Pillars of the Kingdom

Chapter One

"Again," the lieutenant's voice called out loudly. Jacin readied his practice spear in the first position and thrust it forward, all according to form. The other Sergeant raised a wooden longsword and slowly parried it, and Jacin quickly moved to the second position, the section of the handle of his spear below his lower hand moving to press the side of the longsword out of the way. The expected response was the defender stepping back, and Jacin stepped forward with him. He pressed his spear forward quickly, another thrust against the open, retreating foe.

A number of other soldiers were training against each other as well; some were even facing off against a few captured monsters. These were small, wolf-like beasts called Wolgs, creatures whose only defining characteristic was the acidic liquid that their teeth could inject once they’d bitten a meal. Jacin had already proven he could take them down, for any Noche had to be able to do so.

"Good!" The lieutenant screamed. "Take a break!" The most welcome words Jacin could have heard. He stretched his arms behind his head, taking a moment of vanity to see how much he was sweating. It was hot, and he was thankful to be wearing sparring armor and not full plate. He took quick steps over toward the water coolers, thick insulation keeping the precious liquid crisp and cold. A paper cup was taken and filled, and he sipped at it as he watched the lieutenant approach.

"Smooth job, as always, kid," he said in a polite voice. The superior officer kept his black hair short and close to the head, like Jacin, and he was clearly a Media from the way he carried himself. Charles Maxton was a fairly young man, one faced with the unfortunate prospect of turning forty soon. He was still in his prime, of course, and everyone Jacin asked informed him that Charles' quick wit was just as it had been when he was half that age. Other then having a joke for everything, even the most serious issues one could call to mind, the muscular, tall officer was pretty candid about himself. "I hear you've been given the title of Aqui, haven't you?"

"Yes, lieutenant Maxton." Jacin's blue eyes looked up to the sky for a moment as he answered the question. Jacin Lancir, on the other hand, was considered "ruggedly" handsome. Sure, he wasn't a "pretty boy" but he was definitely not a dog, and while he endured no scars on his face to speak of (yet. He was a soldier, after all...) he also had no great beauty about him. He knew he'd never be a model, but something about the way his blonde hair rested atop his head, short and spiked, kept women coming. "Though what exactly the difference between Aqui and Noche are is beyond me. To be honest, I don't even feel any different or stronger."

"Call me Charles, we've been buddies for long enough outside of this job..." the lieutenant said with a grin. Then he shrugged his shoulders - The lieutenant did have a few scars on his face, but none were too deep or penetrating - 'Character adding,' they were often called. Of course, Jacin never understood who would want the kind of 'character' scars built. "And, as to your concern about titles, think of it this way: They're just titles. I've seen a Noche take down a Fecha with more than just good tactics. Of course, some people really did earn their titles. Take Lord Lenkmen."

The mention of Lord-Knight Serge Lenkmen contained a powerful image. He was arguably the strongest Hora in the entire Kingdom of Emor; Hora being the highest of the five Ranks. He'd earned some repute and the Media (third) rank on the borderlands of Presia as well as Yenohar, having been sent to repel various enemy invasions, and he had jumped straight to Hora after single-handedly taking down an enclave of Quadragammin monks. The elimination of even one such elite warrior was in no way, shape or form an easy task; his skill with a blade was virtually unmatched.

"Yeah. 'Scarred Peace' certainly deserved his title, and I've never seen him in combat!" Jacin remarked with a smile. Some rumors you couldn't put faith in - Someone taking apart a group of bandits could mean everything or nothing, as bandits ranged in strength from elite mercenaries to bungling want-to-bes. Juxtapose the image of fumbling peasants with that of someone eliminating twelve Quadragammin Monks - rivals of the heralded Swordpriests of Ralase and warriors who are Media or above. The first task is child's play, while the second is an accomplishment almost unimaginable by a single man.

"Well, ready for a heart attack, Jacin?" Maxton said as he reached moved over to a bench and opened his bag, withdrawing two letters. One he handed still sealed to Jacin, and the other he had already opened and presumably read himself. The envelope's seal was that of the Black Wolf, the Principality of Gatamene's official insignia.

"Sure..." The youth said as he opened the letter and began to read with disbelief creeping rapidly into his eyes in his eyes. Though he didn't see his comrade's face, he could hear the grinning on Charles' lips.

"At this battle, we're going to have Lord-Knight Serge 'Scarred Peace' Lenkmen and, get this," he added, "We're also working with the Hora Branden Frost. To top it off, all signs point to Coaslund not having even one Hora present, though I believe three or four Fecha will be." Maxton's words were nearly lost upon Jacin. He had gotten star-struck at the mention of Frost and Lenkmen.

Under the Davidian Accords, one of the main treaties which kept the small states of Emor as a solid Kingdom, every province could take part in a military "league" which was frightfully reminiscent of a sporting event. Of the eight partitions of Emor, only New Presia and Gam did not take part in the league, each for a different reason. Gam was still under military occupation, as it wasn't more than forty years ago the province had risen up against the kingdom; New Presia, not only lacking a name of its own and borrowing that of its very-unhappy "parent," was still too "green" to safely partake in the events. It hadn't registered too many elite warriors in its short histories, and not one Hora claimed loyalty to that particular principality.

