"Of course we'll be ok!"

A melodious voice emerged from the back of the group, where a red clad maiden leant boredly upon a rock, examining her fingernails. "There are only forty of them nearby, and there are twelve of us. We have them blatantly outmatched." she stated matter-of-factly, chuckling. "The six hundred might be another matter, but they are cavalry; composed largely of overconfident nobles who know little of warfare - no offence, Lord Baron - and as disdainful of foot soldiers as they are of all common folk. We could likely move past them and take out their entire chain of command before they realised they were under attack!"

This overconfident banter was par of the course for Nihm, the merchant's daughter from Ghale, but all those who knew her knew that she was by no means truly cocky, and took every foe as seriously as if he were her equal in all, and better. This was seldom true, but it meant she was always prepared. Still, some boasting was warranted, from a woman of her skill.

"I should imagine that the larger army from the south will be many days in arrival, a force of that size travels slowly and has a fat stomach. They will be hard pressed to feed themselves, let alone make much progress in their march. And finally, as you stated, the force by the river bank can be avoided easily simply by keeping ourselves distance, unless they choose to break camp. My personal advice would be to take the option of moving past the cavalry - they are far too cocky to think that we could evade their eyes, and will be lax in their combing of undergrowth and forest that they pass, all of which we can use. The question is, Baron Dusk, is there no other we can count upon? I cannot imagine that we are the only ones who take up arms against the encroaching enemies, and much as we can each fight better than any five men ourselves, there are many more than five dozen men arrayed against us. We will need aid should we wish to make a difference, even should we live past this day."

The woman stepped forwards, running a hand along her bow as she paced idly "I assume you have considered all this, naturally. I simply open the floor that it may be discussed alongside how to deal with our current predicament. Though we had best make it quick, fools the noble cavalry may be, they are not slow."

With that, Nihm folded her arms and leant back on one foot, casting her eyes on the rest of the group. Silently awaiting their response, silently assessing the bravery and endurance in each and every one of their eyes, and silently praying that the luck of the gods themselves was with them on this day, where they walked upon the razor's edge.

The deposed Lord Baron cast his eyes away from that dirt-drawn map towards Nihm and Malcom both in turn as they spoke, listening intently. Valuable insights as always, nothing less than he had come to expect from the more wily minds among his diminutive troop. The consensus seemed to be in favor of tempting fate to the north in hopes that the reserves would be unable to find them in the surrounding brush should they become overwhelmed. It would be risky, but Dusk had come to put as much faith in his comrades as they put in he.

"It seems I'll have not a choice here with this growing consensus, will I? Very well then." Wrapping his left hand tight around the handle of that blade, he ripped it free from the dirt and pointed it straight northwardly with a confident jab. "To the north we shall go. We can waste no time. Haste is an absolute necessity in all this, lest we find ourselves cau--"


It happened so quick, so unexpectedly - a single arrow whistling past within a hair's breadth of the lord baron's outstretched arm, burying itself with an audible thud into the nearest towering tree trunk. Minutes was all they were awarded. Mere minutes of reunion were all they were spared by fate before they were found again. Bastards!

"From the east!" His call was quick and the response even quicker. Before he could even fully articulate it, two from that dozen took up arms with shielded longbow and let loose in the direction of that fired arrow with a volley of their own launched ultimately to provide cover for escape. Without another moment wasted they were off straight northward in an anxious sprint, the retaliation of whomever had found them following immediately after yet fortunately lacking the accuracy to land a worthwhile strike on so much as a single one of them. "Arm yourselves, all! We've already lost the pre-emptive strike, but we shall storm their camp without delay!" As the rightful heir to the throne of Ghale spoke urgently, his hands did just as his words instructed, his left tightening around the hilt of his already unsheathed blade while his right made haste to snatch and bare the other. Every swing of either was short and powerful, chopping and slicing through brush with the rest of that ragtag crew expectedly doing the same in tow, clearing their path toward the northlands.

A voice caught him from behind while they continued along, vigorous in its spirit, belonging to the youngest of their entire gang. "Lord Geldyn, have we a plan of attack?"

"We disperse into two groups and strike them in quick waves - Nihm will lead the first volley, a straight charge into the heart of their temporary encampment. The rest of us will in the meantime set their establishments aflame and set free their steeds and chargers to keep any possible pursuit to a footrace - we are much faster than they. Make no mistakes. This is a battle we cannot lose, understood?"

The whistling of an arrow nearly striking their fearless leader spurred memories of past battles and engagements, but the aged veteran of medicine could not allow a skip down memory lane at the moment. It appeared that a charge directly into the enemy's camp as an unavoidable course of action, but Malcolm's logical personality could not help but discern the probable and horrible outcomes of their efforts. However, the man was quite capable of fending for himself, and his concerns were mostly for his comrades. Despite being a brilliant mind when it came to mending wounds, this was war, and some wounds don't heal. The doctor pushed these negative thoughts out of his mind as he quickly sprinted along with is comrades, sensitive ears listening to the Lord Baron's orders.

