Ilian gaining ground on the wiry Sacaen. A sellsword attempted to produce some type of spell, shooting a bolt of lightning at the man allied with the Djute. The Brown Haired swordsman swiped at the bolt with his blade, and seemed unaffected. Cebron almost fell from his horse. He'd never seen a man cut magic before. The Subutai managed to land a blow on the old mercenary, cutting him along his ribs. In a flash, Cebron saw that a fist connected with the Sacaen's ribs, and Subutai sailed through the air. [CHLANE 1 SMITE USED] Cebron cursed as he rode on around the battlefield.

A sellsword who'd been held back from the battle rode up towards him, and shouted, "Commander!" Cebron snapped back, "What?!" The man quickly said, "Father Girolamo has asked me to request that you call for a retreat, of both the infantry and your men." "OH AND WHAH'S THAT?! DID THA LITTLE B*****D HAVE A CHAT WITH HIS GOD AND FIND OUT A GOOD STRATEGY?!" The man looked hesitant for only a moment. "I'm only doing as I was told, sir." Cebron cursed the priest. He was the commander here after all. It was his job to make those decisions, not some ugly Etrurian who still clung to a bedtime story.

Grunting, he pulled the reins and sent Starry Night racing toward the mercenaries still fighting on the ground. He'd need to find his man with the horn to call a full retreat, but he'd call for the infantry to fall back first to give them more time. If the retreat cost them, he could use it to say that Girolamo could take his massive hooked nose out of Cebron's strategy. If the retreat helped them, Cebron could try his hardest to forget the Etrurian had suggested it. His horse at full gallop, he rode hard toward the mass of men fighting on their feet.

[Cebron]

Galloping hard, Cebron continuosly threw up the hand signals for retreat. It was the left arm, index and ring finger raised, rotated once then hinged at the wrist. Riding just so, he weaved his way in between his men and the Sacaens they did battle with, narrowly avoiding a friendly spear or an enemy sword. Suddenly he heard it, two short bursts from the horn and one long one, and with it he saw many of his men suddenly become more alert. Those who heard the horn would turn and retreat as soon as they could, those who didn't hear the horn would surely notice their comrades fleeing. So, knowing that he'd not do well staying in the melee without a weapon, Cebron led the retreat, weaving once more out of the center of the conflict.

Not too long after the retreat had been sounded most of the Long Company had managed to get away from the fighting, though a number of Djute Arban led their men in pursuit. Whatever the priest had thought of, Cebron certainly didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. He called for a halt to the retreat, and the men turned and began to slowly overwhelm their pursuers. Hm, if this was his plan it's not doing much. We won't take enough of these proud fools with us before they rally and take us while we're standing still again. Cebron pulled on his reins and sent his mare straight toward Girolamo. As he approached however, the man who'd spoken to him earlier rode up to him and shouted, "Please, do not approach him, if you break his concentration your troops may yet loose this fight." Cebron was about ready to slap the young man when the priest raised a staff and shouted, "Gaudete et agnum offeres sit iumentum!"

[Cebron]

Cebron turned on his horse, and looked to the sky. In the heat of the battle, Cebron had not noticed but the sky was filled with clouds. Not gray clouds to signal a rain, simply enough white clouds to block the sun so that the light that washed over the battle field wasn't quite so strong as earlier that morning. However, as he looked to the sky he saw sudden flecks of burning light erupt in the sky like lanterns lit but for a moment. Cebron watched as every head turned to the sky, particularly noting the old brown headed mercenary in the center of the enemy infantry. After a few seconds had passed with eyes on the light in the sky, Cebron was suddenly unable to hear anything, and he guessed from the faces he could make out that others were experiencing the same thing.

Suddenly, he heard something like a roaring fire concentrated in a single match, and saw just above the enemy infantry a brilliant light like a second sun through the clouds. It seemed to grow closer before Cebron had even blinked, and from nowhere a blinding pillar of light was in front of Cebron and his men, enveloping much of the enemy infantry, and from his seat on his horse far away Cebron could feel the heat radiating from it. The enemy men not directly in the great beam, only near it, tried to get away from it, all screaming under the heat, but the column slowly increased in circumference and enveloped many more of the soldiers as they ran. With the odd sound created by the beam of light, their also came a cacophonous symphony of screams, blood curdling screams from the men around the beam and perhaps some left inside.

The Lycian rider was difficult to scare at his age with the battles he'd seen. but in that instant that the light flashed into being, he was horrified. The thing only lasted five seconds at most, and when it was done, screams still ringing over the battle field, and Cebron heard the slight ding of metal, realizing that he was shaking and from that his armor was lightly clanging together. He looked to where Chlane had stood at the center of the enemy, and amongst a wide sea of charred skeletal remains, was one that was miraculously on its feet somehow, and still holding a yellow blade that was somehow in tact. Cebron lifted his fist and made some hand signals. A moment later, and the horn signaled the charge.

---

After the battle, they had captured almost one hundred and twenty Sacaen men. Nearly one hundred unarmed women and children. Among those who had escaped, a group of warriors in garb different from the Djute had thrown the corpse over a horse, the yellow blade still in his hand, and rode off with another branch of survivors. The captured Sacaens were all bound and brought together in a mass. Girolamo had ordered the gers broken down, and the wood piled up. Now, Cebron's men from a ring around the massive pile of wood, and the remaining Sacaens.

The Bishop stood before them, and began to speak like he was preaching a sermon. "Heathens! You are provided with a chance that many in Etruria only dream of! The chance to convert! The chance to enter the Church of Elimine late in life! You are able to be the Children of Elimine by renouncing your false gods! Here it is, your chance to join the chosen. Enter the faith and be saved, or refuse the true goddess and burn here sheer moments before you burn in hell."[/color]

Cebron wasn't shocked when most of the Sacaens stayed quiet. Slowly, one older man rose. Girolamo gave what looked to be a genuine smile to the man, but it disappeared the moment the old Sacaen spit at his feet. A young Sacaen stood, and shouted, "I stand with my father, my gods are my gods." A young woman yelled over at him, "Fayar sit down!" Cebron could see that she was gripping the hand of a small child with her own tied up in ropes, and held a babe against her chest.

Girolamo's voice was grave then, not like a preacher but like a commander. "Them, all of them, they are the first. Burn them." Cebron felt all of his commanders and most of his men look at him. They were mercenaries, not bandits. In particular, Nergui's eyes burned far deeper than Cebron would have liked. Cebron looked over at Eckhart and said, "He's the one that decides how we get paid. Do it." As the fire was lit, most of his men looked away. Cebron did not, he owed them that much at least.

---

As the sun set on the battlefield, thirty Djute warriors, mostly young unmarried men and women, had converted to the faith and joined the Quiatal tribe. Some thirty children were left, but only about ten of the women who were not warriors themselves. Most had died in the fighting or had stood with their husbands or fathers. Girolamo had come to speak with Cebron once he had permit it. "You did well today Captain. Remarkable, I am going to send word to an Inquisition agent as soon as I can. Within the month, you shall almost double your force with real Etrurian Knights. All of them under your command." Cebron simply nodded then dismissed the man with a wave. He'd had to kill Nergui, strangled him as the archer had made a run for the Bishop. Now before nightfall as the men solemnly made camp nearly ontop of a battlefield, he had to find a replacement for a man he'd almost considered a friend.

End thread. [/font]