The ranking system used to define a warrior's place was somewhat confusing, even to an experienced soldier like Jacin. An Aqui, Jacin's rank, was the second lowest "Ranked" warrior. Directly below him there was the Noche class of warrior, a grade which meant the fighter was of a greater level of skill than an average swordsman. Below that were "regulars" - Soldiers largely untested and capable only of very basic martial technique. Above Jacin were the Media, such as Lieutenant Maxton. The class rated higher than that were the Fecha, the second strongest. Many Fecha were considered not 'up to snuff', and it was often said there were more of them to flush the ranks of the military out than truly deserved the title. The Hora class was above that, and it was a very wide category - Most Horas deserved their titles, but some managed to earn theirs without sufficient difficulty. On paper, a single Hora was worth an army.

Of the two Horas coming to the match against Coaslund, one's credentials were above question. Jacin knew full well that Serge Lenkmen was a true warrior who had earned the Hora rank. Branden Frost, on the other hand, was a question and a half. He was young, no older than 30, and he was reputed to be the "fastest man alive." His father, Jeromiah Frost, had certainly been a speedy Hora, so the genetics aspect of the question fit the rumor. Despite this, it was entirely possible that Branden was only worthy of the Fecha rank. Most rumors were subject to query, and this was clearly one which Jacin wanted a definitive answer to.

"So, Jacin, ready to get back to work?" Maxton asked as put his practice helmet back on and stood up. The leather padding he wore was thick enough to blunt most of a strong blow, yet his features were still keenly readable through it - He was muscular, sleeker then one might expect of someone his size, and dangerous.

"I do have a question, if we have the time before returning to practice." Jacin proposed before took a few more sips of water and began to suit back up. He hadn't really unsuited much, so this was an easy enough task. "We're going to have two Horas. Isn't that a bit unfair, even if Branden Frost turns out to really be just a Fecha in disguise?"

Maxton's expression was unreadable through the helmet. "First of all," the tone of voice said it all - A hint of surprise. "I've seen Frost. He's good - Very, very good. Second of all..." The voice shifted to a slightly humored one, and the boss' grin could be heard in his words. "Who cares if it's fair? It'll be an easy win!" His exclamation brought a cheer from the other recruits around him, and even Jacin grinned widely under his helm. "Now back to work, bud," Charles said before he paused, then shouted to the rest of the group. "Men! Back to your positions now!"

Chapter Two

Her horse was black, her armor was being held in a satchel behind her saddle, and her swords clasped to a belt on her hip, a sword for each side. She looked around with green eyes, studying the trees before her. The journey had been a long one, and she was tired, even though she could no longer smell the sea.

The westward trip had been rough for Clarice; she was unused to travel, and she hadn't exactly -wanted- to be on this road alone. She should have been traveling with the other people from Coaslund who were heading to Gatamene, or at least with a single partner to keep her company and help guarantee a safe passage. I should have never signed up to do this, the inevitable thought crept in once again. She knew where she belonged - She should be back in Rhinegeld with Kathy.
*****
"You need to see the world." Brown eyes met a slight smile, the corners of her lips forming dimples. She was beautiful, Katherine London was. For the 27 year old virgin Clarice, too beautiful to resist. It was scary.

"I don't really want to leave. I don't like traveling much, unless it's to the Barrens, but even that isn't fun," Clarice responded, brushing her green hair behind her shoulders. The hair styles both women wore were similar, even if their outfits weren't. Katherine wore a white laboratory coat with the marks of Coaslund, a golden fox, upon the back. Clarice was wearing not armor, but a gold band on her left wrist and a golden belt with her two broad swords. Most people in Coaslund wouldn't even begin to identify Katherine, yet Clarice, by the nature of her green hair, gold band, and gold belt, was most easily recognized.

"You said yourself you need time to think about it, and we agreed that the best way to come to a conclusion would be to go," spoke the older female with a wink. There were many reasons Kathy and Clarice had agreed on separating, some they both shared and some only one of them held. "Unless you've decided..." The elder insinuated in a deep voice.

Clarice blushed a fiery crimson. "No. No, I haven't. I've never done anything like this, and I'm still...Still afraid, I guess you could say." Clarice knew the red hue on her cheeks was unbecoming of her status, and she knew Kathy would capitalize. What she didn't know was why she felt so damn stuck!

"'Blind Justice', suddenly blushing. What would Alan say?" The giggling of the one girl was silenced quickly by the absence of laughter from the second. An inward curse came from the older female. "Sorry, I know that didn't help your problem. I just...Don't forget about me." Kathy was rather demure all of a sudden, and Clarice was clearly upset. To mention that detestable male, one with such religious indoctrination it revolted her...Well, Kathy had never figured out why Clarice was still attracted to him.

The older drew the younger close then, and despite her frustration Clarice did not protest the joining of their lips.

