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Kael

Fighting Shadows (Bubble of Evil RP)

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Kedyn parried the wooden lathe of one of the Fox's and clapped the younger man on the shoulder with his own. It was early in the afternoon, the sun was high int he sky and the Citadel had about it an air of safety and security. It was as if every person in the Citadel was having a good day and their mood had permeated into the air and made it contagious to all around. Kedyn lowered the blade and began to instruct his student on what he had done wrong, when his eyes caught sight of a unit of Scout's streaking through the main road as fast as their legs could take them.

 

It is a wonder how such a perfect day can never be finished perfect. It was like the rose whose beauty could never be questioned and yet was doomed to suffer the fate of being trampled underfoot by lesser beings.

 

Kedyn streaked after the Scouts, member's of his very own platoon. The path he set was enough that he was able t intercept them and run alongside, the scout leader relayed the message to him in very hurried and breathless tones. A message that would send shockwaves and stir memories that were better left unremembered in the Citadel. "Emond's Field is under attack!"

 

Urging the squad to force their pace to go faster Kedyn ran with his squadmembers to the small building that served as the commander's headquarters, praying that Mehrin was inside and ready to react quickly. He kept silent, trusting what to do for the commander. Not wishing to do something rash and cause some type of panic, concentrating on getting to the commander as quickly as possible.

 

 

Kedyn Alastair

Scout Sergeant

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Amon was hardly out of the door of the Office he and Mehrin shared when he was nearly knocked down by one of the Scout Sergeants/ Quickly the man drew himself up at attention and saluted Amon, shaking his head, Amon asked Kedyn what was so important that he was running around like a raw recruit?

 

“Si…..Amon†Kedyn quickly remembered that neither Mehrin nor Amon stood on ceremony when it came to their rank. “A group of Scouts have just returned from Emond’s Field, they say it is under attack.â€

 

The news shocked Amon, the more so because the Band, and the Wolfkin, had Scouts out throughout the Two Rivers area and they should have provided some advance warning of this. There had been a lot of work done to establish a network of informers throughout the land, not to inform on the inhabitants, but to try and prevent any repitition of the battle they had fought at Emond’s Field, not six months ago.

 

“Mehrin is in the Office Kedyn, give your report to him, then meet me at the main gate. I will start organising a battalion to leave straight away. Tell Mehrin that I also will get his horse for him, this time there is no way we would get there in time if we had to go at his walking pace.â€

 

Despite the gravity of Kedyn’s news, both men smiled at the thought of Mehrin’s dislike for horses.

 

While Kedyn informed Mehrin of the news, Amon hurriedly made his way out to the barracks and started issuing orders to the sergeants and lieutenants that he found. Once he had done that, Amon ran to the stables and saddled his horse and the one set aside for Mehrin’s use. With that done, he had one of the grooms lead them to the main gate while Amon went back to his quarters and started strapping on his armour and gathering up his weapons. As he walked out of his quarters, Amon strapped the second of his scimitars to his back, and then made his way to the main gate, which was a scene of organised chaos, as everyone got their gear together and assembled in their squads and platoons. Just as Amon was mounting his horse, a grim faced Mehrin strode up to him, and with a grimace, mounted his own horse.

 

“I guess our restful day has just been blown away like smoke on a breeze Mehrin?â€

 

Amon (Tik Tik) Turamber

 

Under Commander, BotRH

 

Berserker for Life

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Amon had just left the office, his plans unknown. Mehrin poured himself a few fingers of brandy and picked up the next report on his desk. He had only started reading the report when the door burst open. Mehrin's eyes shifted from the document to the scout Kedyn. The look on his face told Mehrin that he was not going to like what was happening in the least. Before Kedyn could start speaking, Mehrin said, "Don't bother with the extra lip-motion. What is it?"

 

As Kedyn began his report, Mehrin felt his face fall. There had already been too much death at Emond's Field; what did the Creator have against that little village? Before the man had finished two sentences, Mehrin was out of his chair, buckling the bandolier bearing his claymore over his shoulder, and walking out the door, putting his broad-brimmed hat on as he left. His cloak would only get in the way where he was going.

 

The Citadel looked like a kicked anthill, with people running about as if the place was burning around them. No one in the Citadel could look at the confusion without seeing the organization to it, though. There was no wasted movement, and the whole process was quite time-efficient. Mehrin waded his way through the bustling soldiers, making his way to the gates, where he was told Amon was waiting... with his bloody horse. If he had thought that doing so would alleviate the inevitable pain that he was about to go through, Mehrin would have thrown something at Amon right there and then. The fact that the other man seemed to be laughing internally at the situation didn't help. With a grimace, Mehrin took the reins to the black steed and swung himself into the saddle. "I guess our restful day has just been blown away like smoke on a breeze Mehrin?"

 

Despite the situation, Mehrin couldn't help but add, "I'd rather be stabbed through the guts by some bandit than read another paper today, anyway." The levity in his face was gone in an instant as he took in the progress that was being made. Seeing where the scouts were gathering, Mehrin gestured to the nearest one. "Five volunteers. Get to the bloody village and find out the situation. We don't want to run into any nasty surprises." The man nodded and rode back to the group, and before long there were five horses tearing out of the Citadel as if the Dark One were on their heels.

 

 

-Mehrin

Commander

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Kedyn reached a hand out and caught his bow as a Malastair threw it to him. The chaos of the mustering had produced the entire platoon waiting in ordered ranks, their horses either standing next to or under them. It was short order before the Band was waiting in front of the gates, straglers and those that had to put armor on the few still getting ready. His encounter with the commander's had been brief as possible, all the precious seconds that could be spared had been.

 

"Five volunteers. Get to the bloody village and find out the situation. We don't want to run into any nasty surprises."

 

Kedyn spoke as he healed Arrow into a full run from the Citadel. "Prove your name Arrow." As an arrow from his bow, horse and rider were bolting out of the Citadel followed closely by four other riders.