"I'll take to lighting their camps on fire and freeing the horses, my Lord Baron," Malcolm accepted this duty with pride, and sprinted quickly with half of their band towards the stables and tents. The opposition came swift and fierce, but the doctor was not afraid. He could not afford to be at this point, and the brave men and women behind him depended on his leadership.

Three armed soldiers advanced towards Malcolm, their swords raised to deliver killing blows to the aged man, but they underestimated his ability like so many before him. The guard closest to him carried down the sword in a direct vertical slice, and Malcolm's steady feet circumvented the clumsy armored bulk, his precise fingers snaking their way into the holes of the guard's armor. "Twelve Roads of Hakyuu," He murmured, twelve swift finger jabs on the guard's underarm, thighs, and neck paralyzing the soldier in place. The weight of his armor caused him to fall face first into the ground, and Malcolm moved on to the two guards standing side by side. The doctor clapped both of their swords together as they came down towards him in predictable form, and quickly traversed the ground to situate himself behind them. He grabbed the back of their necks for a moment with each hand, "Grasp of Kento," Malcolm muttered quietly as the two guards fell to the earth, obviously unconscious.

"Quick, grab their torches and set fire to the inner tents, the fire will spread with the wind to the outer establishments!" Malcolm called orders to the men and women, and the brave souls quickly followed suit, only pausing in their mission to dispatch opposition. The doctor himself set off towards the stables, his precise hands disabling the guards situated there, and after only a few moments had the horses galloping about wildly into the wilderness and across the valley. Malcolm's eyes strayed to the source of the cry of pain that assaulted his ears, and quickly sprinted towards one of his fallen comrades. He made short work of the soldier responsible, and quickly began tearing out his medical supplies to tend to the wound.

"Do not be alarmed. A mere shoulder injury. You won't be able to use that arm for a week or two, but you'll be just fine," Malcolm assured the youthful soldier, who despite his injuries was still trying to grip his sword and get up to fight. "You're a brave soul, and a valiant fighter. You have earned respite for the day," The doctor added, easing his comrade's determined yet illogical aspirations. Malcolm set about tending to the wound, cleaning it, dousing it in herbal medicines, and bandaging the wound tightly. He lifted the soldier's tunic back over the wound.

"Make sure and hide it from our enemies or they will target it as well. Stay with me. I'll protect you," Malcolm and the injured soldier joined the others, who had almost succeeded in lighting all the tents aflame, but were now caught in the deep fever of battle. The doctor surged into the fray, along with the injured soldier wielding his sword in the other hand, and the battle continued.

Chaos. Complete and utter chaos erupted in what felt the blink of an eye - the pulsing heat of flames, the clamor of blades clashing, the screams and war cries that echoed into the evening sky, all of it happened so fast that to drop one's attention for an instant could mean almost certain death. Leading only a pair of young rebels himself, Dusk made haste toward the makeshift stables in which the Calismian cavalry kept their steeds. Dozens of them, there were, only of the highest and most hearty breeds - strong stallions raised to endure the hardship of warfare steadfastly. His task was clear and there would be no room for error.

"Ready your blades and strike at the locking mechanisms. If any charger should be at rest, make motion to awake it quickly and set it on its way. Not a single beast can remain here." His companions understood without question or concern, both nodding as they readied their arms and struck immediately, Dusk's own dual blades in tow. The ensuing stream of sparks from rusted iron clashing with tempered steel were of no consequence to frames so battle-hardened already - in no time they made quick work of any and all restraints that kept the cavalry's horses in check, offering each one a deft smack on the backside with the flat-side of blade to set them off into the countryside.

Not another moment was wasted before they made their way to the fray of the battlefield in the center of that camp hoping to reunite with the rest of their troop, blades brandished along the way to make quick work of whomever might obstruct their path. Every clash had a swift and decisive ending, the dual blades of the Lord Baron as fierce and on-point as they had ever been - prepared at all times to parry or strike from either side, his two comrades providing any reinforcement necessary.

Soon enough they arrived to the heart of the melee surrounded by the heat of the quickly-spreading blaze, tents and shacks razed to the ground on all sides as the cavalry's camp was systematically deconstructed before their very eyes - the entire scene one of pure pandemonium. What enemy troops remained scurried in all directions, some struggling in attempt to save their rations, others rushing off in search of their escaped steeds, and most trying to make a quick and unnoticed escape. While the moment's victory may have been claimed, each and every one of them was well aware that it would be short-lived - they had to keep moving.