*****
That had been the problem all along. Clarice was blushing just from the memory, and she touched her hand to her face softly, using the feeling to snap out of her daze. She looked to her left and her right. It'd been about 20 Farthings since she crossed into Ralase, the nation next to Coaslund and historically one of the most militant. Unlike the province she was from, with its cliffs and water, Ralase had only a few streams and a large number of small villages, rather than a number of big fishing and trading cities. A change of pace indeed; trading towns had corruption and lawlessness of a different sort then large, unchecked plains.

She knew a good deal about Ralase's political structure. Unlike Gatamene and Coaslund, Ralase retained a monarchy which bowed mostly to Emor's rulings. All principalities, as they were officially known, had a large degree of autonomy; but Ralase's Castrell family used that self-rule more then most of the small states, with the probable exception of Presia - Ironically, the two had never embraced one another and had fought more than one war. Coaslund preached democracy in the light of high trading rewards for such freedoms, but the fact remained that Ralase was just as free and less than crippled in enterprising. Oh, and she could never forget Gam as far as independent streaks went, though Gam had clearly been put in its place...

Clarice's thoughts impaired her ability to take notice of the woods she had entered and began to ride through. Her mare was well disciplined and allowed her to drift into contemplation. Presia was an oligarchy, and it clung to a large veil of smoke and mirrors dealing with its theocratic rule. Many Presian dissidents got fed up, defied common practice and founded New Presia to the west of its "father." Despite strong political pressure from this father, the "New P's", as they were nicknamed, were granted the status of a principality. The only other alternative for an organized band of people was that of a Barbarian Tribe, and the leaders of Emor could not be convinced that people seeking more freedom were outlaws.

More interesting to Clarice than the politics of Emor were the Swordpriest techniques of the Ralase Royal Family. To become King, a member of the Castrell family, male or female, had to master the Swordpriest school, along with forbidden techniques only shared by the highest people of the art. The second son of the deceased king and queen, Rayne Castrell, currently held the throne. The older son, Aubrey, had forsaken the throne under the professed belief that he was not fit to rule the province. The unofficial reason? Aubrey could not master the Swordpriest techniques, and had retired from trying.

Ralase was not the only Monarchy left, nor was it the only one that valued strength in succession. Emor itself, the principality which ruled the Kingdom, consisted of a constitutional one. Of course, anyone could be elected King - The militant sector just seemed to breed heroes with good judgment, ones tempered by the fires of battle and tried in the court of actual command. Even the current King had been a warrior in his early days, and as he aged his only son had looked damn likely to carry the throne. Strong, independent and wise; the prince also decided it fitting to leave the Kingdom behind and vanish, just like Aubrey.

She'd been close to falling asleep, her musing and the relaxed atmosphere of the trip working as if she were counting sheep, when her ears picked up the whistling sound of feathers holding a dart straight on its trajectory. She discerned three of them, raising her arms as quickly as she could to deflect them - A difficult proposition, considering she intended to swat them from the sky with her fingertips.

The first one was too close to deflect and it caught her in the shoulder, leaving a deep scratch as it whizzed by her with a glancing blow. The second was deflected, and the third struck the metal belt which carried her swords. She leaped from her horse and closed her eyes, her senses coming about her, listening. The clearing that she was about to defend herself in was too perfect for an ambush, straight to the number of logs that had happened to fall in the way of the traveled paths, logs her horse had gently leapt over while she remained in that daze without providing it guidance.

"So you saw them coming?" Spoke a cold voice concealed in the woods. From behind the shadows stepped a small entourage of men wearing dented and banged up armor. Clarice instantly knew they were vagabonds, and she found that the voice belonged to a man with long black hair. "Pretty impressive, to avoid a dart from an Ioga assassin." His mentioning a school of ill repute didn't help her opinion of him.

Clarice might even have found the interloper handsome, his soft facial features attractive despite being partially covered by a cloth mask. The long black hair was matched with black eyes, and these orbs nearly entranced her before a second series of throwing spikes nearly smashed into her from her left. Fortunately, she was more prepared this time, her adrenaline was pumping, and these three needle-like weapons were dodged easily from a standing position, simply by leaning out of their way.

"You'll have to do better then that," she said mockingly. "What's your name anyway?" Clarice asked almost in passing, as she drew the sword on her right hip with her left hand. Her eyes closed slowly once again, leaving her left to focus on her hearing. His own voice would be his demise, as it would help her pick up both his position and every object around him.

"James Edgarrin," he offered with a sarcastic bow. His lecherous eyes focused upon her criminally, "And you're dead, unless you let us have our way with that hot little body of yours." There were cheers, and Clarice could identify at least thirteen other voices - Though the sound waves bouncing off nearby trees created confusion to her ears. She also could tell that they weren't likely to be too tough, if they were so careless with their movements amidst an ambush.

"Sorry. No can do," Clarice responded with mocking sadness, opening her eyes and confirming most of those voices as people - eight of them in front of her. "The others are hiding on the other side of my horse. You don't have the power or talent to beat me, so if you all walk away now I'll spare your lives."

