[M/IC] The Song of Excalibur

[Ma1chbox]

As she entered the war room, Calliope was quick to salute Lord Eli Rhoyse, who stood waiting behind a table. "Here as instructed, milord." On the table laid a map, with flags denoting Camelot's armies placed on top. Her youthful blue eyes flitted across the plans, but the sound of armored footsteps interrupted her. She immediately stepped aside from the doorway and greeted Cassius as he entered. "Cassius."

Only one more high ranking Ironheart was needed before the debriefing could begin. Calliope walked over to one side of the table, across Cassius, and leaned forward to get a closer look at the map. Her eyes darted around once more, but ultimately rested on the flaglets standing on the northern holds of Grecca, specifically those bunched around the Red Fields, and a city marked "Latia." Last she heard, the southern crusades were headed by the Inquisitors Marius and Arhanion. Though she had not met either of them personally, she had heard tales of their accomplishments. She sighed, knowing she could rest easy that the twenty thousand-strong forces were in very capable hands.

At that very moment, another armor-clad figure walked through the doors. The hulk of a man, another took his place at the table as well, then greeted those present. As courtesy, Calliope nodded and greeted him back as well. "Farram." The lady cleared her throat and turned her gaze towards the lord commander this time. "Now then, shall we begin, milord?"

"I need you three in Westerstorm," Lord Rhoyse began. Calliope tilted her head, confused. She was expecting the order to march to the front, not this. "To... Westerstorm... milord?" Her perplexed tone was apparent to everyone in the room.

"Word has come from the Lord Inquisitor and from my own spies that the townsfolk has taken up arms and rebelled against the king. They even captured a few of our own men." Upon hearing this, Calliope's confused look slowly faded away. Her lip, still bearing a fresh red cut from training, trembled at the news. It trembled not out of fear, though, but out of shock at the betrayal. Lord Rhoyse only served to confirm her suspicion. "Apparently Westerstorm has fallen completely into rebel hands and this is not good."

Calliope, still speechless, gritted her teeth. Her grip on her arquebus tightened in rage, and her free hand threatened to carve the wooden table raw as her fingers curled. "Do you think it's the Red Rats?" Farram asked. At the mention of the Red Rats, Calliope gulped hard and fought back the urge to break into another outburst. "If it is then, they are posing a dangerous threat to us all."

Lord Eli added that thorough investigations were still needed, and remarked about the legendary status of the Red Rats. At this point, Calliope could no longer contain herself. "Legends!? Bah! If that is the case, then we will show those ingrate rebels that their legends, too, can, and will fall. This betrayal will not go unanswered!"

"About the rest of the army, we shall march south to Skalagos. You need to leave your men under someone else's command if you wish to join the efforts against the rebellion, Calliope," Lord Rhoyse replied.

"So be it," Calliope hissed through gritted teeth. "My men are capable, and I am eager to fight with them," she continued, "but this rebellion has gone on for far too long."

Cassius was the next to speak. "Sir, what are we supposed to do with the prisoners?"

"Execute them. If there are prisoners that you deemed too valuable to be killed, have them brought to Dhûnwall Prison and have the interrogators do their job." The nobleman seemed to have a troubled heart as he gave this order. Calliope, though... she shared none of the hesitation.

Head held high, she saluted, her fist thumping loudly against the breastplate under her tabard. "The Red Rats are traitors, and are thus considered enemies of the state. Red Rat sympathizers are traitors, and are thus considered enemies of the state. The rebels, having taken up arms against the king, are traitors, and are thus considered enemies of the state." With a fire in her eyes that seemed to rival even Farram's demonic gaze, she turned to face Lord Rhoyse. "Westerstorm," she exclaimed, "will be purged."

===== Later, outside =====

In the middle of the courtyard stood an entire platoon of men and women. Each and every one had donned their gear and was now standing with their arms at the ready. To those looking on, they looked like iron statues, clad in black and red, standing in formation. At the head, Guy paced back and forth while he waited for Calliope.

Finally, she emerged from the doorway, walking towards the front of the formation with a vigorous stride and a menacing glare. Guy, seeing this, stood at the center and yelled out the order. "Stand to!" The soldiers standing before him straightened their stances and stood to attention. Their boots clacked loudly in perfect unison, a testament to their countless hours of drilling. Guy, on the other hand, turned rightward to face Calliope, who was now beside him. Again, he bellowed an order. "Salute!" Again, in unison, the soldiers thumped a fist to their chest, then returned it to their side. Guy followed suit shortly after.

Calliope returned the salute, then bellowed a command of her own. "At ease!" The men once again returned to their original position, with weapons comfortably at the ready. Again, not a single one missed a beat. "Listen closely, and listen well!" Calliope called out. Now, even the other Ironhearts who were not under her command had their attention focused on her. "We have our orders. The 32nd Army is to march south on Skalagos. Yes, brothers and sisters, rejoice! The time has come! In the coming days, we march on Grecca!" Her words seemed to echo through the walls of Irongaunt. The courtyard grew eerily silent, save for the wind blowing the leaves.

"But," Calliope continued, "There is yet more news. I will not be with you." The soldiers, though confused, did not move a muscle. Under his helmet, Guy raised an eyebrow. "My duty, along with Cassius Raco and Farram the Tall, lies here! In the heartland! As of today, the people of Westerstorm are in open rebellion against the crown. This egregious transgression will not go unpunished! I have been tasked to see to it that the traitorous filth are not allowed to rage about with impunity!

Again, Calliope took a pause, and again, no one dared interrupt her. "Under these circumstances... I leave you in the capable hands of my right hand man and second-in-command, Guy de Bruin. Follow his orders as you would mine. Fight with vigor as if I was there alongside you. Remember your training, and remember your duty, and the eyes of the king will be upon you always. By force of will, and divine righteousness, bring the Greccans to heel! Camelot will prevail!"

To end her speech, she held aloft the Lance of Longinus triumphantly, its gold and silver inlays glimmering in the sunlight. With all of her might, she exlcaimed: "VICTORIA AETERNA!" All the men under her command then raised their weapons as well, and in chorus, they replied. "AETERNA VICTRIX!"

[Q]

Through Androkles' instruction, Quintilius and his Argentinian infiltrators had arrived within the Camelotian palisade. With their shields on their backs and their near-black leathers, it was hard for any man to spot them.

Quintilius had chosen his compatriots wisely: with Brynn of Vascrannog by his side, he would have no need for his full bodyguard. The rest of the infiltrators were almost all traditional Argentinian. Where the Fraulanx excelled in breakthrough and defense, the Argentinians were quick and mobile. Under the cover of the night, they began their work: pouring alchemical solutions over the siege towers. The first was an easy prey, it was relatively unguarded. A few well-placed arrows in the slits of Camelotian armor and the tower guard was neutralized. Brynn carried the bodies on her shield to the moat while the first Argentinian climbed the tower.

The same was for the next ten towers, each time leaving one Argentinian behind to baptize the war machine in flammables. There were now but four Argentinians left; Quintilius, Brynn and Vitos of Argentoros and his nephew. The latter two were the Argent's only archers and the warband's most gifted pathfinders. They had grown up on the mountain above Argentos, where spears lacked the finesse to hunt the mountaingoat.

It was the turn for Vitos' nephew to climb the ladder. He swiftly and proudly climbed the steps until a piece of rotten wood cracked underneath his feet. He fell two stories down and his back was broken on impact. Brynn quickly threw Vitos in headlock, dampening the agonizing screams of losing his nephew. After a non-verbal communication between Brynn and Quintilius, Quintilius climbed the steps. It seemed the last three towers within their reach would have to remain standing. Were Lady Godfrey's alchemical solution to work, they would have put a dent in the Camelotian siege regardless.

