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Ah, this position was so, so boring. The most utterly droll thing they could have assigned him to. Absolutely infuriating. For the higher ups to just brush one of his intellect under the rug and into this backwater fort was purely ridiculous! The biggest insult of all was that the ugly, lackluster little fort was actually coated in the tricks of his trade. Said coatings were in such a revolting state of disarray that most of his free time wasn't spent ordering his underling about, but repairing the castle's defenses!

This day in particular, General Ezekiel was in his quarters, tinkering about with the chemicals that made the explosive properties of the mines that the other Estarcian Generals had so haphazardly discarded. They call it dishonorable, Ezekiel calls it intelligence. If you can decimate half an opposing force without raising a finger, more power to you!

But, out of a simple window, he saw an approaching mass amongst the whitened trees. A large, deep blue mass was approaching, coupled by what appeared to be horses. ...and what was this? A shout of "Charge"? The general couldn't restrain a maniacal cackle as he shot from his chair and pulled a rope, ringing a simple bell. Of course, to the fools amidst the brush below, they would hear nothing. But, to those inside the castle, the ringing echoed. It echoed through ventilation paths, through the halls, through every inch of the interior, giving the call to arms to all inside.

"Come now, you idiotic masses, to arms!" he shouted out his door, before grabbing his trusty crossbow. If the rubes he had been forced to command had remembered anything of his order, rules, mandates, whatever one may wish to call them, they would already be preparing their defenses. As Ezekiel was about to rush from his room, he doubled back, rummaging through a drawer. Mere moments later, he pulled a belt of ammo from the drawer, slinging it over his shoulder. ...and of course, he couldn't forget his crossbow bolts, heavens no. That would put him in quite the pinch! So, he grabbed his quiver, clipped it to his belt, as all Snipers do, and sprinted out of his room.

Of course his room was nearest to quite the vantage point. The entrance to the fort was on the other side of the building, sure, but he had range and height, to make up for it. With a second cackle, Ezekiel made a few raging arm gestures, to which the faceless underlings replied by bursting into various paths. A row of them situated themselves behind the closed gate, and each hunkered down, appearing to fiddle with the sandy surface. As each finished their odd task, they took a few steps back, and took small, red satchels from their packs, burying them carefully in the ground mere feet from the first row.

Now, while that was happening, other underlings were inside the fort, preparing their duties. Cocktails of chemicals and fumes were loaded into large, missile-like tubes and placed in circular slots in the walls. On the other side of the walls, bordering the subterranean setup, there were a series of small openings in the walls, inconspicuous to all who did not know of their existence prior. Honestly, wouldn't a fort that looked half to pieces have a few holes?

And, all that were left, plus General Ezekiel himself, readied themselves on the walls, the balconies, anywhere where they would be given a height advantage. Each soldier was equipped with a bow, aimed cautiously towards the closed gate. The veterans, however, plus the general himself, each had dipped their arrowheads in vials of poison, you know, the green generic goo that's bad for you. Really now, if there was anything that the general was good at, it was the concept of overkill. Plus, there was the concept of the "giant explosion," but that was a bit more difficult to pull off without more planning...

(( So, we're looking at a closed gate. Behind the gate are light runes, so the only way to get past it is to destroy the gate, and then the troops wil be stopped by Light Runes. Following that, there is a large amount of mines. On the walls for both the light runes and the mines, there are poison jets. And lying in wait past all that are an asston of archers with poisoned arrows. Probably some mages too, once the archers have their fun. So, have fun, Archanean Legion! ))

╚ Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. ╗

Lo there, do I see my father,
Lo there, do I see my mother, my sisters and brothers,
Lo there, do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning
Lo, they do call to me, they bid me take my place among them.

Beatrix

While she looked stunning in the saddle and commanded her troops well, there is one thing you could not call Beatrix: attentive. "Hmm?" she said just seconds after Antonio had finished. "Wait, so what am I supposed to be doing?" Fortunately, inattentive as she was, she had appointed an aide from her own ranks. Karlov sighed softly and turned to face the Valkyrie captain and passed her what he had written in his little book. They essentially amounted to Cliff's Notes for Antonio's plan. She took them and reached into her cleavage for a pair of spectacles. She did not, in fact, need them, and they were just regular glass. But she thought it made her look dignified to take them out when she wanted to read something.