 

Kedyn felt that familier knot of fear rising in his stomach as he went towards the battle field. Kedyn was a veteran of only a single battle, Carhein, though he was one of several different smaller skirmishes. A battle with brigands in Murandy, a small skirmish with would be assasins here in the citadel as well as a fight with Carnhain that had nearly cost him his life. He carried the scars that went along with each of those encounters. The fading line of red along his kneck where Carnhain had nearly choked him to death. The twin scars one in his side and on his shoulder that had nearly killed him, one from an assasin trying to kill Layne, the other from Carnhain when he had tried to protect the others from the insane cavalry man, an interesting friendship those they have. Carhein, his hardest and biggest battle had been the only one he had come out of unscathed.

 

"What in the light?" Someone behind Kedyn nearly half whispered as they came into view of Emond's Field. The scene before them wasn't as bad as Kedyn had ever seen, but it wasn't good either. It was horryfying in a completely seperate way. Before them was a body of soldier dressed in the uniform of the Band of the Red Hand. The townspeople were fleeing from the fake Band, or either standing their ground and trying to fight.

 

"We have to get back now." Kedyn took charge, unaware of the other's ranks, providing his training as a scout to serve as reason. "Split down the middle, three and two, and take two different routes back to the Citadel. You two go west, loop around once you get to the road and go that way. Watch for the Band and join up if you see them. We three will take the direct path back. Go." And they listened. With as much speed as they could muster or force their horses to go they made their way back to the Band.

 

Kedyn met the commander riding at the head of the Band already out of the Citadel. He turned Arrow so he was riding side by side to relay the message, so they would keep moving as they spoke. "A rough estimate of the force would be near six thousand, so we are the same size in force. They have done minimal damage to the village and appear to be mainly for killing than destroying. Most of the village is fleeing and what damage seems to be a byproduct of that. But...Light help us. They are dressed in our uniform. They could be a copy of us. Same numbers, same uniform. They looked from what I saw, exactly as we do as an army. As if we are marching to fight our shadows nearly enough. I don't know what to make of it, and what I am thinking is nearly to horrid to imagine." Kedyn had been mulling over situations of how this could have happened, how an enemy force that large could have slipped trough the net of scouts and informants unoticed. Not have raised an alarm of their coming. "I am a scout and as such just say what I think. But what if they are our shadows? I can't explain why."

 

 

Kedyn

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The alarm bell snapped Carnhain's head around and towards the sound. With a shout he dismissed the group of Privates he was teaching the basic movement of the blade. Carnhain hoped that call wouldn't be the last for any of them.

 

Dashing through the crowd who jostled this way and that in a orderly chaos, he finally made his way to the room he shared with Rowul and began tugging on armour as quickly as possible. In a matter of minutes he was fully armed and was saddling Black Fire.

 

A number of the veterans of his men were already waiting fully armed and ready, marshalled into their appropriate squads and platoons. Nodding to one of the Sergeants, he kicked Fire over to where the commanders were sending Kedyn and a group of his men off. Between snippets of conversation and orders he managed to deduce that Emond's Field was under attack.

 

When their force was ready, numbering around six thousand, they began the ride towards the town. For half a mile they galloped their mounts, then walked then dismounted and led. Again and again they repeated that motion, sparing horses for the battle to come.

 

They had not repeated the pattern three times before Kedyn caught up with them. His report disturbed the entire force and rumours spread like wildfire amongst the men and women ranging from ghosts to the Dark One himself.

 

Carnhain was just confused. What was happening? He trusted Kedyn's judgement, but how was that possible?

 

Once again the repetitions came, though the force seemd to move quicker as if they wished to see what was waiting for them in the tiny town.

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Miria strolled along towards her barracks, a slight spring in her step as she hummed to herself. The gentle breeze pushed her blonde tresses about her face and she absently pushed them aside. It had been a lovely day, the weather perfect, and now she planned to read a little before heading for a meal.

 

She was not far from the barracks when she heard several shouts, other scouts relaying messages frantically. An attack? She wasted no time, running with the others to hastily saddle her horse, so that she was tensed and ready when the order came for volunteers, Miria instantly swinging into the saddle. She heeled after Kedyn, bent low over the neck, worry creasing her usually smooth features.

 

Gripping tightly to her mount with her knees, Miria's mind was a whirl. She had not yet been involved in any sort of fighting, aside from her training. She did not know what to expect, except that she knew she would do what she could, with everything she had within her. She was distracted from her thoughts as the village came into view, thousands of men in uniform - in their uniform! - attacking the people. "What in the Light?" She breathed as she took in the scene, confusion giving way to her fear as she saw the terrified actions of the townsfolk.

 

Someone caught her eye, he was tall, with dark hair, and she was certain he seemed familiar to her. "We have to get back now."Kedyn's hard words brought her back to the present as he issued quick commands, Miria falling in, driving her horse faster as she followed him back towards the rest of the Band, her mind mulling over what, and who, she had seen.

 

They reached the group, and Kedyn rattled off his report, Miria listening absently until his last statement. "I am a scout and as such just say what I think. But what if they are our shadows? I can't explain why." Her eyes snapped to him, taking in his height and his hair...

 

"Oh Light..." She breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. "It was you I saw." He turned towards her with an obviously confused expression and she hurried on. "I mean not you...but I swear I saw someone who looked just like you Kedyn. I didn't realise why he looked so familiar until just now." What could that mean? How was it possible for there to be an exact copy of Kedyn, in his uniform, attacking a village he protected? Something was not right, that was the only thing she knew for certain. Checking with one hand to make sure her bow was still secure, yet able to free quickly, she chewed her lip in worried thought and waited for her orders.

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Ingtar was reading when the alarm rang. He jumped up quickly and had thrown his armor on quickly. He strapped his belt on, and ran to the stables. He took Dragon out, and put the saddle on. He then attached some side skirt armor on his mount. Something he had acquired from his father a while back. He mounted up and rode to the Gates where the Band was marshaling. He formed up in the front ranks with his fellow cavalry, ready for a charge. He hefted the lance he had picked up, getting a feel for it. It had a good balance and would be useful for running down the enemy. He was close to the front, and so heard Kedyn's report. Shadows! How was that even possible.