With the carcass of Vitos' nephew on Brynn's shield, the three Argentinians made way back to the woods where the rest of the ten hoplites waited before entering Latia through a hidden passage. Eleven of the fourteen towers on their side of the fields were now ready to be set ablaze.

The hidden passage into Latia was a tough climb, especially in this state. The storm made the limestones slippery and the men were already exhausted. The Latians had, at Marcus Ironshield's command, lowered a rope from one of their balconies. Though slowly, all of the infiltrators made the ascend. It was Brynn who arrived last with Vitos' nephew still on her back. Regardless of complication, he would get the cremation he deserved.

A little while later, a feint torch on Latia's easternmost tower could be seen from the hill overlooking Latia. It seemed the Argentinian captain had been successful. It was up to Dame Godfrey and the Knights of Ironshield to commence attack. The Argentinians inside Latia would make sure the siegetowers would be set aflame.

[Rha'az]

It by the rising of the sun when the soldiers of Camelot began their assault upon the walls of Latia. The legionnaires rose from their tents and marched into formation, armed with the weapons they were given by the kingdom - a large rectangular shield, a spear and a short sword strapped to them with a leather belt. The two Inquisitors kept a vigilant watch upon the walls that stretched before them, with Marius ordering their archers to let their arrows loose upon the enemy forces.

"Bloody city's still standing," the Inquisitor remarked, tucking his helm in one arm as he looked at Latia, standing over a hill where he could see the view of the entire army.

"Inquisitor Marius!" A young soldier called out to him as the man approached him from the rear.

Marius turned to him, "What is it?" He asked, looking at him from head to toe as the soldier wears a standard mail cuirass and a helm with a long extended flap from the back. A quiver of arrows hung beside him and a bow slung behind his back.

The soldier gulped as he gazed upon Marius' eyes that seemed to glitter like ice. As he regained his composure and took a deep breath, "We found dead bodies that guards the towers, Inquisitor. Arrows pierced through their hearts, sir." He said. "Inquisitor Arhanion requests for your attendance, he is at one of the siege towers that he believed to be compromised sir," he continued.

Marius nodded in response and ordered the archer to fall in with the rest of his unit. Compromised? Damned them all to hell. He thought to himself. The Inquisitor walked down the hill and puts on his helm as he made his way to Arhanion's side, who is examining one of the dead bodies found guarding the siege towers and holding an arrow in his hand. Arhanion's gaze was fixed upon it. "What have you got?" Marius asked.

"A few of the Greccan bastards sneaked in and killed our guards." He said as he sniffed the tip of the arrow like a hound. His jaw clenched as does his fist, breaking the arrow in his tight grip. "They won't just kill our guards for nothing, they could have stolen something from us or...did something to weaken our forces," he said.

The scent of a foreign substance lingered in the air as Marius listens to Arhanion's words. The sharp, stench smell is unlike any other, it smells of Dragon's Spit mixed with the Serpent's Tongue, chemical ingredients that are known to be very flammable and yet, its scent can't be picked up any normal soldier or even a hunting dog. "They have doused the towers with flammable substances," Marius concluded. "Dragon's Spit and Serpent's Tongue. Our towers won't just bursts into flames, it won't be easily extinguished with water alone."

"Yes, I know that Marius. Only sand perhaps even cow piss may be able to put out its damnable flames." Arhanion snapped. "But not all of our towers are compromised, only three of them are intact apparently. Thank the Twelve that the infiltrators didn't get all of our equipment," said the Inquisitor. "We'll have to use it,"

*** Within the walls of Latia ***

The streets of the city were emptied, most of the residents were evacuated safely through the woods that surrounded a large part of Latia itself. Thousands were safely outside the city walls, making their way inland towards Aratos and the neighboring cities with the help of the soldiers that chose to stay, to fight for their city.

As the knights of Ironshield and the rest of the reinforcements sneaked into the city, Marcus heads over to the main camp established in the central part of the city where he expects to meet the commanding officer of the garrison. He made his way through the maze-like streets, passing through the abandoned marketplace and into the central palace where he finds the few dozen units guarding the last stronghold of the city. The banners of Lord Jachaerys flutter in the warm winds of the morning, carrying the sigil of a white sword with thunderbolts on each side upon a field of red. "I wish to speak to the commanding officer," he called out to the nearest Greccan soldier.

He was brought into the tent where he finds a few soldiers - presumably captains, surrounding a table that has the layout of Latia stretched upon it with small chess pieces that were used to mark certain locations. "Captain!" The soldier called out to his superior, "Someone wishes to speak to you," he continued.

" - you got your orders, understand?" The captain spoke out to the subordinates that surrounded her. They responded with a nod as they walked out of the tent and began sending out new orders for their troops upon the walls. She lifted her gaze from the map displayed upon the table and laid her silver eyes upon Marcus, "Ah, thank you for the reinforcements Captain...?"

"Just Ironshield, ma'am. No need for the formalities," Marcus introduced himself and approached the table. His eyes remained upon the layout of the city and its surrounding areas, positioning a large portion of his own knights upon the hills not too far from Latia itself. "How are the defenses?" He asked her, lifting his eyes from the map.

The female captain sighed as she pulled herself away from the table, her arms crossed and shook her head. "The Camelots are persistent. The number of our archers are dwindling the longer the siege continues," she said. "Sooner or later, we would have to abandon Latia and let them take it,"

Marcus' eyes widened at her words. His fists clenched and slammed the table in front of him. "You are surrendering?!" The knight snapped, raising his voice at the commanding officer. Anger began to take control of him as the thought of giving up without a fight is a coward's way to live. To run without unleashing hell upon the enemy is considered a dishonorable act in Marcus' mind and yet, he remembered how his mother used to tell him that his father died in the defense of Kaldir during the attack 20 years ago - he died while raising his sword for the safety of others. "You'd make our efforts useless! Marching for days from the main army just to see the defenders of Latia intends to surrender?"

"You have seen how many soldiers they - "

"Who gives a damn about their numbers? Those bastards have little experience in fighting on the battlefield despite being commanded by two Inquisitors. Yes, they have besieged Praevor and took it. Yes, they have raided Barathos," Marcus continued as he began to mention the enemy's accomplishments. He took a deep breath, calming himself down as he stood away from the table and kept a hand upon the pommel of his sword. His eyes looked into the captain's, his ember eyes gazed into her own silver, "Praevor and Barathos are not heavily defended like Latia is. If you wished to surrender then you'd be better off living as someone who is not a Greccan. You'd only bring shame to the country you serve," Marcus promptly walked out of the tent as he finished. He knew how valuable Latia is and he knew it would be difficult in defending the city itself from falling into enemy hands. Even with 5,000 men, against a large number of less experienced troops would grant them a slight chance for victory.

As he walked out, he saw flaming rocks hurled from beyond the wall and descended into the city, destroying the buildings within. Marcus looked around and saw the Greccan troops standing idle, holding their spears firmly in their hands as they watched the Camelots began their assault, “Reinforce the walls!” he bellowed, his voice as loud as a dragon’s roar as he barked orders to the soldiers. In an instant, they snapped into attention and rushed towards the walls where the archers firing arrows upon their enemies. “Do not let any of them live! Slay those bastards with your swords!” he shouted, drawing upon his sword – the Night’s Blade – as he made his way towards the front gates and ascended into the towers where he’d get a clear view of the enemy.