A number of hushed gasps of excitement were audible, but James silenced them with his voice. "Impressive, madame, to notice the presence of my comrades. But the bad news for you is that they're all Aqui, except for me and Bernardo. We're Media." Something told Clarice that the Bernardo just mentioned was the assailant with the other set of throwing spikes, not that she was unwilling to bet she'd still win.

"And you're both sorely overpowered!" She exclaimed, ignoring the obviously cliched words while monitoring the dirt under her feet, feeling it vibrate before she looked over her shoulder. Behind and above her, leaping from atop a tree, was a figure with two needles poised to throw. Both projectiles were then loosed and easily knocked back toward their target by her left sword. She heard a deep breath to her right, felt another, closer tremor on the ground, and looked over toward James. James was no longer visible - Instead, there was a man who had dirt-stained brown hair and who was approaching her. James was behind this man, readying a trio of throwing spikes, and using his ally as visual cover for the ploy. Too bad she could hear right through him.

The approaching man brandished a short sword, and Clarice noted the downward arc it was making. She so quickly calculated its course that she reached up with her right hand and punched the blade. If this were an ordinary blow, it may have deflected its path - Clarice's phenomenal strength dented the steel and bent it out of shape, knocking it from her assailant's hand. The poleaxed look on his face didn't change as Clarice's sword ran through him.

The moment Clarice heard the release of another trio of throwing spikes to her left, she swung the dead warrior's body over toward Bernardo. His comrade's corpse easily absorbed all three of his needles. Clarice closed her eyes behind the corpse-shield, and James took his chance with her vision impaired by the body on her blade.

Three additional spikes were thrown, followed by another trio a moment later. He knew, eyes closed as they were, that the talented girl could never possibly avoid them all. He was so certain, he almost completely failed to dodge when Clarice caught all six of his spikes and threw them back at him; one caught him in the leg as he dove, and he fell to the floor while growling softly, clutching at his leg and fighting to yank it out.

"Who th' fuck are y'?!" Shouted a deep, accented voice; a “peasant's voice,” as it was called by the nobles, for it' lack of fluid tones. Many of the barbarians spoke in such a dialect, as well. From what Clarice could guess, the voice belonged to Bernardo.

"Ta'e a look a' 'er, boss! Her arm!" Shouted the man who had leaped over her horse earlier and thrown the two spikes, a slender man with blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Apparently at least one of them had a brain and could add "gold band, gold belt, green hair, closed eyes...And, of course, insurmountably dangerous."

"I see, I see!" James said in a loud voice, as if annoyed by the man's very presence; almost as if trying to hide that he hadn't thought of this first. His growing anger did not begin to hide his rising panic. "I can only think of one mother-fucker this could be!"

Seeing Clarice smile, the ponytailed assassin paled and stepped backwards. "No way. What would she be...?" The voice was shaky, fearful, and Clarice couldn't resist smiling wider. This secne had been acted out before, thousands of times in history, and it only had one outcome each time, no matter how melodramatic.

"...My name is Clarice Saffron, Lady-Commander with the Coaslund military forces." These words fell like a death knell to the aggressors. What this meant was rather clear; though a few were dead and didn't care for fear, most suddenly felt paralyzed by a the grip of an undetectable terror.

"Please...Spare me!" Shouted the blonde warrior, who was taking fast steps backwards. Clarice had prided herself on being merciful, but...

"I warned you," were the last words the blonde youth heard. Clarice moved so quickly that the blonde's eyes never registered the motion, removing her sword from the large man's body and running forward all at the same time, cleaving the slender blonde nearly in two. Four steps past him, Clarice's body stood hunched over, taking on a rather theatric stance as she slowly stood and drew her second sword.

"Fuck! Throw all you guys have, everything!" James exclaimed, roughly fifty of the sharp weapons leaving the concealment of the trees and heading toward the girl, who now stood in a rather open field. Her eyes closed once again and James thought he had victory in his grasp.

He made a great mistake as Clarice held her two swords above her, tips together with the flats of her swords facing one another, almost like they were a triangle. She spun quickly, allowing centripetal force to pull the swords away from her, deflecting all but two of the throwing spikes. Of these two, one struck her arm and one the floor beneath her feet. She winced slightly, the absence of armor having cost her a deep puncture wound in her bicep - but she'd been hurt worse before.

"...Fine." She closed her eyes and began to move. A step toward one foe, and her eyes opened long enough to capture his stance in her mind. Then they closed again, and she walked past him, spinning as one sword parried his dagger and the other slashed his chest open. It was a dance of disaster, her pirouette was a death sentence, and she was the one in charge of the choreography.

This pattern of motion was repeated until only two of her enemies remained - Bernardo and James. She kept her eyes closed for a moment and she could swear she felt their fear, their terror. Then her eyes opened, the blue orbs looking almost past the two Media as she took a slow breath. It didn't take a genius to figure out what options were left for the situation.