 

Ingtar followed closely behind Carnhain and Rowul, hoping to hear any commands quickly. He galloped Dragon for a half a mile and then dismounted and lead, repeating it three times, when they came upon the village. Villagers fleeing every which way, and a large group of men. wearing Band uniforms! He shook visibly, not with fear, but with anger. How could any one dishonour the Band's uniform. He scoured their ranks looking for their leader, and saw something that shocked him a lot more. A man with blond hair in a top knot. Sitting on a warhorse with large muscles. The man looked smart, wearing the same armor, and expression of Ingtar. The blood left his face and his grip was so tight on his lance that they were white as snow. How could this be? Ingtar felt the anger return. He would kill this impostor, somehow or another, he would kill him.

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Logan was running down the street, longsword strapped to his back when he saw Ingtar mount up and gallop to the front lines with barely a wave.

 

Joining the infantry just in time to start marching towards Emond's Field, Logan was still sweat streaked and shirtless. The march didnt take long but during that time Logan learned what was going on.

"Shadows," Logan exclaimed when he was told. "How is that possible, a shadow killing someone?"

 

Logan found out just how true it was especially when he saw himself running around. The dark braids with the bells on a man who is short but more than muscular, and noone has that same sword, noone."

 

Half breaking rank, but still in configuration Logan stepped calmly to engage........himself. In a split second he went from 'cat crossing the courtyard' to 'snagging the apple from the tree' and met the shadow longsword with longsword. Twisting Logan lunged, barely missing his opponent with 'a flick of the tongue' but catching his tendon in his ankle with a backslash.

 

After his opponent tried to take a step and fell on his face Logan stepped over top of him and ran him through. Turning around Logan looked for anyother familiar faces.

 

Logan

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"Our shadows? Men in the uniform of the Band, I can understand. It's not that I don't trust your judgement, but a fighting force consisting of copies of the Band seems a little far-fetched. Because I have no reason to doubt you, though, we'll proceed as if that's what they are." Despite the last, Mehrin couldn't keep some incredulity from his voice. The thought of fighting mirror images of the Band was ridiculous. Isn't that what you said about fighting Trollocs? an accusing voice said in his mind.

 

The trip was spent in quiet planning, working out how to fight an enemy that was probably starting to move into the village. As they came closer to the village, the reports became more and more detailed, telling that the enemy was indeed sending in small parties. Most of the group was amassed outside the village in the same formations that the Band used. And the reports spoke of the people in the uniforms. All of them agreed: these people looked exactly like members of the Band that they all knew. One scout even reported seeing a man wearing a black hat and carrying a claymore.

****************

 

In the brush outside the village, Mehrin, Amon, and the leaders of all the present divisions overlooked the situation. As the gathered people began discussing, Mehrin put a looking glass to his eye, and the group of people below jumped closer. "So, Kedyn and the others were right..." Mehrin snapped the looking glass closed and turned back to the group. "Since we're evenly matched and, from all appearances, fighting an opponent who will know all of our strengths and weaknesses, we're going to need to change our normal battle plans. If my personal copy knows what I know and does what I do, he'll probably hold back about a quarter of his forces until a weakness exposes itself." It was one of Mehrin's preferred tactics. It did have its problems, though.

 

"He'll also expect a cavalry charge followed by infantry, with the archers whittling away at the flanks and the rear." Another of Mehrin's preferred tactics. "Our first priority needs to be protecting any villagers that are still in there, so any planning must be around that idea. Any suggestions?"

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As Daruun walked slowly away from the clearing he used for his physical training area he breathed in deeply of the day. Light, but it's a beautiful day, I wonder what's for dinner? Strolling through the woods he heard someone calling his name. "OVER HERE!" He shouted to the unknown person. Seconds later an infantry private burst through some bushes and let loose a torrent of words. Barely able to catch what he was saying Daruun got the rough idea that the Band was about to march somewhere. "I don't know what you just told me but I suspect it's urgent. . .well boy don't just stand there, let's run!" This last statement was made as he took off through the woods at his fastest pace.

 

Moments later he was in the barracks getting a report from Arinth on what was going on. Grabbing his tulwar, long knife, and scimitars he strapped them on over some thick leather armor overlaid with mail. "Well, lets get a move on it, we don't want them to leave without us now do we?" When his squad merged with the army there was already a palpable excitement in the air. "I don't know who doesn't like Emond's Field, but that little town is sure getting the brunt of someone's anger," Daruun said with a laugh.

 

When the march finally came to a halt word reached back to the infantry of Kedyn's report. "Shadows of us eh? Well, it sounds like a fun fight to me!" Walking up to the front of the lines and arriving just in time to hear Mehrin's request. "If you don't mind me saying sir, why don't we send a portion of our infantry around the town in the woods along with some archers, then once the townsfolk reach them they protect them. Meanwhile the remainder of our forces smashes into those others from behind."

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Listening to the news of their opponent’s identity, Amon shook his head slowly in disbelief. How could there be copies of the Band, this makes as much sense as Mehrin’s dislike of horses.

 

Amon listened to Mehrin confirm what Kedyn and the other Scouts had reported, his mind mulling over the information and wondering how they were going to fight this battle.

 

"Since we're evenly matched and, from all appearances, fighting an opponent who will know all of our strengths and weaknesses, we're going to need to change our normal battle plans. If my personal copy knows what I know and does what I do, he'll probably hold back about a quarter of his forces until a weakness exposes itself." It was one of Mehrin's preferred tactics. It did have its problems, though.

 

"He'll also expect a cavalry charge followed by infantry, with the archers whittling away at the flanks and the rear." Another of Mehrin's preferred tactics. "Our first priority needs to be protecting any villagers that are still in there, so any planning must be around that idea. Any suggestions?"

 

Amon looked around at the group that had gathered around Mehrin and himself. Amon had an idea of how they could proceed, but wanted to her what the others thought first. It would be a good indication of how they had absorbed the lessons on tactics that the more experienced members of the Band had been conducting.

 

If you don't mind me saying sir, why don't we send a portion of our infantry around the town in the woods along with some archers, then once the townsfolk reach them they protect them. Meanwhile the remainder of our forces smashes into those others from behind."