Marcus looked to the west where a large hill stands, knowing that the rest of the reinforcements were up there and waited for an order. He took his eyes off the hill and watched the Camelot legionnaires as they marched closer, the Pendragon banners flutter in the winds as they marched. “Loose!” the knight one of the garrison captains bellowed to the archers, followed by a rain of arrows that descended from the walls, making their marks as the legionnaires fall one by one. “Load the trebuchets!” he heard another spoke out. “Hold!” another ordered. The battering ram had reached the gates, striking the iron gates of Latia as the soldiers below chant together. The defenders poured molten steel upon them, burning the ram as the legionnaires retreated immediately, their flesh and skin melted as they screamed in agony as an attempt to save themselves from the scorching steel.

Ironshield looked at the approaching siege towers, three of them he counted. They have done it. He remarked. But even with three towers, it would be more than enough to storm the walls of Latia. “VICTORIA AD MORTEM!” Marcus bellowed, as loud as a mighty dragon would roar, raising his sword up. The soldiers repeated his words, the words that embodied the spirit of the Greccan warriors. One of the towers reached the walls and lowered their ramps, the defenders were soon engaged with the legionnaires that poured out of the tower. Spears met with swords, some were thrown off the walls and let the gods decide their eventual fate.

***

A day after the order has been sent, Cassius had gathered his weapons and donned his armor, making his way towards the small town of Westerstorm. Sorrow is upon his back and at times, he’d think that the blade whispers for the death of his enemies as it hungers for blood. He rode upon his white stallion out from Irongaunt Castle and traversed the rivers and hills that stood between the large fortress itself and the distant rebel town. The thought of having to deal with traitors to the crown is something that he’d never think of before as he was used to carving a bloody path through the ranks of Greccan forces upon the battlefield.

His fingers itched as he thought of drawing upon Sorrow once more, to swing its blade upon the flesh of another. But he was strong to resist its temptation. The sword after all, was something he had found during one of his battles against Grecca and retrieved from the village of Barathos where the local witch screamed and laugh at him. The sword likes you! she said to Cassius a few years ago, moments before the old hag’s body thumped lifelessly upon the floor with a swift swing of Sorrow to her throat. It was at the time where he felt its power seeping into his mind.

Cassius then felt a sense of unease and lifted his gaze from the ground, looking to his surroundings as he felt something is watching him – or rather, observing the rest of the group tasked towards Westerstorm. He looked into the forests, where he suspected that someone is hiding in the shadows and waits for an opportunity to strike – but there was none. He looked upon the hills where one could find observe them from afar with perfect clarity – none.

“Cassius!” Farram called out as he rode beside the Sword of the Night. “Is something wrong?” he asked, noticing the man’s unease.

“Someone’s watching us,” Cassius uttered with his lowered voice. “But I can’t seem to find where this watcher is. Not on the hills or deep within the woods.” He said, his eyes darted from tree to tree as he speaks.

Farram nodded at his question, “Yes,” he replied. “But I can’t find this ‘watcher’ either. Perhaps the gods watched us and we are too paranoid to think that a lowly bandit will attack us,”

“Bandits won’t dare to attack us nor are they brave enough to set their eyes upon us.” Cassius said, “But this is quite different, masking one’s presence from us difficult enough even from the likes of high ranking Ironhearts or even the nobles of Camelot,” he continued. “I sensed vengeance. A terrible aura,” his grip around the reins of his horse tightened as he speaks, as if the word itself made him afraid. But Cassius feared none, even the demons of the Abyss would only make him laugh. Fear is something that the Sword of the Night have forgotten for a long time.

“You’re too stressful, Cassius.” Farram pats Cassius’ shoulder. “Calm yourself down. We have a lot more work to do tomorrow. Westerstorm won’t be too far and we can expect to arrive a few hours before dawn. The three of us are more than enough to reclaim a town with barely a hundred men,” he said as he turned to Calliope, “Isn’t that right, Bitch of Ironheart?” he called out to her, using as one of the nicknames Farram heard from the soldiers of other legions when they spoke of Calliope.

“You’re going to regret calling her that,” Cassius chuckled.

Meanwhile, from a distance far away from the range of vision of the three Ironhearts, a man clad in a burnt armor with black flames as his cloak, watched them as they passed through the woods. He carries a large sword on his back and his black steed with a flaming mane stood beside him, watching the Ironhearts silently without them noticing. The man’s fingers stroke the fiery mane of his black stallion as the sun rose into the sky by the passing of time.

The knight pulled himself up onto his horse and gazed one final time before disappearing into the mountains. His horse left behind a trail with purplish black flames at every step.

[Q]

"We, the free men of Argentos, gather here to honor our fallen comrade."

Vitos' voice echoed through the lower city. Some twenty more Argentinians had joined Ironshield within the wall. Among them Sifra of Essarch, a sight of blinding beauty and blue blood. She was the prime political foreign power within Argentos, second only to Helena of Essarch, who grew to old to slay Camelons on the daily.

"I remember my days as a young man on the Argentoros. We were slinging rocks in the mountain pond. With Llairos, Milos, Quintilius and I. Oh, young Llairos..." Vitos' gaze drifted into the fire before him, where his nephew laid burning. "Young Llairos, he had slung his rock so vigorously and so far, it passed the pond and passed the cliffs, flew like a bird in nosedive down to Argentos, our polis indepentos. The stone struck the head of Helena, mother to Quintilius, as she was sparring Brynkvinna in the gardens far below."

A few of the Argentinians chuckled, Quintilius and Brynne among them.

"We shall miss your innocence, Llairos of Argentoros. You are the first of our fallen, yet I know that before next moon, some of your brethren will join you on the Argent Summit."

Quintilius calmly stepped away from the fire. The thirty-plus Argentinians had amassed at one of Latia's high chapels. Flaming rocks descended into the streets below and the Camelotian battle positions were nearing the front gate. With a determined frown on his face, he chugged down his ceremonial wine and took a last puff from his opium-induced tobacco pipe. Within the hour, they - and their brothers beyond the wall - would be in full melee with the westerlings.

"Quintilius!"

It was Sifra of Essarch, his far niece.
"I regret your loss. I know your bond was beyond blood."

Sifra, in her near-flawless greccan dialect, quickly cut to the chase. Quintilius with somber eyes and a pipe in hand meant the man could spill philosophy for hours on end. And he would, given the chance, even during a siege.

"We must man the battlements near the front gate. I brought twenty extra spears and ten of Adriana's bows."

Her captain nodded along with her. It was time. "Bring the spears to I, the bows to Vitos."
"You stand last man, Sifra. See to it every greccan escapes this polis if it falls."

In a jogged pace, Vitos spearheaded the descend to Latia's walls. He carried his nephew's helmet on his hip. While he and eleven archers climbed the high battlements, Brynn took the greater force down to the front gate. Sifra stayed behind with three Fraulanx, the last guard of the hidden passages in and out of Latia. Quintilius himself ran around the perimeter, expertly throwing spears at high-value targets from the wall. When the first tower opened up, he and Vitos defended a thin partly-collapsed plot of the wall with shields in one hand, spears in the other. They would avenge their young childhood friend by spilling blood of Camelot!


***


On the hills overlooking Latia, Milos prepared the men. They would ride with Androkles of Skalagos. Historically, there had been some rivalry between Argentos and Skalagos, as both towns were culturally much alike, but this was often fought out in the amphitheaters of Aratos. On the field, Skalagi and Argenti were of the same discipline, especially when it came to slaughtering westerlings.

Milos stood ready on his Norsenic steed. Beside him stood Hester the Horsemistress, one of the youngest of the Fraulanx. Her wild red hair breezed through her T-visor. Axe in hand, she was ready to lead their cavalry into victory. With Hester present, the norsenic steeds would surely go the extra mile.

When Adriana and her army appeared, the thirty-six Argentinians and the knights of Ironshield would cover her eastern flank.