Beatrix had learned ages ago that no matter what you do or where you go, appearances are everything.

"Hmm... oh, okay, I see. Yeah, that looks like a pretty good plan!" She tossed Karlov the book as she folded up her spectacles and hid them away in the bountiful chasm from which they had been produced. "Right. Karlov, Hilda, Benoit!" she called to her most favorite lieutenants. "I want you three to join the other three groups with Fortify, Restore, and Physic," she told the Sage, Mage Knight, and Bishop respectively. "Everyone else is with us at the front!" She turned and reared back on Horsie, then moved to the front with the General.

"My units have their orders, sir. My three best split between the other squads, with the rest of us at the gates. Usual procedure." She looked up, smiling and waving brightly at Benoit as he moved into Felix' column while Karlov joined Milan's. Karlov excelled in the use of staves, more so than anyone in Antonio's squad, and by himself it was said he could keep an entire front line in perfect condition.

Slowly, Beatrix moved up a bit more, keeping Horsie at a trot, and took a short staff from her saddle bag. She pointed it at Caesar and murmured, "Ward!" as light settled around him and fused into his armor. "That's a bit better, General. You know how I worry about you on the front lines!"

-jiggle-

LANCELOT

Lancelot, a man of many quirks and many more infuriating qualities that made his own allies tear their hair from their skulls- and yet, a fierce warrior in his own right. When his blood was fired with the sparks of war and fanned further into ignition by the sudden rush of adrenaline, the effect was a sober, cold fighting machine that performed as ruthlessly as a dragon protecting its brood. Mordred was much the same, her normal snarls utterly silent as she dug her talons into the snow-covered ground. Her rider suddenly pulled the silk from her wings, the muscles suddenly quivering as she flexed and stretched them before the order to charge was given. A few practice beats, and as soon as Caesar readied his hand at the axe, the war wyvern ran forward, throwing her body forward and spreading her wings.

It was no small feat for wyverns to lift themselves from the ground- her flight muscles were stiff from the cold, but retained the heat from the silks that had wrapped her body. Her pectoral muscles ached with the sudden strain, small drifts of snow were displaced by the sudden wind, but within three beats she was free to the sky- and her rider free to listen over the howl of winds rushing past to hear the order to charge.

Knowing that his orders would come after the initial charge, Lancelot swept back around, hearing the reassuring noise of nearly forty riders' wings beating behind him. Caesar's choice of weaponry for his Great Knights told him enough about the likelihood of survivors in this siege- apparently no one would be worth keeping, what with the weapons that his front lines carried with them. Slowing to a glide and circling around once, Lancelot heard Caesar's orders and broke into a wry grin. With a single wave of his hand, the brigade of wyvern riders behind him broke into a unified roar of support.

"We're attacking the fort via the West side- all of you, with me! We'll sweep across the North wall to attract fire, but only attack from the West. If you're hit, you know what to do. That keep looks about as sturdy as a newborn calf. Let's move!" Turning his beast to them only to speak, he heard Mordred's breathing quicken in anticipation- she knew the sound of steel and knew the scents of fire and war. As soon as he waved his lance and reached into the pouch at his side, she let him scatter the purifying grains of salt on the departing winds before he tapped his heels against her scaly hide.

Only then did she shriek her challenge- the formation was quickly formed, with wyverns flying at various altitudes in one large, loose-knit cloud of scales and steel.

With the shrieks echoing like some hellish soothsayer's words, Mordred and her rider Lancelot led the charge. Each wyvern kept careful eyes on the walls- each knew the whistling of arrows as they left the bows, even if their riders were a bit on the deaf side. Unaware that the arrows were poisoned, the wyverns were prepared enough for the hail of steel- but not the pain that struck nearly ten of their riders. Through the North the wounded hung onto their senses by controlling their glides- once they hit the West, there was no need for such folly. They knew their duty, and welcomed it.