"....Die!" Bernardo was a larger man than the others, but he was faster than any two of his boss' men. Clarice might have been taken aback by his speed, but it wasn't very much compared to her own. He threw two needles, pausing to distract her with a feint then releasing a third, all three striking the flat side of Clarice's left-hand sword. Her right hand moved in a slash and Bernardo's dagger barely made it to the blade in time to press it away from him.

He spun, dagger screeching along the weapon with him aiming to get in close while keeping Clarice's sword from getting the momentum to cut him deeply. Clarice closed her eyes and easily read this motion from the sound of his dagger scraping against the weapon. She stepped backwards and thrust the left hand blade forward as well. Bernardo hadn't expected this, and he found himself mounted on Clarice's sword. She withdrew the blade immediately afterwards, moving a fist to his chest and knocking his now-corpse a few feet away as if his vitae was unworthy to coat her sword.

"Damn it, damn you, damn you!" James shouted ballistically, grasping twelve needles and throwing all of them at Clarice at once, three of them tucked between each finger. Ten of these needles each would strike a blade, though Clarice was forced to physically evade two of them. She glanced upward after her focus on the spikes was spent, and saw that James had gotten behind her.

The smaller man's speed was even greater than Bernardo's, and while the large man had been overrated, James truly did deserve his rank. Clarice spun one of her swords behind her and over her head, creating a certain distance where James would have difficulty to enter, as she turned around and thrust her other sword forward. She felt it strike James's blade, heard him drawing three more of the needles.

"How many of those do you have?!" Clarice asked more herself than her foe, growling as she slammed one of her swords flat-side first into the ground. A large amount of dirt and rock flew up, causing James' slender thrown weapons to spiral out of control as he released them. She stepped to her left and made a quick flicking motion with her right hand, deeply cutting into James' shoulder and nearly severing the arm.

The bandit screamed, raising his dagger for one last blow, and his life was silenced with a gesture. He had been way, way too open. "...What a waste." The warrior woman whispered, sheathing her swords and looking at her blood-stained clothing. "Damn. A real waste. Fuck-all, there’s still another state to cross." She re-mounted her horse, sighing softly. “I wonder what Kathy would say to this?”

Chapter Three

Jacin spun his spear around as he waited for the whistle that served as their sign to begin. He had been placed as the second in command of Lieutenant Maxton's division - No small thanks to Maxton himself - and he studied the battlefield intently. The two armies had lined up pretty much head to head, Coaslund's ranks spread a little more thinly than Gatamene's, a small battalion of archers standing in the back ranks to supplement the forward armed forces. Other then formation, choice of weapon and individual skill, the rules of the "sport" were simple - Even numbers.

Five thousand men each? Jacin knew he wouldn't last too long, but he was prepared to get the most out of this opportunity that he could. He understood the rules of the situation and knew his armaments well. One's padding was reliable, and you could retire after taking just one hit; but if you wanted to fight longer you could, and some bullet-heads insisted on fighting to the brink of death. Referees would make sure no abusive combat was held and that one warrior did not intentionally harm another - Only heat-of-battle wounds were acceptable in this sort of combat, however the cards may fall.

Weapons were wooden with a strong metallic and gel core, and tips were made with cloth and padding covers. The metal would keep the wood from splintering as much, while the gel spread the impact on one point throughout the entire weapon, keeping it from breaking as easily. All in all the weapons were fairly reliable and rarely took serious damage. Of course, should the weapon break, a fighter was out of luck - As in real combat, he'd be left only with his hands and in the case of most soldiers this was completely unacceptable.

The armor Jacin wore was the same black as his combat armor, however it was far lighter - The metal was mostly just a covering, while underneath it was padding to prevent serious injuries from the fierce blows. The metal would dent, Jacin had been informed, but was not very likely to break. Certainly it was not likely that he'd suffer more than a broken bone or, if he was reckless, perhaps a severe concussion; certainly not much that the healers on hand couldn't fix.
*****
"You know, I always hated these silly practice blades." The blue haired man stated to his older friend.

"To a warrior who prefers light, flexible blades, the modern-day equivalent of a metal bar must be a burden, an impact. No matter; I know you, and we know the score here. We're the three to one favorites, easily," The old, grey-haired man said. His face had two scars on it, and despite the fact it looked worn from age he was most definitely handsome in his earlier years. It could even be said he still was, but that had made it more of a statuesque look than a sexual one. His armor, though clearly a suit made for practice battles, was silver and bore the mark of the Emorian Royal Council over the heart. On the right side of his armor was the mark of Gatamene, a black wolf. A black cape hung from his back, and he stood next to the very horse he'd rode in.

The blue-haired man was an obvious contrast - Young, slender yet strong, and wearing blue armor. His blue hair - a complete oddity - was matched by blue eyes, all a light shade which reminded anyone looking of ice. "Well, Serge, you're the commanding officer. What's my job here?" Unlike his commander and confidante, the young male wore armor which was not at all in top repair. There was not even a cape attached to it, no real bearing of nobility or skill about it; and its workmanship, while undoubtedly of high quality, was ultimately not the type one might see a second-in-command wear.