[Ma1chbox]

It had been a day since the order to move out was given. Calliope, along with Cassius and Farram, had been traveling the imperial roads on horseback towards Westerstorm since morning. She had opted to take the rear guard, lagging behind the two so she could maximize her field of fire with her weapon. Her mind was calm, but perceptive. After all, she had to save her energy for the traitorous heathens waiting ahead.

When the purging finally begins, it would not have been the first time the fiery lady had struck down a man for treason. Her fanaticism had famously (or infamously) often gotten the better of her in her younger days, although it has become less common as she entered the second half of her prime. Make no mistake, however: The fire in her heart has not grown any weaker, instead it is her resolve and self-mastery that has become stronger. Now, her fury was no longer just a simple force of destruction, but a tool that allowed her to cut away at any threats to king and country with near-legendary precision and efficiency.

At around the same time Cassius returned his gaze to the road ahead, a looming sense of suspicion dawned on Calliope as well. Nothing seemed to have changed, but the peace now only seemed to be a veil that hid... something. She scanned her surroundings again with great scrutiny, but found nothing, but the uneasy feeling still remained.

When her gaze returned forward, she found that Farram and Cassius were now riding side by side, talking. The trio now rode in an inverted triangle formation, which would fare better against an ambush than their previous column formation. This eased Calliope's nerves a bit, but it was not enough to dispel her suspicion. As the two made conversation about the heavy aura in the air, she remained silent, but drew the Lance of Longinus from its sling. With a finger ready to prime the cocking hammer, she laid it across her horse's nape in preparation.

The tall knight didn't seem to share the same suspicions, however. He still talked loudly and jeered at Cassius for being "too stressful." Calliope paid him no mind, but her ears pricked up at the mention of "Bitch of Ironheart." It had been one of her old nicknames that the common soldiery had been calling her behind her back. They always tried to hide its existence, but it was really more of an open secret. Whereas a much younger Calliope would have gone on a tirade about disrespect and its consequences, her more level-headed self only met the ribbing with mild frustration and equal banter. "Hold your tongue, Farram," she responded. "You know I won't hesitate to cut it loose." She smirked underneath her helmet, amused, but also confident that her retort was still truly half-meant.

[Rha'az]

Latia, the Northern Pearl

The legionnaires of Camelot and the fierce warriors of Grecca clashed as the siege rages on. Their soldiers descended upon the walls and the battle fury of their forefathers overcome their senses, each letting out a battle cry accompanied by the sound of clashing steel and screams. The archers below let their arrows loose, picking off the Camelots one by one as they fell to the ground with a crack that silenced their voices. At the gates, the spearmen formed a solid defensive line with the rest of the Phalangites of Argentos, locking their shields and lowered their spears as their eyes remained forward. The ram battered the iron gates with a loud thunderous boom.

Upon the walls, Marcus fought alongside a few other brave Greccans to push the enemy back. He held the Night’s Blade in his hand, its golden ripples upon a black steel gleamed in the light of the morning like the surface of a river. He then looked to the hills and lifted his horn that hangs on his hip, lifting his visor. He blew upon it that it tore asunder, like the sound of the storm echoed across the fields to signal the rest of the reinforcements that waited above the hills that overlook the city. A dozen other followed, its deafening sound brought upon the mighty knights.

Marcus turned his attention to a few of the approaching legionnaires. Yet, he moved with a deadly grace that carved bloody path that leaves a trail of corpses in his wake. He pushed forward, without the intention of letting a single of the Camelot soldiers descending on the walls any longer. “Loose!” he heard a captain shouted out to his men. Marcus saw a rain of arrows that descends from the sky and quickly picked up a nearby shield. Its haunting whistles cuts through the air as the enemy archers made their marks with Greccan soldiers falling one by one.

*** The hills of Latia, minutes earlier ***

200 knights of Ironshield remained in Androkles’ command as the rest were inside the walls fighting alongside Marcus. The Skalagosi observed the battle with his helm tucked underneath one arm. Archers from both sides traded arrows, siege towers approached the walls and lowered the ramps, Camelots climbed up the ladders and the battering ram attempted to bring down the iron gates of Latia. Even from afar, Androkles could feel the chaos of the battle that unfolds.

“Bloody hell,” a man spoke out as he approached Androkles. He dons an armor similar to that worn by the Skalagosi with a blue cape down his back, keeping a hand on the pommel of his cavalry sword. “Us against the might of several thousand men seems suicidal,” the man said as his lips curled into a wrinkled smile, his silver hair flows in the wind as he speaks.

“How many men do we have, Theseus?” Androkles queried, putting on his black and red crested helm as he turned to the man beside him.
“200 from our own, several hundred horsemen from the native tribes and even chariots. These warriors are more than willing to give up their lives for the sake of freedom from tyranny,” Theseus stated, turning around to look at the numerous cavalrymen and charioteers that stood behind them. “We also have a few hundred mercenaries that would fight for us alongside the brave tribesmen as well. That amounts to about 900 men.” He continued.

The sound of horns blasted in the distance like thunder. At that moment, the immediately mount their steeds and Androkles seized the horn from Theseus’ hand and blew upon it a great blast that signals the rest of the reinforcements to prepare themselves. Horsemen ride up to the front with the rest of the infantry formed up ranks behind them, each taunting the enemy by bashing their shields with their swords, throwing insults at the Camelots as they lash out in anger and vengeance. Androkles pulled out his sword and raised it, “For Valerios and the great Twelve in the Heavens!” he cried out to his steed and charged down the hill, behind him followed the knights of Ironshield as the crimson dragon flutter against the wind. Their thunderous charged made it seemed like a minor earthquake happened as they cried out to bring death upon the enemy. “For Grecca!” he bellowed as loud as a lion and their voices echoed Androkles’ words.

They crashed with the infantry on the sides, riding them down with the might of their steeds and armed with the unwavering resolve to drive the Camelots out from their lands. Consumed by the instincts of battle, they slew those who stood in their way. Behind the cavalry and the chariots followed the infantrymen of the tribes, mercenaries and perhaps even a portion of Godfrey’s soldiers charged down the hills.

*** The rear ranks of the Camelot army ***

As the reinforcements of Latia crashed with the legions of Camelot, the two Inquisitors watched as the tables turned against their favor. Instead of sounding a full retreat, they remained steady and not falter at the sight of a few hundred warriors slaughtering their men. Marius’ hands sparked as he watches them and his lips curled into a smile as if he waits for an event like this to happen. He conjured a spear of pure lightning in his hand and hurled it across the field as he aimed for the walls. The skies cracked with a bright light, followed by the deafening sound of thunder as the spear crashes into the walls of Latia, its immense energy bursts out and exploded, killing much of the Greccans unfortunate enough to be up there at the wrong time. Marius turned to Arhanion, “We won’t lose today,” he said to his fellow Inquisitor. “Send the Giants!” he bellowed, waving his sword in the air.

Giants emerged from the back, with iron armors and large weapons held in their hands. Some had a greatsword, others had a war hammer but nevertheless, their immense strength is more than enough of tearing through enemy armies with ease. Their thick skins allowed them to endure as much damage as they could inflict upon the enemy, with it they became a powerful weapon for Camelot. As they moved towards the front lines, they stood much taller than a human, perhaps thrice the height of a normal man.

Some of the horsemen retreated at the sight of the terrifying foe, others remained and charged at them. Arhanion watched as the Giants swung their weapons with ease, cutting through the enemy without trouble. “Never thought we would have use those things in this battle.” He noted.

***

Westerstorm, controlled by rebels

As Cassius and the rest of the Ironhearts reached the small town at the morning of the next day, they find it relatively untouched by conflict with much of the buildings remained intact. At the moment they approached Westerstorm, one thing is made apparent by their arrival – that the rebels are prepared for them. The Sword of the Night saw legionnaires of Camelot have formed up a defensive position at the entrance, their large rectangular shields locked and their spears lowered. Their wary eyes remained on the three as archers nocked their arrows and aimed.