"Quickly, I need troop leaders to give me a body count - have we lost anyone? Are there any serious injuries among us? We can waste no time - surely the ensuing smoke from our efforts can be seen across the entire countryside and more are certain to arrive. We must press onward under cover of the foliage until we can reach the hilled region. Once there, I know of a hidden armory house in which we should be able to finally afford a moment's rest. I know you have all fought hearty and with great bravery thus far, but just a little more and then we shall have the time for recovery you so desperately desire."

"What are we going to do with the child, Damia?" Morana's brow drew down low while her body did the same over the small and frail seeming form of the Caryb her own body loomed over. "This one is.. caryb, they are not always what they seem to be Dragas... wary we have to be while dealing with this situation." A commanding look was passed to those in her company, staring down Bael, Dragas, and Lyvania in turn. "Bury the camp, we move now. Remove any signs and stay to the shadow."

The other Xhes nodded in submission before turning to cover their trail and hide from existence that they had been there for weeks, living upon the land for survival while remaining completely hidden from those outside their culture. With the aid of magic on their side, the task was far too easy to accomplish. Meanwhile, Morana remained crouched over Bow and studied her carefully. There was hardly a chance to obtain this opportunity while retaining the goals set by herself. Such a small and delicate creature, and beautiful as well. Not the perfection that a Sylaen was, but yet, still attractive in physicality. There was no wonder why these creatures were much lusted after.

"Hyvallan Ish Da Rhenn-" An eyebrow perched abruptly upon the Damia's brow after being interrupted by the sudden snores coming from Bow. The others' attentions were drawn as well to the petite woman and hushed laughter would bubble from them all as they returned to their duties. Even Morana could not help but to smile as the caryb began to murmur and move within the forced sleep. "We will take you home..." A hand to slip beneath Bow's shoulders, and another beneath her knees before she was lifted with head to cradle against Morana's armored neck.

"Is it done?"

"Indeed, Damia."

"Good, let us move on then. We have much to do for the time being... I can hear battle about us, we should l-" Morana stopped and turn with Bow still in her arms to face the direction that war was breaking out. Hooves, running... horses? Steeds meant humans, Kelians, or others... it meant people and presence that was undesired for the time being. Morana swore beneath her breath while the other Sylaens sunk down into the earth, seeming to almost disappear. Not only adept at magic, but trap making, and the necessary skills for survival. It was all too effortless to create small hidden areas within the earth to conceal themselves in while other passed over them unknowing.

The Damia Morana, herself, though... would be caught curious and remained standing there with caryb in stow as her eyes tried to see what it was that was making its way towards them. All too soon were the loosed horses from the battle field raging towards her form, scared for their lives, braying and snorting as powerful haunches pushed against the earth to gain speed away from the calamity behind them. Morana, almost graceful as ever, at least for a Sylaen, was able to turn on heel before the tide overwhelmed her and placed her back against a thick tree while those majestic creatures swarmed around her.

Domestics. She had been right. Those were not of wild make, but of trained mind and broken to the whims of men. Morana's thought process would be interrupted though, but the cracking of limb and the cries of a steed before it crashed into Bael's secretive hole, his own bones heard snapping all to clear to be followed by strangled cries before silence of him, even while more horses collapsed upon the first fallen, a domino effect taking place. Unmoved was Morana by this event. Bael was a good Sylaen, but he should have learned to make his structures more stable. Now there was a body to hide...

Black. That's all the Lord Baron's eyes opened to see before him. Black everywhere. His sense of sight currently deposed, the memories of all that transpired were hazy, recovered in bits and pieces slowly. Where am I? ..Nihm? Malcolm..? What..happened?

He remembered the shouting. Those were words that his mind wouldn't ever relinquish, burned into his psyche. The screaming, the agonizing cries, Malcolm's hushed tone when he had informed them all that their youngest had his life stolen away from him at the hands of the merciless Calismian military, the echoes of that perilous evening in Ghale's countryside never faded.

Stupid. Completely stupid. We should've known better. I should've known better.

It had all happened so fast. One moment charging into the foliage with a safehouse in clear sight, the next an ambush from all sides, the blunt strike of a firm broadsword handle against the back of his head making it all go black, totally black, so much darkness. They had underestimated their opponent, plainly and simply. All that time spent at Sparsian being educated by the finest of instructors in war tactics was thrown by the wayside like that, one single mistake all it took to crush their efforts. The cold, lifeless confinement of a prison camp seemed now to surely be where they would meet their inevitable end.

"Is this..what death feels like? Complete absence of light, held unmoving, enslaved to this inescapable umbra?" he could only mutter beneath his breath, the words left inaudible to his chained comrades. They had been taken subsequently just as Dusk had been - smoked out, captured, and thrown in prison like street criminals. Resisting the pull of tears at his eyes with every bit of courage he could muster, the leader of those few remaining rebels rose his voice loud enough to reach them in their adjacent cells.