The elder smirked as he placed his battle helmet on and secured it into place. "They have a few Fecha we should measure out. Just to be sure of course; but they have no Horas, and no great commanders, so you can basically do what you want. From what I gather they have Yasmeen Black, Ulfric Johnson, and..." Serge paushed for a moment, thinking, then he smiled. "Well, there's one you might like. Clarice "Blind Justice" Saffron. She's pretty hot stuff, an up and comer like you once were."

Branden's eyes blinked for a moment, memory filled his mind.
*****
"There aren t' many I c'n th'nk o' t' join us. Perh'aps Smokey Vendetta, bu' I dunno," spoke the dark figure, his giant, two-bladed, two-sided axe held over his shoulder

"Nor I," responded the second, the monk in dark robes which covered tattoos. "...Branden? There aren't too many, are there, that are from Gatamene?"

"Scarred Peace isn't likely to side with us, and you know Shade's stance on things." Frost had responded at that time.

"...He is a mysterious one, that Arcanic." The monk responded with a sagely nod

"Mystery or no, my lords, we could use a little more muscle to be sure. I suggest you investigate Smokey Vendetta, my friend." Spoken to the axe-wielder. "Branden, you will attend the match between Gatamene and Coaslund and see what can be offered." The fourth simply rested his hand upon the hilt of his broadsword as he dictated the orders.

"...Aside from me, like I said, nobody will be interested," Branden began.

"...I didn't mean from Gatamene," their leader responded with a shadowy grin.
*****
"Yeah Serge, I'll check 'er out. I'll check 'em all out. No problem." Branden said in a short voice, studying the referees as they approached the field.

"It's about time, Branden. Just...Don't hurt anyone too bad." The older man smiled through his helmet toward the youth. Branden's hesitation simply confused him sometimes, but the man had a tragic past: Branden's father Jeromiah had been one of Serge's best friends, after all, and he'd raised the young victim as his own son. It was little surprise that Branden's "questionable" heritage of the Frost legacy to control anything icy left him considered a half-Monster by some and worse by others. Serge didn't buy it, but there were times when the elder knight simply feared the boy.

*****
"Yas, Ulfric, glad to see you." Clarice said to her two comrades, striding toward the couple. Clarice knew full well that Ulfric and Yasmeen were on the verge of engagement. While she knew Yasmeen from their very first campaigns together, Ulfirc had never been her best friend - Mainly because of his distant attitude toward almost everyone.

"...Branden Frost and Scarred Peace. We're toast." Ulfric reiterated that attitude in one statement. Distant was one word for it, yet to-the-point worked just as well at the moment.

"I can take Scarred Peace on, you two can take Frost, I hope." Clarice responded equally as cold. She had to admit, Yasmeen had good taste - The nearly-6-foot male had short brown hair and eyes to match, and was strongly built for an archer. He was a master with a bow, using a dagger or his arrows as a backup weapon in the event that someone drew too near him. His expertise was in gauging how far an opponent was from himself, and he took full advantage of every centimeter.

Yasmeen, on the other hand, was brown haired and eyed as well, though her hair was long, and she used a single longsword with a small shield. Slender and large-breasted, Clarice was as attracted to her as she might have been to Ulfric, except that Ulfric's attitude was exactly the opposite of the one Clarice enjoyed; yet this scared Clarice the most. How could she be attracted to both men and women, after all? It drove her (and not to mention Kathy) mad.

"You sure, Clarice?" Yasmeen responded, looking downward for a moment. "Serge Lenkmen is on the Knight's Council. He's third ranked in the country, at least in terms of his experience and knowledge. How are you going to hold your own against him? For that matter, I wouldn't be surprised if he swept us with some genius formation he drew up in the sand." Yasmeen's lack of confidence was rather...Unsettling. Much like her fiance’s.

"Easily,” she responded arrogantly, “He isn't likely to be as fast as me, and he might not realize I'm me. After all, I got jumped by a group of bandits in Ralase who had no idea who I was." She grinned at this little incident, secretly having to admit she liked being picked on by those madmen, as insane as they were. "They were going to have their way with me, and all they got was a sword wound."

"A legend unrecognized. How shameful." Ulfric responded curtly, glancing away from the warrioress. His attempt at a joke had almost gotten a chuckle.

"Embarrassing," Clarice stated, raising her hand to silence him while she looked at the situation. All in all, the strategy part of this fight, at least, looked to be under control. All she had to worry about was a pair of elite soldiers who could eliminate an army by themselves. Comforting. "Alright, time to get ready, the refs are walking to the field."

*****
The whistle was blown, and the men wearing bright pink, yellow and green outfits - The most easily eye-offending and thus the easiest to recognize and avoid - scattered like ants from a flood while looking backwards to watch the ranks of Gatamene and Coaslund collide.

Jacin's eyes were on the men before him. Most of them used standard tactics like Jacin, but were slower with their techniques. Jacin felt a blow or two land against his armor, but he was only slightly cognizant of them - They didn't even hurt, let alone have anything of "killer force" behind them. He was more consumed feeling his spear's impact jarring metal and knocking wind from foes. He'd already taken six men down and had met difficulty as his seventh foe was faster than the others.