Cassius looked around and finds the town is relatively well defended despite its fortifications. Large wooden walls were erected to protect Westerstorm and a dense forest to the west of the town itself. However, there are more men than Farram had anticipated. “By the Twelve,” Farram growled as he gripped the reins of his horse tightly before dismounting, taking a few steps ahead to approach them. Their eyes remained on him and the archers are ready to let their arrows loose, “Who is your leader?” he called out.

The Sword of the Night approached Calliope as Farram speaks to the defenders within the walls, “Send word to the nearest garrison that we needed a few men to aid us,” he whispered. By looking at the legionnaires in Westerstorm, there are signs that there is more than a hundred of them ready to defend the town from the loyalists. “Three of us won’t be enough to retake the town.” He said. Cassius observed them as their banners flutter against the cold breeze. He narrowed his eyes and saw the symbol of a multi headed golden dragon upon a field of black with the words “45th Legion” stitched underneath. “And we’re up against the Hydra Legion most of all,” he said.

Farram raised his arms and unbuckled his sword belt, dropping it to the ground. “See?” he said to the defenders. “No fighting for today, I wish to speak to your leader,” he continued.

The legionnaires in front stepped aside as a man walked to the front, wearing a scale armor and a silver horsetail flows down his back from the man’s helm that covered his face, save for the narrow slits for his eyes to see. Carrying a rounded shield on his back and two swords strapped to him with a leather belt. “Identify yourself,” he speaks.

“Farram the Tall,” he introduced himself. “Of the 32nd Legion – the Iron Legion,” he continued. “These two were Cassius and Calliope. We are from the Ironhearts of the 32nd,” Farram said, turning to the man in front of him and bowed his head slightly as a sign of respect. “So I see that the 45th Legion has renounced their allegiance to the in favor of freedom. Why is that, Captain…?”

The man took a deep breath, “Legion-Commander Lucius Anderson. Our reasons for doing so is none of your business loyalist. You should have seen the king’s actions. Your damnable devotion has blinded you to see the truth,” he said to them.

Cassius raised an eyebrow, partly surprised to see that a Legion-Commander has decided to turn his back against the kingdom. “Do you wish to see you and your men decimated like the once renowned 9th Legion during the Defiance of Dragonstorm, Commander Lucius? The crown leaves no traitors alive,” Cassius spoke out. His cat-like eyes remained on the former Legion-Commander of the 45th, observing his every action.

“Then he must’ve forgot to kill Lord Percival at the time.” Lucius stated with a blunt voice. “It took the king a few years to track him down and kill him at Kaldir. Which, by doing so, declaring war upon one of our former allies in many wars of the past.” He continued, crossing his arms as his eyes darted from one Ironheart to the other.

Farram raised an eyebrow, his lips twitched and his fists clenched at his words as he attempts to hold back his swelling anger within him. “Does the Red – “

“Those damnable Rats have nothing to do with our defiance, Farram. We only done this on our own accord.” Lucius interrupted. As he speaks, his eyes shifted from the three and towards an eagle that flew above their heads before it lands on William’s forearm with a letter tied to its leg. He untied it and unrolled the parchment, reading the contents written. “Legionnaires!” he called out to his men as he threw the letter away, “Prepare to receive the return of your brothers in arms! The Hydras are coming home,”

Cassius raised an eyebrow at Lucius' words before realizing what the man meant, “By the Twelve.” He uttered under his breath. “He’s rallying the rest of the Legion.”

***

Somewhere northeast of Camelot,
Dhûnwall Prison,
The Sovereignty of Camelot,

Dhûnwall Prison, a monolithic fortress carved out from the stones of a massive mountain located far to the northeast of the city of Camelot. It's a place where the most treacherous criminals may find refuge behind iron bars and endless screams of torment that echoed throughout its lonely hallways. It wasn't as vibrate as Camelot itself, nor was it a beautiful as Latia but a sense of dread, agony and misery radiated from its enormous structure. It stood alone, surrounded by a thick forest and mountains.

Within the fortress itself were several blocks dedicated to the inmates of Dhûnwall and those who are unfortunate enough, would find themselves thrown into the worst place imaginable - the solitary cells - where even the bravest of souls would be broken in just a matter of hours. Countless of rebel leaders were in Dhûnwall but there are countless more that lies dead within the city squares of the kingdom, executed publicly - even that was considered mercy by the prisoners as death is less terrible than pain.

The screams never end. Men and women screamed until their throats bleed and lost their voices, it became all too common for those who have lived long enough within the prison walls. Take four prisoners into the interrogation blocks, three corpses and a broken soul shall come out. Yet, their screams became a song to his ears. A lullaby even when the night is at its peak.

One of the legionnaires that guards the prison approached his cell within the solitary confinement blocks. His eyes remained on the slits beneath the iron door, looking at the shadows that stopped there and his ears listened to the sound of clattering keys as the guard opened his door. "Get up you damned bastard," the man said, picking the prisoner up from the cold floor of his cell, aided by another as they dragged him out.

His lips dry and his skins were littered with days old cuts, bruises and scars obtained from his days living in the prison and during his time serving as a sworn knight to the crown of Camelot. His dirty golden hair covered his face like vines as he helplessly limped alongside the guards as they brought him back to his cell in one of the blocks. He closed his eyes in exhaustion, after spending the last few hours surviving an interrogation for the last few months. Maybe weeks. Maybe even years? The knight lost count of how long he had been in Dhûnwall. All he remembered was seeing a silver haired man with cat-like eyes brought him to the prison.

The legionnaires hurled him into an empty cell next to the others and shuts the door. The eyes of the other inmates remained him, some with pity while others stared at him with shock. The knight could hear their voices as they chatter with one another, wondering how he'd survive in the interrogation cells much longer than the rest. But more importantly, how he kept his sanity despite the endless physical and psychological torture conducted by the ever so cruel figure known to them as the Warden.

His eyes looked on his wrist as he lays down upon the cold stone of his cell, looking at the bloodied bracelet given to him by his wife sometime before he was arrested for treason. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, pulling his hand closer to him. "One day," he whispered to himself. "I'll be home,"

[Q]

"Shieeelds!"

The rain of arrows impacted on Quintilius' and Vitos' large round shields. The thumps were intimidating, but the next wave of westerlings barging out of the siege tower strengthened the Argentinian resolve. When their swords were about to clash with the enemy, a flaming ball grazed the crenellation. Blood of both Grecca and Camelot covered the street behind the wall, as several burning men screamed to fight an untimely death crushed underneath the flaming rock. Part of the wall caught fire and the two Argentinians retreated further back to Latia's main gate - but not before Quintilius, most gifted spear-thrower in south-eastern Grecca, stuck a cloth-wrapped javelin into the raging fire and tossed it with an arc right into one of the dormant siege towers. It flew in flames and after the wood crackled, crumbled down into the Camelotian ranks. "Aha!" Quintilius cheered. His celebration was cut short, however. Marius' lightning spear impacted into the battlements underway to the city's gate and both Vitos and Quintilius got flung off the battlements, buried in rubble, fire, dust and the fog of war.