 

“An interesting suggestion Daruun, but I think if we did that we would be annihilated.†Seeing the looks of confusion on the faces around him, Amon continued to explain his assumption. “We have to assume these people will not only look like us, but operate like us. So what would we do if we saw an emery force splitting in two?â€

 

Amon knew it was a rhetorical question, but wanted to see if anyone would offer up and answer. “You know as well as I do Amon, we would hit one of the forces with all our might, and then turn on the other, to separate our forces, in this situation, would be near on suicidal.†As usual Mehrin cut right to the heart of the problem, seeing exactly where Amon was going with his train of thought. “So what is the answer then Amon?â€

 

Taking a moment to pick up a broken twig, Amon started to sketch out the enemy dispositions, as the Scouts had explained it, when he was finished he straightened up and started to speak.

 

“If we assume they will know what we know, and expect us to use our usual tactics, we will be in for a slug fest, and I will be damned if we are going to do that. Instead I suggest we hit them head on, drive a wedge straight into the center of their forces. The Cavalry should be the first to hit their lines, the Infantry following up as quick as possible to maintain and widen the breech the Cavalry make. When the Cavalry break through the rear of their ranks, then we split our forces. One half going to the right, one to the left. The Cavalry can then engage the flanking forces and the Infantry can strike to either side, from inside their lines.â€

 

There was silence for a while, the others obviously studying the dispositions as Amon had drawn them out. “What about the Archers, where should they be?â€

 

Amon was thoughtful for a moment, he had an idea, and one that he had wanted to discuss with Mehrin, but had never had the time to bring it up. “This may sound like I have been out in the sun too long, but many of the archers can ride, and shoot well from horseback. I suggest they accompany the Cavalry, and engage the enemy from horseback, concentrating their fire at the point of impact for the Cavalry. The Archers themselves are not to engage in hand to hand, once they have fired off two volleys, from distance, they are to dismount and aim their fire at the flanks, pinning them in place and allowing the Cavalry and Infantry to do their work.

 

What do you think?â€

 

Amon (Tik Tik) Turamber

 

Under Commander, BotRH

 

Berserker for Life

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"I think that its the best plan we can come up with in the limited amount of time we have. If you'll lead the cavalry in, I'll join up with the infantry." Mehrin chuckled grimly before adding, "I'll be damned if I'm sitting this one out. Assemble the troops; we attack in five minutes."

 

**********

 

Mehrin looked to all those who would be leading soldiers into the battle. One by one, they gave him a nod or a gesture signifying that their respective divisions were ready. Taking a deep breath, Mehrin looked back to Amon and nodded. All had been informed of the situation. It was now or never.

 

Mehrin's right hand moved up to eye level and extended straight out- the signal to charge. As one, the true Band of the Red Hand began their forward march, gaining speed as they neared the treeline. By the time the cavalry broke cover, they were at a full gallop, with the infantry running for all they were worth behind. The distance was maybe one hundred yards; the imposters had no time to react before the full force of the cavalry blew into their ranks. Yelling wordlessly, Mehrin dove into the fray, his oversized claymore a blur of death. The battle had begun.

 

OOC: I'll post my battle tomorrow. Get going, folks, this has to be done on Monday!

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As Daruun listened to Amon's plan he nodded in agreement. Sounds alot bloody better than my idea. The infantry Sergeant thought to himself. When Mehrin agreed and called for the assembly of the troops Daruun bolted back to his infantry platoon. "Alright men, we're about to go head to head with what looks to be mirror images of ourselves. That means that they will have all of our strengths and weaknesses, so if you can, try and team up on the people who you think you can beat, and try and not get killed, and try not to kill any of us. Heh, well try to kill those versions of us. Now, let's go kill some friends!"

 

With that last statement the charge began. Running behind the cavalry at the head of his platoon Daruun whipped out his tulwar and long knife. "DIE YOU LIGHT FORSAKEN SONS OF GOAT HERDING MILKMAIDS!!!" Daruun screamed as he dove into the fray against so many all too familiar faces. The Bear platoon drove in right behind him, hacking their way into the archers that had been at the rear of the mirror band. Daruun was catching fleeting glimpses of faces of archers that he had known and trained personally.

 

The true Band carved swiftly through the mirror archers and was pushing its way into the infantry. Daruun caught a glimpse of what appeared to be himself attempting to take Carnhain off of his mount. "I FOUND YOU!!" The true Daruun yelled as he charged the imposter attempting to dismount his friend with a pike. Swinging his sword at his mirror image Daruun wasn't suprised when the large man blocked him with his tulwar. Wow, I'm better than I thought thought the infantry Sergeant. Seeing the grim smile appear on his opposite's face the true Daruun grimaced. "I'm afraid you won't win this one my friend." Stabbing with his long knife Daruun was shocked when his thrust was blocked. Light! It's time to try something new. Daruun thought as he was put on the defensive. Kicking his mirror image in the chest and knocking him back several feet Daruun raised his tulwar over his head and with all his might threw it as though it were a throwing knife. It was the one thing he had sworn to himself that he would never do in battle . . . and it worked. The tulwar buried itself halfway up the blade into the chest of his mirror image. But Daruun didn't have enough time to recover it. A small infantryman whom he didn't recognize charged him silently. Silence seemed to be a growing trend amongst the imposters Daruun had noticed, at least among the ones he had been killing. Blocking the incoming blow with his long knife Daruun unsheathed the scimitar on his back and began fighting with that while he sheathed his long knife and drew his second scimitar. I haven't gotten to try this out in battle yet, let's see how it is going to work.

 

Daruun didn't know how many people he had killed wielding the dual scimitars but he had realized why Amon liked them so much, when you had those smooth, flowing blades in your hands, you became a whirlwind of death to anyone not fast enough to keep up with you. I'll be using those a little more often now Daruun thought ruefully. Looking around at the scene layed out before him he couldn't believe that they had won. It had taken longer than most of their battles and had been quite a bit messier but they had won.

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"Charge!" Ingtar leveled his lance at the enemy line, Dragon galloping as fast as he ever had. Ingtar's sight zoned out on everything else but his first target. He saw the imapct before he felt it. Impaling what looked like a friend of his in his platoon. The lance drove through the armor and out the back, exposing the entire length of steel, but the wood did not snap. Dragon's speed was fast enough that it carried the corpse on the lance, with Ingtar aiming it at the man in the second line. The lance impaled him as well, but this time the weight was too much for Ingtar to carry. He dropped the lance and drew his claymore.