"You have all fought so bravely, but our efforts..our efforts have been for naught. I am sorry. More than anything else in the world, I am sorry for embroiling you all in this. For sacrificing your lives for a cause that should have burdened my shoulders and mine alone, I can not apologize enough. Our fatherland has been lost. We..we.."

His words were silenced with a sudden and forceful jab from the butt end of a spear smashing into his cheek, the lord baron's body sent crashing into the stone wall, his limbs all held tightly still in complete bondage. There was little more he could do than grit his teeth and take the blow, resistance being made wholly futile in the presence of so many fully-armed adversaries. No less than five squadrons sauntered about their row of confinement cells alone and instructed to keep them all alive but in check, many thousands more walking about outside in the city itself. Before their very eyes, Ghale's last hope, their revolution, was falling apart.

Malcolm's vision was hazy, but he had felt the cold stone surface of a prison before. It was blatantly obvious that they had been captured, the jeers and scoffs of pathetic prison guards assaulting his eardrums like a bad taste in his mouth, and the sounds of his comrades being thrown about sent a deep surge of anger through the doctor of the likes he had never experienced before. The smell of decaying flesh, bone, and the overwhelming aroma of rats scampering about the prison signified that many had rested within these confinements, and many had died as a result. Malcolm inspected his body, checking for any severe injuries, and also began appraising what little of his comrades he could see.

"You have all fought so bravely, but our efforts..our efforts have been for naught. I am sorry. More than anything else in the world, I am sorry for embroiling you all in this. For sacrificing your lives for a cause that should have burdened my shoulders and mine alone, I can not apologize enough. Our fatherland has been lost. We..we.."

The sound of the man that even the practiced veteran had come to admire breaking down before them all was indeed the lowest point in their travels together, and for a moment Malcolm's logic played against him. They were doomed, and there was certainly no hope escaping their fate. His mouth was dry from lack of hydration, and the flames of their previous battle had certainly taken a toll on the aged battle medic. The sound of Lord Baron's grunts, Nihm's cries of rage and hate, and the sound of their comrades weeping from the loss struck the doctor's heart chords deeply.

"We're still alive, and through my calculations that's nothing short of a miracle. Is anyone severely injured save their pride?" Malcolm's determination to help his allies and become the optimist for once won through his logic and seared it apart like a hot fire, and he began testing the durability of his shackles.

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"Did you hear? We finally got 'em. Dusk and his band of rebels. They just got locked up in the prison," Ka'zeh's ears twitched for a moment at this news, and crimson optics scanned the mess hall for the location of the speaker, instantly spotting a gruff looking soldier about his own height. He quietly slipped towards the table where a group of soldiers were gathered around to hear the story.

"You should have seen it. A bunch of cowards attacking us out of the blue like that, and they even set fire to our tents! But we showed them what for, and now the Czar is going to reward us handsomely. We may even get out of this town and join Arch General Leonard's army to finally take Dame!" The soldier continued to prattle on in his half drunken stupor, delusions of grandeur apparent in his hazed mentality, but Ka'zeh had heard enough. It had finally happened. He had been waiting over three years for this opportunity, and now it had been presented to him on a silver platter.

He slowly stood to his feet, made his way out of the mess hall, and capable lower appendages quickly carried him to the main prison structure. It was indeed a perilous object of doom and hopelessness, for it was designed like most prisons, but the difference was this prison was not only intended to keep people in, but break the very foundations of their spirit. Ka'zeh presented his papers to the guards that were required by all prison sentries for entry, and was soon descending the spiraling stairs into the black abyss of the dungeon where the most prominent of prisoners of war were held. Ka'zeh came to a group of soldiers that were almost always harassing the prisoners, and growled a bit under his breath as he watched the spectacle unfold before him.

"Don't you have rounds to make, Harus? Or are you too fat to actually make one?" Ka'zeh jested lightly, grinning at the prison guard that had harassed the young female prisoner, and the prison sentry turned to return the grin.

"Jatrio. Come to relieve me, eh? Good. Good. Been wantin' to settle into my ale al' night. We'll leave yah to watch over 'em. Give 'em a good kick for me, will yah?" Harus chuckled slightly, and soon him and his posse had ascended the stairs and vanished from sight.

Ka'zeh looked around for a moment, made a few rounds in front of the rest of the cells to make sure no one else was lingering about, and slowly approached the large cell containing the newly captured group of rebels. He folded his arms across his chest lazily, and pulled back the visor on his helmet to reveal his face.

"Certainly not the kind of place I'd expect to find the Lord Baron of Ghale taking a vacation. Then again, you've never been one for luxuries, have you?" The once proud Head Inspector of Ghalerion flashed a grin towards the broken form he barely recognized as Dusk, and slowly took a kneel to meet the Lord Baron at eye level.

"You have friends in the strangest of places. More than just myself, in this instance."