On the other side of the armada, the Argentinian cavalry rode alongside the knights of Ironshield and their Skalagosi commandant. The first clash broke through the Camelotian lines with ease. Their Norsenic steeds' large hooves trampled many footsoldiers. Milos slashed around with his sword while his second-in-command, the shieldmaiden Hester, used her one-handed axe to split open the chins of at least five spearmen. It was only at the sound of a Skalagosi horn that the bulk of the Argentinian cavalry looked up to see their true challenge: the beastly giants barging at the Greccan vanguard. Most Argentinians trembled at the sight of them, Milos included. But not Hester. Within the blink of an eye, she threw her axe in the eye of the nearest giant, and charged in with only a shield. Whether the rider wanted to or not, many of the Norsenic horses followed Hester into the fray, creating a deep but dangerous cut into Camelotian lines.

Near the front gate, Brynne stood at the center of the greccan shield wall. Her mind in focus at the battering ram's rhythmic thumps. At the precise moment of the seventh thump, the Inquisitor's magic ravaged their right flank. She looked up to find her brothers-in-arms through the dust of the sandstone, but to no avail. The battering ram had still yet to breach the gate and so she shoved her way out of the shield wall and paced to the rubble, hoping to find Vitos and Quintilius.

[BumblingBee]

A stone moved.

Now usually, stones don't usually do things like that. Except this one it seemed. For it moved a second time now, twitching slightly within it's place upon the ground, dust cracking at the seams. And then, in a single arcing swoop, what was in fact a stone flap of some kind, opened. There was the briefest of pauses, barely enough time for the dust to settle before, and with a mighty heave, a young girls head popped up through the hole like a daisy in Spring. The girl spun in a full slow circle, taking in the room studiously, a concentrating frown softly resting upon her face.

"Hmmmmm."

Wrong again it seemed. She sighed and descended beneath the earth once again, closing the hidden door behind her with a casually half-hearted tug. The girl walked with a defeatist slouch in her stride, feet kicking lazily at pebbles as she went. By the twelve, how long had she been down here now? It felt like hours, at the very least. Time passed strangely when you couldn't see the Sun, a sensation she was not overly fond of. For she had been raised in Grecca, a place that positively exuded and radiated sunlight and all its benefits. But stuck here in this miserable old place, sometimes her heart felt as dark and dingy as these countless cells.

That said though, she supposed these tunnels were a least a little bit more interesting than the prison lock-ups. Possibly just due to the history they held if anything. Her Father had never been to Dhûnwall. A few other high security prisons once or twice sure, but never Dhûnwall. Truth be told, she wondered if his ego would ever even allow him to end up in a place like this. But there's a first time for everything she supposed. But just because he had never been didn't mean he wasn't prepared nonetheless. If she remembered correctly, it was a retired miner or something that had made him aware of the presence of these old tunnels. Apparently they were dug by a long forgotten prisoner over a wasted lifetime, which was a very nice thing of him to do for her.

Problem was, she had a feeling it had taken him a few attempts to get it exactly bob on. There were various exits and hidden entrances dotted all over the place, and she'd managed to get a very expansive meandering tour of Dhûnwall by this point whether she wanted one or not. However, the girl still hadn't found exactly what she was looking for. Oh well. Just had to keep on keeping on she supposed.

Screams and shrieks were a consistent lullaby here yes, but so was silence. She'd been absentmindedly timing the gaps between the two, and she had found that there was some correlation and rhythm to the two. From this she was able to ascertain some idea of where she was exactly in the vast expanse of the prison. For example if there was more quiet than screams, she was probably nearer to the moat where the bodies were tossed, or if there were plenty of screams with no regular break of silence then she could take a good guess and assume she was near the torture chambers.

This formula had served her well so far. Until now that is. For it wasn't screaming or silence that she currently heard, but talking instead. Something had set the prisoners tongues a chatter.

Hmm, perhaps this one would be worth a try then?

The stones of Dhûnwall moved once more. No flap here, instead she had to simply slide the stone across and away, a hidden panel in the ground this time.

With a very graceful clamber, she hauled herself up through the hole, resting upon the floor while her legs remained underground. The girl took a good look around once again and...

"Oh gosh darn it."

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes wearily.

"I thought I heard a noise,"

In desperation, she took another look. And when she turned, she was somewhat surprised to find herself no longer alone.

"Oh. Hello there,"

Goodness he looked rather worse for wear. He must have been here for quite some time to end up in such a state. That, or the guards had really had their fun with this one. Never one to be a stranger though, she decided the air needed well and truly clearing. The girl shot him a surprisingly genuine friendly smile.

"Was that you that set everyone talking? You're a prisoner here aren't you?"

Casually she pulled up her legs from within the hidden hole so she could kneel for a moment.

"I'm being held against my will too. Not for much longer though,"

She hummed a little to herself as she rose to her feet, eyes analysing the cell quietly as she spoke. It was as dingy and damp as one might expect from your typical high-security-not-very-nice sort of prison. Her gaze drifted over the walls and down to the ground. Then, with a soft frown she patted away some dust that had floated onto her shoulders. She tutted softly as she spoke,

"Ohhh. I hate this place. I do hope there aren't any... I don't know rats or, or frogs or something down here. Not that I mind them too terribly, but they do scurry and hop about the place quite a bit which I'd rather do without."

Her head then swiftly shot up, as if in surprise.

"I'm Janus by the way. Sorry, should have said that earlier. Janny's nicer if you like."

Youthful curiosity seemed to suddenly claim her thoughts.

"Are you.. a traitor? No, a enemy knight perhaps? Maybe just a baddun like me?"

Concentration retook control, and she shook her head free of her wonderings.

"Sorry, I shouldn't pry."

[Ma1chbox]

As the soft mid-morning light was pushing back the last of the early morning chill, the three Ironhearts stood at a stand-off at the gates of Westerstorm. The town itself showed signs of damage, but was mostly intact. Calliope turned her head up and scoffed in disgust at how easily the locals must have succumbed to the rebellion. Hell, they might as well have just let them in, as far as she was concerned. Ingrates. All of them.

A small band of rebel legionnaires blocked the entrance with a standard shield wall. A handful of archers supported them as well. This was an unsurprising sight to see, considering the three Ironhearts made no real effort to hide themselves from scouts. Calliope tightened her grip on her mount's reins, the sight of the enemy stoking the fire within her. Fortunately, Cassius' whispering managed to divert her attention enough to calm her down.

"Send word to the nearest garrison that we needed a few men to aid us. Three of us won’t be enough to retake the town... and we’re up against the Hydra Legion most of all"

"The Hydra Legion..." Calliope's voice trailed off. A quick survey of the banners flying across Westerstorm showed that they were no longer Camelot's, but that of the 45th Legion. A famed legion, to be sure, but now they were nothing more than a dishonored bunch of criminals. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen..." Calliope lamented silently at their betrayal, but remained stern in her conviction. It was at this moment that Farram called out to the rebels, asking to parlay with their leader. Upon hearing this, Calliope immediately turned her attention towards the gates once again. An idea began to brew in her head. Without turning to face Cassius, she gave him a simple response to his request. "Hmph. I may sway them yet. Trust in me, but remain on guard and prepare to retreat to safety if need be."

The rebel shield wall parted to let through an armored man, no doubt an officer, judging from the custom armor. Listening closely on the conversation between him and Farram, Calliope managed to overhear that the man was no other than Lucius Anderson himself. It was as grand an opportunity as it could be. Just like that, the man responsible for all this treachery stood before the Ironhearts. Things seemed to be falling right into place for Calliope's plan. She could have struck at any moment she chose... but she chose to stay her hand. The treacherous legion-commander had more to say, and she intended to let him speak. After all, the words he uttered where he stood would soon be his last.

"Our reasons for doing so is none of your business loyalist," the traitor bellowed. "You should have seen the king’s actions. Your damnable devotion has blinded you to see the truth!"

While Cassius responded with threats of decimation, Calliope closed her eyes and uttered a soft prayer, quietly enough that no one would hear. When Lucius retorted, she opened her eyes and drew her pavise from her back. Its polished silver gilding glimmered as it caught the sun's warm rays. The light reflecting from it seemed to give Calliope a holy glow in the eyes of the rebels.