The wounded yelled their battle cry to the heavens, and the wyverns aimed for the keep and tucked their wings, the hit wyverns aiming their bodies like living torpedoes straight towards the walls. The small holes that birthed the archers' deadly arrows might have been an obvious target- but they aimed well above it, for the walls that often let in draft during the cold nights and only made the keep hotter during the summer months. Loose stones, brittle walls...

Without warning, the riders suddenly stood up, running forward and jumping, dropping in between the junction of their necks and wings. Careful claws grabbed onto strategically chosen capes, and it appeared for all the world that the riders were damned.

Nearly ten wyverns turned at the last moment, throwing their wings forward and striking the walls with their strong backs, caving in a good portion of the walls and letting their bodies fall like living cannonballs on anyone stupid enough to stay inside. Their own bodies protected their armed riders from the impact, though each was numb when they stood up again.

From there, a few of them even managed to tackle the walls again- this time, from the inside- inflicting more damage to the castle as they let their battered bodies fall from the keep, holding their riders gently in their claws.

An apparent suicide, punctuated with thrown Javelins and axes that aimed for the heads of those inside.

And yet Lancelot continued to smile.

My answer is...

→I will always be here.←

Lo there, do I see my father,
Lo there, do I see my mother, my sisters and brothers,
Lo there, do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning
Lo, they do call to me, they bid me take my place among them.

Beatrix

Beatrix galloped across the battlefield, her Shield staff glowing brightly as she sought out her fellow commanders, targets who would need the extra protection. She paused by Esmerelda and whispered, "Shield!" while waving the staff in a slow circle at the sniper. A gentle, warm glow embraced the other woman while a strong protective aura surrounded her to protect her from enemy arrows.

The Valkyrie began to move on when she felt a click against her palm and she stopped to watch a tiny crack run up the length of the rod in her hand. It continued up to the crystal sphere at its head, which then shattered, and Beatrix sighed as she dropped it. "Darn, that was my last Shield," she pouted, reaching into her saddle bag. "Alright... Um, I'm sure there's-- Eyaagh!"

She squeaked and clung to Horsie's neck as her steed reared back-- one of Esmerelda's archers had been felled by an arrow a few feet in front of her, and Beatrix visibly paled as she sat back. "That poor girl! How dare they shoot down a lady!?" she cried!

She turned suddenly, drawing a tome from her bag. "How dare you shoot a lady!?" she shouted at the men on the wall before dissolving the tome into a ball of bright golden light in her hand. She reached out with her left hand, clutching the golden ball, then brought her right up to meet it and drew back a long beam of light to her breasts while the magic stretched out from her fist to form what appeared to be a bow made entirely of light.

"Divine!" she shouted, releasing the bolt and letting it fly. It arced to the right and down as it flew, and pierced an Estarcian sniper's stomach. A moment later, screaming and bathed in searing light from within, he was incinerated. "Humph," Beatrix grumbled. "They're putting up a lot of fight for a little fort. How much longer do we have to do this?"


At the western front, a lone woman sat on a sorrel steed, hiding behind a shield of magic and the cover of the trees as she watched the armored wyverns above her duck and weave around arrows. Hilda was the fastest and most mobile of Beatrix's lieutenants, and as such she was most often given to the unfortunately needy Lancelot during battles. Because of this, she had begun to carry a particular stave. She didn't even know if it did anything but make people feel good, but she always used it once in a battle.

Because it made him happy, and she didn't want to be treated like that Captain Esmeralda. She raised a long oak staff with a green sphere on the end and called, "Fortune!" pointing it at the recognizable Mordred and her rider.

And she watched, from the trees, as wyverns began to ram their bodies through the walls. The Mage Knight winced every time she saw it, shaking her head and reaching into her saddle bag for another stave. Hopefully, this one wouldn't be used in vain. If any wyverns inside had survived, an unfortunate fate awaited anyone near them. She raised a golden staff over her head, closing her eyes and concentrating power into the large tear-shaped red gemstone on the end of it. A bright glow spread out from her location, pouring energy into every ally it reached the instant she whispered, "Fortify."

-jiggle-

╚ Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. ╗