He thrust his spear forward, felt it deflected, and recognized this as a variation of a training routine he'd practiced daily. He countered appropriately, using the back end of his spear, and the foe moved in for a cut. Perfect for him. Jacin planted his spear tip-first to the ground and used it to vault his feet into the foe's chest, knocking him back. A quick spin and the spear slapped against the man - In real combat, a fatal blow, but in this only a stunning one. Another thrust to the chest area and the man fell backwards, exhausted and unable to rise.

He glanced to his left, watching a scene unlike anything he'd seen before unfolding. A woman - He assumed it was a female based on the body build (including fairly generous space provided for breasts formed into the armor) - wading through the crowd of Gataminian fighters. While Jacin had taken seven, she'd taken seventy - And beaten seven men at once in a flurry of attacks his eyes simply did not keep up with. He'd quite obviously waded way, way too far into the enemy ranks for his own good.

He allowed himself to be distracted for a moment; The Lieutenant, or a man wearing damn similar armor to Charles', saw her as well and, quickly defeating another foe, he rushed in to intercept the warrioress and end her rampant decimation of his ranks. The back of Jacin's mind picked up that most of the men taken down were from his division, a sad irony indeed. For the first time ever on a field of battle, Jacin felt fear - This woman was good, and he had no idea if he'd walk away from this one - Jacin and Charles both.
*****
Clarice had to give it to this man - He wasn't highly ranked in Gatamene's military, but he was good. He used a sword and shield almost as well as Yasmeen, and Clarice knew that if she wasn't careful she could be defeated. Unfortunately for the poor soul, she was nothing else but careful.

The black armored warrior was patient, using his shield to create gaps where he could recover his posture - To someone like Clarice, who fought based on reaction, it was a problem she had to find a way to break. Even more unfortunately, he knew how to use that shield in order to keep Clarice from monopolizing any sort of rolling barrage against him, adjusting the shield if she moved and forcing her to retreat as she attacked - A very risky proposition which had already cost her one rather nasty blow to the shoulder.

Compared with the two or three he'd taken across his upper body, she was in good shape. For now, all she could do was wait for an opening. Holding a shield in a defensive position was a tiring proposition, after all, and with one hand she began to idly hack at the shield, hoping to jar his arm enough to cause the warrior to drop his defense.
*****
"Damn, where is he?! You figure blue armor would be enough of a telltale sign!" Exclaimed Yasmeen as she too waded through the field. A wooden arrow designed to snap easily flew through the air, its padded cover striking a knight who had approached her from behind and sending him head over heels. She'd learned from training that, even with the padding, an arrow shot by Ulfric could hurt badly; could kill if the foe was not armored and in top physical shape.

"I don't know..." Ulfric responded, standing next to her and taking a moment to breathe - He'd been bruised and was starting to run out of arrows, but for now he was in decent shape. Yasmeen looked a bit better off, but she'd taken a strong blow to the head and she was dizzy from it, though she'd never admit it without an argument so long as it didn't impact her performance.

"Where could he be?!" Yasmeen roared again in frustration, raising her blade to parry a sword coming in from her left and quickly swatting back, sending another Gataminian backwards and to his knees, then the floor. These ordinary warriors were falling far too quickly, and she was doing little more then exhausting herself against their bodies. Serge Lenkmen didn't have the reputation for sending his men in as cannon fodder, but it damn well felt as if she were just being worked out against pells.

"...Shit," Came the softly whispered statement from her lover, "See that? That's bad." Ulfric was pointing an arrow toward the left flank of their team, where Clarice had headed. He started to line up a shot, aiming at what at first looked like a blue blur but was quickly recognized as a person moving as fast as the wind.

"...You've got slightly bigger problems to worry about, lord and lady." Said a voice from behind them. Ulfric fired his shot early, turning around and loading another one as Yasmeen raised her sword with a gasp. The voice wasn't what startled them - It was the figure that said them. There, with a large red streak along his armor - on the left arm - stood a Gataminian Commander with the seal of the Knights' Council of Emor on it. Long grey hair flowed out from underneath a silver helmet, that of an ordinary soldier, yet his identity was all too easy to notice. "Your armor makes you guys far too noticeable." Spoke the cheery voice, taking a note of seriousness at the end. "Shall we play?"
*****
Clarice broke the stalemate with her repeated jabs, though it took a good deal of time. The knight finally lowered his shield too much, and Clarice chopped downward viciously, leaping to the air and striking downward with her other hand's weapon.

The knight raised his sword a moment too late, partially deflecting the blow and sending her sword to his shoulder. The armored man yelled loudly and smashed his shield into Clarice's face, hoping to recreate that distance he'd previously enjoyed. Clarice was well aware that, had this been three minutes ago, she'd have probably just lost the fight on herself, but the man was simply too exhausted to do enough damage, and Clarice ducked low, one sword holding the shield outstretched on him as the other reached up and nailed him square in the chest.