As Lucius vehemently denied Farram's accusation of the Hydra Legion's collaboration with the Red Rats, Calliope simply looked at Cassius and nodded. At the same time, a messenger eagle arrived bearing more news. Lucius, upon reading the scroll's contents, perked up with excitement, calling out to his men that reinforcements were coming soon. At first, this worried Calliope, but then a smile formed underneath her helmet.

She laughed. Quietly at first, but then louder, and then louder still. At this point, all eyes were on her now. "Bold of you to assume you still have a legion, Lucius! Look around you!" Calliope gestured to her surroundings to make a point. "Does it not arouse your suspicion that for all your crimes, only three Ironhearts show up at your doorstep? Judging from how the message was sent by eagle and not by messenger, I'd say the rest of your traitorous legion would be at least four days from here, possibly more! In that time, the Iron Legion's trap would have already been sprung. Not even the fabled Hydra Legion can stand up to the entirety of the 32nd Army!" Once again, she laughed. "Just how long did you think Westerstorm could rebel before the king would take action, hmm!?"

She paused, then looked at the rebel legionaries watching the scene. They did not move, but Calliope could almost feel the doubt and fear in their hearts. "Yes, in as little as four days, reinforcements will come... but not to your aid. Your rebellion is crushed. Cassius, Farram, and I... We come not as enemies, but as messengers. However, Lucius..." Calliope took a pause to turn her gaze to the legion-commander once again. "My message is to your men, not to you, who is henceforth held responsible for this treachery. Farram!" she called out. "On your horse, like a respectable man. It is my turn to speak."

Once the three Ironhearts were on horseback once more, Calliope raised her weapon. A deafening crack filled the air, louder than anything most men would have ever heard, louder even than thunder. The sound echoed even in the dense forests of Westerstorm, and lingered for what seemed to be an eternity. The sound would have shaken even the hardiest of men if they had not grown used to it. For a few seconds after, it seemed nothing had changed, apart from the plume of smoke that came from the end of Calliope's strange spear. Suddenly, Lucius staggered back one step. Then another. On the third step back, he crumpled to the ground, trying to clutch his chest through his scale armor. With that, the leader of the rebel legion sprawled lifeless outside the town's wooden gates.

Once again, she turned to the rebels. "Men of the Hydra Legion, hear me now! We three Ironhearts come now, not as enemies, but as messengers! Your legion-commander, who has so poisoned your thoughts and deeds with his words, is fallen! He has received the king's justice, but for those of you still living, I bring the king's mercy!"

Triumphantly, she raised the Lance of Longinus up high, basking in the faint glow of the sunlight upon her shield. "I plead of you all, see reason! You have sinned, but you may yet be forgiven. Look westward, for that is where your redemption lies... On Greccan soil! I call upon you, disgraced legionnaires of the 45th Army, and the faithful in your ranks: Join us! Assemble in front of these gates, and let us march with our brothers-in-arms to Grecca! The twelve divines willing, through penance in battle, your names will be absolved, and your honor restored!"

===== (cue music) =====

Again, another pause for dramatic effect. This time, Calliope put down her arquebus and set to work casually reloading it. "Of course, if you refuse, the king will show no mercy. If for any reason, any of us three messengers are harmed, go missing, or return with news of your... continued treachery... You will be made an example. When the rest of the Iron Legion are at these gates, they will not be as kind as we are now." When her weapon was loaded once again, she pointed it in the direction of the rebel defenders. "Each and every one of you still living will be crucified... alongside your families. What will you tell them while they slowly die in front of you? That they were made to suffer because of your actions!? When they could have easily been spared by your choice!?"

When she was sure her words had penetrated into the rebels' thoughts, she lowered her weapon. "I pray you make the right decision. The king would much rather show you mercy, but do not force his hand, else he will act! I take no joy in holding you hostage like this, but I will do my duty if I must! Come now, brothers and sisters of the Hydra Legion, return to the fold! Let no more Camelotian blood be spilled, unless it is for king and country!"

With that, Calliope ended her great bluff of a speech and waited for a response. Her time as a propagandist had taught her how to honey her words and corner her enemies with nothing more than her pen and her voice. Those who knew her well have long noted that while her skill with the arquebus is dangerous, her skill with words is just as deadly. After all, the right idea planted in someone's thoughts is a slow and insidious killer.

[Rha'az]

Latia, the Northern Pearl

The battle was fierce, with Giants entering the fray and the might of the forgotten art of magic began to turn the tide of battle, the Greccan had no other choice but to fight with everything they have within their disposal. They were fighting for their homes and they have every reason to push the Camelots away from Latia. The walls were breached when one of the Inquisitors hurled a lightning bolt and the Greccans remained a formidable foe to be faced even at the sight of such power. Marcus was thrown of the walls at the impact of the spear and crashed into one of the buildings below, he cursed under his breath as he attempts to stand from the roof and coughed. He looked around, only to see many of the Greccan warriors were crushed underneath the weight of the walls.

Camelot legionnaires poured into through the breach, only to be held back by a solid wall of Greccan soldiers who held their shields side by side. But even then, they were slowly pushed back by the Camelots as they relentlessly made their advance. “Hold your position!” the captain shouted as he stabbed a legionnaire with his spear as he blocked a thrown javelin with his shield. “Hold!” he bellowed once more until several Greccan spearmen came to their aid and formed up with the rest of the unit.

Marcus rushed down to the streets as he regained his composure and narrowly avoided a flaming stone hurled across the walls by a Camelot siege machine. As he made his way to the walls, he saw the Phalanx of Argentos as they remained in a tight formation with their locked onto the gates. Then it bursts open and from beyond came a Giant that roared as loud as thunder, holding a large hammer in its hands. Arrows whooshed through the air and struck the beast as it came through the gates, the Phalangites and the rest of the spearmen had their grips around their weapons tightened. “Ballistae, loose!” Marcus heard and his eyes caught the flash of several large bolts pierced through the Giant’s thick armor as it staggered backwards.

“Advance and hold your formation!” Marcus bellowed as he marched alongside them. They advanced in such uniformity, each of their steps thudded perfectly upon the ground as some began to sing the song of battle to keep a high morale of the unit. The rest followed. As they clashed with the approaching legionnaires, the determined Greccans gave their all. Marcus swung his sword at one of the Camelot’s throat as it dropped to the ground lifeless, with crimson nectar pouring out from its deep wounds. For a moment, everything looked as they were beginning to regain the advantage. But as the Giant remained standing, it lets out a roar and hurled aloft his hammer like thunder and send several of the Greccans up into the air.

Outside the walls however, Androkles saw a number of their horsemen turned away at the sight of the approaching Giants. The Skalagosi gritted his teeth and gripped his bloodied sword in anger as he saw them, “Bastards!” he shouted but his voice sank within the screams and endless sounds of clashing weapons. He turned his horse and charged alongside the Argentonians who made the bold the decision to face against the beasts. He rarely encountered them in battles alongside Marcus, even so these Giants proved to be a formidable weapon and managed to tear through their ranks quite easily with a single swing of their weapons. Even so, Androkles chose not to run.

Behind him followed a small number of the horsemen, the knights of Ironshield, the Argentonians and even a few of the tribal knights and charioteers made a similar decision. They trampled many of the unfortunate Camelots down with their steeds, sending many to their deaths as they charged. As Androkles was in close proximity to one of the Giants, he jumped off his horse onto their backs with his sword pierced deep into their flesh. He held on to one of its armor pieces and stabbed the back of its neck furiously multiple times as it roared in pain and agony before falling upon the ground as a corpse, crushing its fellow soldiers underneath its weight. As he emerged from the corpse of the fallen beast, he pulled out his bloodied sword and make his way into the walls to aid Marcus who is fighting with such ferocity and brutality as if the blood of Valerios ran new in his veins. Nevertheless, Androkles made it to his friend’s side and joined the fight at the gates.