 

He hacked slashed at the shadows, killing with no mercy. A lance thrust knocked him off Dragon. He quickly regained his feet and slashed at the cavalry men closing in on him. He hacked through a horse's leg, throwing the rider off, who he chopped off his head. Ingatr felt a sharp pain in his thigh. He looked down and found a lance protuding from it. He followed the lance up the shaft and found himself at the other side. His opposite dismounted and drew his claymore, advancing on Ingtar.

 

Ingtar knew his opposite would know everything he knew, so he would have to think like somebody else. Ingtar and Anti-Ingtar fought with the same speed and same motions. Arc of the Moon, met The Coutier Taps his Fan, and so on, untl the two locked their swords together in The Grapevine Twines. Then Ingtar knew how he would win. He would be an infantryman for this battle. While Anti-Ingtar was trying to knock Ingtar's claymore from his hand, Ingtar punched his opposite in the face. Anti-Ingtar lost his senses for a few seconds, which was more then enought time for Ingtar to perform a perfect Arc of the Moon. Ingtar was sprayed with blood as Anti-Ingtar's head rolled towards Ingtar. Ingtar turned to his next opponent and slashed the man in the leg, and on the back slash, left a large gap in the man's side. He spotted Dragon, less then twenty paces away, and ran towards the warhorse, cutting a path through his enemies, but not perfectly. He received several wounds of varying dangers. Small cuts, and wounds, more larger cuts where blades had slipped through his armor, and a large one where Anti-Ingtar's lance had pierced his leg. If he didn't get it looked after,soon after the battle was over he could develop a serious infection. Ingtar pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the battle. He would have to survive this first.

 

He mounted up on Dragon and began to trample through the Anti-Band's infantry. He hacked and slashed, and stabbed. He cursed the Dark One for this enemy, and that gave him more anger. "Die Scum!" Ingtar drove his blade through an infantrymen, and whirled Dragon around, looking for more targets. There were none. He rode Dragon back to where the rest of the cavalry was gathering. He felt the adrenaline leave his body and began to feel his wounds. The pain was overwhelming. Not just him, but the pain of all those froends he had lost today. Now he knew why his mother had never wanted him to be a soldier. "Praise be to the Creator and to the Light."

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"I'll be damned if I'm sitting this one out. Assemble the troops; we attack in five minutes." Kedyn nodded, thoughts racing through his head, many of them less than perfect. The fact that Miria had seen a man, just like him, was disconcerting enough. But Kedyn was a trained soldier, and a soldiers practical nature took over, pushing the doubts from his mind.

 

He turned back to his Scout and began giving orders. "Blue squad take move to the rear and rotate half a mile back and forth to cover our rear. Grey, Black move to the left flank and spread yourselves to te left of the enemy. Red, Green to the right. Malastair, Elric, Miria, you will stay with me as runners with the main body. Move."

 

Kedyn watched with a satisfied smile as the scouts broke their ranks and followed his orders with a speed known only to the Band's Scouts. Kedyn told Malastair and Elric to stay with the undercommanderm Amon, and he and Miria stayed near Mehrin. Arrow and Miria's horse were next to each other. Kedyn reached out and gave Miria's hand a resasuring squeeze. "Stay near me and you will be fine. Don't think, react. Don't dwell on the act, it will slow you down. Don't be worried, I'll protect you."

 

Kedyn unlimbered his longsword as Mehrin lifted his arm bringing it down quickly. The Band surged foreward to fight it's Shadow.

 

 

Kedyn

OOC: How do you want to start this Carnhain?

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Miria remained quiet as tactics were discussed, coming to grips, in her mind, with the fact that she was going to enter into a battle. This was what she had trained for, but the reality was an entirely different matter. Her usually ever present smile was replaced by a worried mask, her knuckles white where they gripped her reins. Absently she soothed her skittish mare, no doubt picking up the tension from it's rider, wishing she could soothe her own worry.

 

"I'll be damned if I'm sitting this one out. Assemble the troops; we attack in five minutes."Attack? Panicked thoughts trampled through her mind, and she did all she could to crush them, though it ended up more a suppressing. She didn't want to admit it, but she was terrified. This was not something she could talk her way out of, and it certainly wasn't a game.

 

Kedyn began issuing orders, quick and concise, the picture of calm in the middle of the storm. How he managed such a cool head, Miria would never know, but she obeyed automatically, thankful to be able to stay close by. A hand on hers caused her to look up, Kedyn's small smile as reassuring as the light squeeze her gave her hand. "Stay near me and you will be fine. Don't think, react. Don't dwell on the act, it will slow you down. Don't be worried, I'll protect you." Miria nodded back, taking what courage she could from him. She would not let him down, most of her training had come from him. She wanted to show him what she had learnt, despite the fear in the pit of her gut.

 

Unhooking her bow, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and readied it, testing the weight and feel, exhaling heavily, concentrating, as the command was given.

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Guest Estel

Carnhain scratched Black Fire's ears absently, thought and emotion coursing through his body. His helm was on, so none of his men saw the dark look on his face. He was going back into battle. He knew what blood did to him.

 

Already, deep within his being, a pulsing desire has been aroused. Bestial instincts inside him urged him on towards the enemy already drawing blood in the tiny town away from the cover of the woods in which they were concealed from unwanted attention.

 

Like a beast in springtime lusted for a mate- needed a mate, he lusted for blood. He needed blood.

 

Images flashed through his head. He saw himself in Cairhien, blood dripping from his armour. There before the walls of the city of the Rising Sun he saw himself cutting the throat of a Shaido Maiden. He had sat there and let her blood run over his hand.

 

Remembering that once more, he felt bile rise in his throat. He sickened himself. What had drove him to this?

 

He saw himself, in the Citadel itself, wiping the blood of a man over his face. Scenes changed and he was suffocating his best friend with the banages that were supposed to be wrapping around the long scar down his chest.