The knight flew backwards at least ten feet and after landing, despite a momentary struggle, couldn't bring himself to stand. Then she turned to find a soldier in black armor, one who looked to be in good shape and had a short spear. She smiled as she saw this - Knowing quite well how this was going to end. The man had even less ranking than her last opponent and just didn't exude the same confidence.

"Lieutenant!" He exclaimed, readying himself to charge Clarice. He was willing to fight, but his posture screamed that he was more ready to attack out of anger and fear than confidence and skill. He moved forward as fast as he could.

"You're next." She said softly, her eyes closing despite the oncoming opponent.
*****
Jacin watched his friend's momentary hang in the air and subsequent drop to the ground as anger - and fear - struck his face underneath the helmet. "Lieutenant!" He cried out, setting his feet to lunge into action. His knees bent and his muscles curled, springing forward in an instant.

"You're next." He heard an admittedly cute-sounding voice state, one coming from the demon of war that had so easily defeated his comrade.

"Bullshit! Take this!" He shouted, running three steps forward and pressing his spear outward. She moved so quickly and so late that Jacin thought for a moment he'd hit her, as she didn't raise a sword until the last moment. In that one instant she blocked his blow with the flat of her blade. She took a step backwards with the force of it, more than Jacin might have expected to cause to begin with, and then countered with a strong blow to his side.

He'd never been hit so hard in his life. He recalled hovering through the air, and recalled strong arms catching him. Then he felt an arrow slam into his side and he coughed - with the arrow's impact came a soft cracking near his abdomen, a broken rib. He took a soft breath, looking up to the figure in blue armor who had caught him.

*****
Branden had been moving fast - Very fast. He had orders, after all, to seek out their Fecha and eliminate them - Starting with Clarice Saffron. Of course, he landed strong blows to each person he passed by, sending people into the air left and right. He saw an arrow incoming and stopped himself short…Just as a man in armor - Gataminian and, as he quickly read the mark, lower ranked - flew toward him. He caught the poor guy, but couldn't help the kid as he was struck with the arrow. He tried of course, pulling his body to the side, yet he found that he just couldn't move fast enough. He verified the man's rank and status with a glance - Gataminian and Sergeant - but knew that he'd have helped any man of any rank, including a Coaslundian; the damn arrow was powerful!

"...She's good, alright," the warrior whispered, looking down at the boy as he removed the spearman's helmet. He studied the male's face for a moment, saw his eyes were open despite being half-closed from pain, and that he was sweating heavily. "You're still with me, kid? Impressive," Frost said as Jacin tried to move, tried to leave his arms. "Hey, lay down. Sorry about the arrow, it was meant for me. I'll pay for your healing. Bill it to Branden Frost." He said cheerfully, setting him down softly. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someone to play with."

He got to his feet and readied his saber, smiling under his helmet up at her. He took a moment to associate her figure with other styles he'd encountered, not finding any specific matches - Good; she was skilled and her stance didn't give her technique away. This would be a tricky fight indeed.
*****
"Shit." Clarice said softly, readying herself for what just might be the most painful experience of her life. "I didn't even see you move, Branden! Not bad, not bad, but I'm not easily beaten, either." She was speaking to herself, getting her mind focused on the coming battle. Clarice felt every muscle beginning to ache - The match had been on for almost half an hour, and about four fifths of each side had already been beaten. No small thanks to her, a fact which weighed on her arms almost as much as her swords were starting to.

"....Clarice Saffron. 'Blind Justice.' I like the name. I think I'll like more to defeat you, but I also want to see how good you are." Branden's comment was said in the cheeriest, nicest voice he could muster, despite ulterior motives. "I also hear you're pretty cute. Might be worth trying to flick that helmet off."

All that politeness made Clarice a little more worried; not to mention that he was being one hell of a flirt. "Why do you care how good I am? You can find out after I beat you." She retorted caustically.

"Good one," he agreed.

*****
Ulfric was on his knees, taking slow breaths as he studied Serge's motions. For some odd reason, no matter how many arrows he fired at once, Serge kept on blocking them! He looked to Yasmeen, who was still standing but leaning on her sword, breathing heavily and quickly - Fighting the body's desire to fall unconscious, it appeared.

Ulfric had nearly had his arm crushed by a blow, leaving his armor not only dented but cracked - Meaning he'd need a new set of practice armor. Yasmeen, aside from another strong blow to the head, had suffered a bad blow to the leg. Serge? A few light blows had landed on him over the course, but not even many dents had been dug into his armor. Then he saw, in the distance, a pair of warriors staring at one another and realized something quite tragic - The exact opposite of their plan had come to pass.

"Yas! Quick! Clarice is against Branden!" A strangled cry came from Ulfric's lips as Serge moved forward and swung his sword. Ulfric managed to raise his arms and deflect part the blow, skidding along the ground. He rose, but slowly - he hurt, hurt quite a lot.

"...This will be good. I think we win, no?" Serge declared softly, politely, yet with an undertone of certainty.