Meanwhile, Theseus was unhorsed by one of the legionnaires as they threw a javelin at him, only to be thrown off his steed as he managed to shield himself. He stood, picking up his sword and a rounded wooden shield nearby. He charged at the legionnaires as he fought with the barbaric rage of the old tribes, letting out a roar as he slaughtered unfortunate soldiers that caught in his rage. His advance was stopped after one of the Camelot knights struck him with a halberd that pierced through his armor.

“Marcus!” the Skalagosi called out to the half-breed knight.

The Ironshield had lost the count of how many men had fallen to his sword. Was it ten? Twenty? Thirty, perhaps? He did not care for he continued to slaughter those that carried the silver dragon of Camelot upon their armor and shield. His dark blade rippled with golden line had caught many unfortunate souls as Marcus fought. He swung his sword in a flat arc, cutting off one of the legionnaire’s heads with ease before driving his sword into their chest. He heard Androkles called him as he turned to swing the Night’s Blade, he stopped as he laid his eyes upon his friend, “Androkles!” he realized, lowering his sword.

“There’s no end to these filthy bastards!” Androkles pushed aside Marcus as he drove his sword upwards to one of the Camelot’s jaw before he quickly blocked a javelin with his rounded shield. “We can’t hold them any longer, we must signal a full retreat!” he suggested, standing next to one of the female spearmen of Argentos.

***

Westerstorm,
Controlled by a rebel legion,
The Sovereignty of Camelot,

A sharp pain coursed through Lucius’ body as the Gunbearer fired her weapon. He staggered backwards with his hand covering his chest, he coughed out blood before falling down to the ground. “Uncle!” a young man rushed to the scene, the man dons a dark steel armor with a cloak made of wolf’s fur on his back. He rushed to Lucius’ side and examined his wounds, dragging him inside the town. “Apothecary!” he called out as he retreated back into Westerstorm. “Get me a goddamned apothecary!” he brought the man’s motionless body to the infirmary, laying him down on a bed as the apothecaries treated his wounds.

"Men of the Hydra Legion, hear me now! We three Ironhearts come now, not as enemies, but as messengers! Your legion-commander, who has so poisoned your thoughts and deeds with his words, is fallen! He has received the king's justice, but for those of you still living, I bring the king's mercy!" she said, her voice boomed .

They eyed her warily, listening to her words as she speaks. The tension between themselves began to rise drastically. Some of the rebels wished to end her life but then again, they would not risk to face the might of three of the most renowned warriors of the 32nd Legion. They knew tat they would emerge victorious considering they have the advantage in numbers but then again, it would come at a great cost. 97 men attacked the three, maybe only half of those came out unscathed. The young man returned to the front and stood in one of the watchtowers where a few of the archers nocked their arrows, listening to her speech.

Triumphantly, she raised the Lance of Longinus up high, basking in the faint glow of the sunlight upon her shield. "I plead of you all, see reason! You have sinned, but you may yet be forgiven. Look westward, for that is where your redemption lies... On Greccan soil! I call upon you, disgraced legionnaires of the 45th Army, and the faithful in your ranks: Join us! Assemble in front of these gates, and let us march with our brothers-in-arms to Grecca! The twelve divines willing, through penance in battle, your names will be absolved, and your honor restored!"

The young man had his fists clenched and puts a hand on one of the archers beside him. They lowered their bows and kept listening to her words. The legionnaires remained in their formation, but they began to turn to one another, mumbling as if they do not have any choice but to surrender. Indeed, facing against the might of other legions would mean suicide but they stand no longer with the crown. “What should we do, Zachariah?” one of the archers asked, turning to the man beside them.

“Hold your fire,” he replied.

Again, another pause for dramatic effect. This time, Calliope put down her arquebus and set to work casually reloading it. "Of course, if you refuse, the king will show no mercy. If for any reason, any of us three messengers are harmed, go missing, or return with news of your... continued treachery... You will be made an example. When the rest of the Iron Legion are at these gates, they will not be as kind as we are now." When her weapon was loaded once again, she pointed it in the direction of the rebel defenders. "Each and every one of you still living will be crucified... alongside your families. What will you tell them while they slowly die in front of you? That they were made to suffer because of your actions!? When they could have easily been spared by your choice!?"

The legionnaires began to mumble, turning to one another as the thought of having themselves punished seeped into their minds. Zachariah eyed them, observing the soldiers of the 45th having the thoughts of surrendering to the crown. He too know the consequences of their actions, to face the might of several legions would be one of them. But if he can rally a few of them to his side, then they would stand a chance in liberating their dying nation.

He seized a bow and arrow from one of the archers, immediately letting it loose upon Calliope. “Your words have no meaning when you are the one who said it, Bitch of Ironheart!” Zachariah called out to her, walking down the watchtower and stood behind the shield wall. “How many families were killed just for the king’s damned ambition to rule the lands beyond? Attacking our allies?” he nocked another arrow, this time aiming for her head. "How many innocents have been slaughtered in the name of the crown? How many?!"

Cassius draws Sorrow, its blade radiated with such darkness that complements his jet-black skin. "Uncountable," the Sword of the Night replied flatly, his cat-like eyes stared at Zachariah with such coldness as he kept his face devoid of any emotion. Yet, he heard the whispers of Sorrow seeping into his mind. His hand trembled as if he itches to stain the blade with their blood. "But the crown holds the ultimate law, one must not stand against it. You've dishonored your vow as a sworn knight, Captain. By doing so, you've disgraced yourself as well."

Zachariah lets the arrow loose upon Cassius instead, only to be cut in half by the man's quick reflexes. "I swore an oath to protect the weak just like all knights do. The oath to protect the lands from danger and evil. Not to spread the damned thing," he said through his gritted teeth. "I am not like you so-called knights. Acting like puppets!" He nocked another arrow, his gaze turned to Calliope once more. A fierce look was set upon her, complemented with rage that burned within him.

Farram saw Cassius attempting to charge through the impenetrable line of men, but he raised his arm to stop him from doing so. "Wait." He said to him, lifting his gaze from Cassius to Zachariah. "You're persistent in your words, traitor. I shall give you a few days to reconsider your actions. Your Legion-Commander's eventual demise should be enough to be a reason that you should not betray the crown,"

***

Dhûnwall Prison,
The containment blocks,

The knight starts as he saw a head popped out from the floor. He rubbed his eyes with his bloodied fingers, wishing that he was hallucinating rather than looking at something tangible and real. As he heard her voice, he could almost laugh. "Damn the gods, I must be crazy from all the torture," he said, chuckling as he pulled himself up and sat with his back against the cold wall.

He listens to her every word, the confidence in the way she speaks seemed to tell him that she finds a way to escape. Well, at least a new effort to escape. He had heard of people inciting a rebellion within the prison, with the inmates began fighting against the guards but to no avail. The guards were too skilled. He also heard of the pit fighters attempting to hatch a plan of similar goals but rumors remained rumors. As she introduced herself, his dry lips curled into a smile. "Janus huh?" He said. "And you're not wrong with me being a traitor. I was after all, a famed knight once served for the crown," he chuckled.

"But everything changed when my sister was born. Well, or should I say when Arthur killed most of Percival's family in the Defiance." He said under his breath that only he and the girl could hear it. He grits his teeth, "Fuck the king. He should have known that Gwynevere no longer loves him because of his madness,"