 

He refused to let the contents of his stomach go, but he could taste his stomach acid in his throat. What was he? How had things come to this?

 

Again the scene changed. An icy breeze tore at his body as a madman stood over two men, bleeding on the ground. The madman was not him though, it was Rorth, driven to insanity by ancient pain. Pain so close to the heart it can only be caused by family.

 

Colours whirled in his head. He was a young boy and tears ran unashamedly down cheeks plump with baby fat. He couldn't be more than two years old. Screams pierced his ears. Confusion wracked his brain. Why was mama screaming? What was that man doing with mama?

 

"Charge!"

 

Wrenched from his memories, Carnhain found himself moving. Black Fire pounded the ground, pushed on by a sea of horsemen. There was no need for the cavalry to take the reins, like a leaf upon on river, he and his horse were forced towards the enemy.

 

As an officer, Carnhain could be counted one of the lucky ones. He was placed near the end of the wedge, of those at the front, he knew only one in five would return.

 

Bodies, of horse and ride, slammed against his legs until they were numb and he could no longer feel it. He was rendered deak by the cried of man and beast and the pounding of hooves. The strong smell of sweat and horse clogged his nose and all he saw was the hundreds of his fellow riders before him.

 

There was nothing like the thrill of the charge. Men could forget things during that adrenaline rush. Fear was replaced by excitement as each man strove to survive just one more second in the press of bodies.

 

As they neared the enemy, already preparing a shield of pikes to meet them, arrows whistled overhead. They were so thick they blotted out the sun, casting an unearthly shadow across the field of battle. When they landed, screams began and would not end until every enemy was killed.

 

Then lances were lowered and it was all Carnhain could do to keep that part of himself that kept him sane. The animal instinct- which had laid dormant until his firt battle but had been instilled the day Anon raped his mother and kdinapped him- pounded in sinc with his heart struggling to break free of his mental grip.

 

Bodies collided with bodies and even as he rode he saw both comrade and foe go down under the blade. Both true Bander and doppleganger was trampled beneath the hooves of his stead and he could do nothing to stop the death. Like a boulder rolling down a hill, he could stop for nothing for that would only mean his death as well beneath the hooves.

 

He felt, rather than saw the pike sink into the space between his armour under his arm. Crying out he, out of the corner of his eye, saw an incredible sight: Daruun attacked a replica of himself. The pike was loosed, and it clattered of his armour as it too fell beneath the hooves.

 

Pain seared through Carnhain's side, the wound was not so deep that it had touched anything vital, but still it hurt.

 

He dislodged another body from the end of his lance. How many people blood dyed the metal tip of that long, cruel stick? He cast it aside as the wedge finally broke through the other side of the enemy and drew instead his broadsword.

 

The charge was over now, and now horsemanship and skill riegned supreme rather than brute force and luck. Luck had been on his side during the charge, and now the young man offered a prayer to the Creator for mor luck. The battle was only half over.

 

With a voice cracked and sore he cried out orders. "Harry the flanks! Let the bloody bastards feel your steel!"

 

Cavalry archers kept up their vollies, constantly decimating the enemy's ranks. But you could not win a battle on archers alone, and the archers would fall quickly to the blade if the cavalry couldn't keep them enemy's foreranks too occupied to go after the flying death.

 

Holding the lust at bay was almost too much for him now as blood flew on the wind, misting his face in a red sheen. His sword rose and fell, stabbed and swung, giving out death as he went along. Not all the blood coating his armour was the enemy's.

 

And then came an armoured man, riding a black horse with a red mane. Light, but he had been hoping it would not come to this! He didn't want to fight himself, he did that already in his head.

 

Like a hand reaching out to touch it's reflection in the mirror, the two black mounts swung together, flank colliding and nearly breaking both riders' legs.

 

Blade to blade, the two mirror images fought. Each stroke blocked expertly by the other as only one's own self could do. Both men, now rendered helmetless by their grappling used their free left arms to rain blows at each other. Carnhain felt his cheekbone crack even as his own fist made contact with his twin's jaw.

 

With a sudden heave, Carnhain through them both out of their saddles. With a mighty crash of amour meeting armour meeting ground, the two men landed. One's back was broken, and the other rolled over to avoid a blade searching for flesh. It stabbed Carnhain's image- the owner of the sword?- Kedyn.

 

"Not you too." Carnhain gasped as he threw himself upon the image of his friend. His mind control slipped and he caught it just in time.

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Kedyn healed Arrow towrds the enemy, they turning to meat the oncoming cavalry charge. Akwardly he drew his bow back and let an arrow fly as to land in front of the cavalry and soften the enemy for the final confrontation.

 

Arrow surged foreward with the rest of the Band, infantry an foot, cavalry formed into an arrow head to crash into the enemy formations with the ten times the effect than the arrows that had just sruck them could do. Kedyn looked to hi side to make sure Miria was still by his side, he would protect her, or die in the attempt. Kedyn drew another arrow as the enemy formations began to surround them. He turned in the saddle and fired at a pikeman trying to spear what Kedyn hoped was a member of the Band. Somewhere he knew that it may be possilbe that he killed one of his allies today, but his conscious self refused to aknoweldge the fact. Kedyn drew another arrow. Kedyn spared a glance to look up at the sky to watch as menacing rainclouds began to roll over the battlefield.

 

He turned his head to the right over Miria sodier to see a a man in full plte armor, lance level harging towards them. He turned his longbow akwardly and drew as best he could firing past Miria's shoulder to his the horse under the man. Kedyn arrow may have passed through the man's armor this close but it woudn;t have produced this effect. The broadhead sunk into the horses kneck, it's legs caught and it went into the dirt roling over it's shoulder and crushing the man beneath him.

 

The enemy had come close enough that Kedyn was forced to sling his bow across the horn of Arrow's saddle and draw the longsword strapped to his waist. He heard a scream to his right and turned in time to see Miria being dragged from the saddle by a pair of infantry. With a half roar Kedyn pulled on the Arrow's reigns, making the horse rear. A hoof struck one of the men in the face and producing a sickening crunch. Arrow came down, trampling the poor man into the ground and added momentum to Kedyn downward slash that nearly split the other man's torse in to. Kedyn lept from the saddle and took a hurried step towards Miria. He put a hand on her arm and asked, "Are you all right." She answered with a look that said she was on the verge of tears that she was and Kedyn turned putting his blade between the rest of the enemy and Miria.

 

Kedyn's eyes caught on a pair of cavalry men being thrown to the ground, their armor the horses, all were familier and it sent a kind of sickness through Kedyn's stomach. He wanted to help his friend, felt the urge to go foreward but to what point. He didn't know which was which. He searched for any sign to tell which Carnhain was which, trying to decide. Instinct took over as one of the Carnhain's was left over the other, the one on bottom clearly hurt and probobly about to die. Kedyn charged foreward bringing his blade down, trying to drive it into the ack of the Carnhain on top, for some reason believing he was the copy.

 

Kedyn watched horrified but unable to stop his blade as the fake Carnhain rolledoff and the point of his sword pierced a weak point in the one below and went through flesh. Kedyn watched as the blood drained from the wound in Carnhain's kneck and the life slowly left this friend's.

 

Kedyn with a look of pure fury washed over his face turned towards the copy of his friend as it threw itself towards him. Everything that had hurt Kedyn, every emotion that he had left bottled up inside of him came forth in a form of pure hate and rage. Their swords clashed and rang like a bell. The two metals, forged for death chied as if they were bells striking each other, the speed ployed by each combatent bringing forth the true sound of metal upon metal, the music of the dance.

 

But Carnhain had always been stronger in the sword and had long ago surpassed their near stalemate in arms from the Trench. Carnhain forced Kedyn on the defensive and Kedyn staggered as a searing pain flashed up his leg, Carnhain's shadow scoring the first hit. Kedyn had nearly struck but the plate armor had deflected it. Kedyn wore a meager protection of boiled leather to allow for greater speed, greater movement. Scout's stayed out of battle for the most part. With blood flowing down his leg Kedyn changed from fighitng to revenge hsi friend, to fighting to save his life. He made a silent plea and apology to Miria, that she come out of the fight unharmed and forgive him for breaking the promise he was never able to fullfill.

 

 

Kedyn

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If it wasn't for a small respite in the battle around him, Mehrin would probably have died before he knew what was happening. The sound of hoofbeats drew Mehrin's eyes from the milling mass of chaos to the lone figure on horseback approaching him. A quick check pegged the armor as Amon. Good. Between the two of us, we could probably tilt the odds in our favor significantly. The figure came nearer. It wasn't slowing down. As Amon came closer, details began jumping out to Mehrin. One detail in particular: Light, that isn't Amon's horse!

 

Without waiting, Mehrin threw himself to one side, his claymore coming up to sever tendons in the horse's hind legs. Horse and rider fell to the ground, with the armored man landing several yards away. Mehrin stood quickly and turned to face the false Amon. Without taking his eyes from the rising figure, he walked forward mechanically and thrust his claymore through the screaming horse's heart, silencing its cries. No matter how much he dispised the creatures, he could not watch the horse suffer any longer. The lack of an advantage from horseback seemed to irritate the mirrored image of Amon. The sound of steel sliding from twin sheaths seemed abnormally loud in the hellish conditions of battle.

 

Mehrin and Amon had sparred in the past, and a vast majority of their duels had ended in draws. The remainder were split down the middle, with each man winning the same number. The only difference was that Amon never sparred in his armor, and neither man had been out to kill the other. As the two began the dance of death, Mehrin looked at the copy's armor regretfully. That'll make using the whip difficult.

 

The copy of Amon moved quicker than Mehrin suspected was possible, and was on top of Mehrin before he knew what was happening. Reflex and luck were all that kept him alive as his claymore shifted to catch the two scimitars as they scissored for his neck. The swords had barely contacted before the false Amon attacked again, his ambidextrious assault striking low and high at the same time. They passed through empty air as Mehrin hopped backward. Mehrin's full-armed return swing was enough to knock the blades aside, but they missed any contact with flesh or armor. As the two began to circle again, Mehrin realized that he was going to be at this for a while.

 

The next attack came from Mehrin, a heavy downward strike that passed through the space where the shadow Amon had been. The copy danced out of the way, and Mehrin felt sharp pain as one of the scimitars bit into his thigh. He only spared a brief look at the cut before renewing his attack. A weaker vertical strike found itself caught between both of the specter's blades. As planned. Stepping forward quickly, Mehrin shoved the handle of the claymore forward, hitting the copy's armor with enough force to dent it. Staggered by the blow, the copy took a step back... and caught a kick on the breastplate. The air left its lungs in a rush, and Mehrin whirled back for the killing blow. He struck only air again, and barely had time to shift his grip to the blade in order to catch the return strikes on the handle of his claymore. A quick shift in the angle and focus of its attack, and the copy sent Mehrin's claymore flying. It knifed into the ground several yards away.

 

A glimmer of triumph shone in the otherwise dead eyes of Amon's antithesis. A look that was replaced by its typical deadpan stare as Mehrin's bullwhip curled around its left wrist. A quick pull, and Mehrin's knife slid along the inside of the copy's wrist. With the tendons severed, the thing's scimitar fell from its useless hand. Mehrin quickly disengaged and danced out of sword range, his bullwhip in constant motion. I wonder how good Amon is with only one weapon...

 

Mehrin's answer came soon enough when the thing launched a string of rapid attacks that kept Mehrin dodging out of range, all precise and deadly. Oh. The thing attacked again, only to be cut short by the crack of a whip and a sudden cut across the face. Try as he might, though, Mehrin could not catch onto the copy's right hand. It would either knock the whip aside or slip out before it caught. One of these failed attempts led to a series of cuts across Mehrin's chest and shoulders. Light, this thing's fast! It was time to shift tactics again. Suddenly dropping the whip and knife, Mehrin threw himself backward, rolling to his feet next to his claymore. "Let's get this over with, you Shadow-spawned bastard," Mehrin growled before charging headlong, his weapon making an intricate blur.

 

Either blood loss was slowing him down, or the copy was quite fast. Strike after strike was deflected within an inch of flesh or armor, but none fell. In the meanwhile, new cuts and punctures began to appear on Mehrin, one even finding its to his left cheek. The glimmer of triumph returned to those dead eyes, only to be replaced with something resembling shock a moment later. The copy deflected a blow that was not as heavy as it expected, and Mehrin shifted the claymore's course, striking the thing's right leg at the knee. As the blade bit into the muscles surrounding the copy's knee, Mehrin's right foot connected with its other knee, resulting in a sickening crunch. The thing didn't seem to want to give up, and even as Mehrin's final blow came from above to bisect the copy, its right arm darted forward, planting its scimitar in Mehrin's belly. Both doppelganger and scimitar disappeared as it fell, but the wound remained.

 

"Looks like I win..." Mehrin muttered as he dragged himself towards the rear. The battle seemed to be nearing its conclusion, with one of the two Bands winning. A quick self-check told Mehrin that the belly wound wouldn't kill him immediately, that he had some time. Good. I would hate for this fight to turn into another draw! Mehrin thought as he dragged himself towards the forest. Most of the medics would still be nearby, and Mehrin had every intention to live and fight another day.

 

-Mehrin

Commander and DJ

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All around Amon, men screamed, grunted, shouted and cursed, the din of battle filling every ones ears, but above all that could be heard the cries of the dying, both the Band and these doppelgangers. Amon knew that if this was a copy of the Band then out there somewhere was a copy of him, and a copy of Mehrin, possibly the only man in the Band who could out fight Amon, and even then, the outcome would be uncertain as many of their training spars had only ended when both men were exhausted, neither having found a way through the others defences.

 

Amon lifted the visor on his helmet and scanned the battlefield, looking for a sign that would indicate where the enemy leaders would be. As he surveyed the battle, Amon noticed how quickly the enemy adapted to the tactics used by the Band, but the period of shock and uncertainty they had suffered had allowed the Band to split the enemy, and with the unstinting help of the Archers, the Band were more than holding their own.

 

Just then a nearby voice broke into Amon’s thoughts, rousing him from his musings. “So you stand here and watch as your brothers and sisters are put to the sword, is that all you can do?â€

 

Amon knew the voice, had been around the man for longer than he cared to remember, but he also knew that Mehrin was in the center of the battle, and not here on the far side. Slowly, Amon turned, one of his scimitars crossing his chest, the other trailing its point in the dirt.

 

“So you show your self, come to see who really is the best, or just to stand around bandying words about like so much straw in the breeze?†Hardly had Amon finished speaking when he was attacking Mehrin, at that moment, to Amon, there was only one Mehrin, and he was the enemy. The scimitar in his left hand came up so quickly, that if the enemy had not been in possession of lightning reflexes, he would have been disembowelled there and then. After stepping back, Mehrin swayed to his right and launched his claymore for Amon’s unprotected left side. At the last moment, Amon brought his other scimitar across, and down, pushing Mehrin’s blade down and away. For a moment, both men were locked together; their faces inches apart, then Mehrin exerted him, and pushed Amon away. In that brief moment that it took Amon to regain his balance, Mehrin reached to his belt and unsnapped his whip, snapping it out in front of him.

 

Amon had never let on to Mehrin, but whenever they had sparred Amon had truly hated the whip Mehrin used. Amon had no idea why, he disliked whips so much, he did not even use one to control his horse, and now the sight of that hated thing before him, brought a slow laughter from Amon, which bubbled up, until the strange sound could be heard over the din of battle, a sure sign that Amon had given up any concerns for his own welfare.

 

The two men attacked each other with a ferocity that matched the swirling battle that was fought around them. Even in the thick of the battle, they somehow managed to fin a clear space, a space that seemed to move as they did, contracting and expanding as if it had a life of it’s own, and all the time, Amon’s laughter grew and grew.

 

Scimitar mat Claymore, whip met scimitar, the deadly dance growing more sinuous the more time passed. The ground around them grew slick with blood, but no bodies blocked them, no injured men stumbled into them. For Mehrin and Amon there was no battle other than the one they fought, both totally absorbed with the other, so much so that each attack was met by a defensive stroke that became an attacking stroke almost immediately.

 

Slowly, as the contest progressed, doubts started to nibble away at Amon, just how long could his enemy go on? Would he even feel any tiredness? Amon knew sooner, rather than later, he would start to slow, to become clumsy, he knew that when that happened, he would be finished, and it would be time for him to go where so many of the members of the Band had gone.

 

Then the laughter bubbled up, renewed by nothing more than the love of battle.

 

One scimitar came in high, the other low, forcing the enemy back, back across blood covered ground, the two blades moving as if they possessed a will of their own, darting to the left, the right, high, low, the front, any angle that Amon could reach he attacked from. But despite the fury of his attacks, Amon could not breech Mehrin’s defences, and still that hateful whip snaked in and left it’s burning mark on unprotected parts of Amon’s body, most noticeable the face and neck. Amon had lost his helm early on in the fight, and Mehrin was making him pay for it, with attack after attack to the head.

 

Ignoring the growing pain, Amon plunged on, faking to one side then leaping up high to bring both scimitars crashing down on Mehrin’s claymore, forcing it down, down past his neck, slowly inexorable, the claymore was pushed into Mehrin’s body, into the gap in the armour at the shoulder. Realising what Amon was trying to do, Mehrin brought his whip hand back, but before he could move it forward, Amon stopped pressing on Mehrin’s claymore and stepped back. The sudden release of pressure made Mehrin stumble forward, straight onto Amon’s scimitars, both blades entering his stomach, blood pouring over them, as realisation came into his eyesâ€

 

“You are no match for Mehrin, no matter what you may look like. He would never have fallen for that.â€

 

Amon spun in place, his blades scything into the man’s body, severing the head from the shoulders. It flew in a low arc through the air and landed with an inaudible thud in the grass.

 

One of these days we are going to have something good happen to us, and when it does, no one will know how to handle it

 

Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, Amon headed back into the fight, the laughter quite for now, but later it was heard again, and those that heard it knew that Amon did not care, one way or the other.

 

Amon (Tik Tik) Turamber

 

Under Commander, BotRH

 

Berserker for Life

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Rowul was leading the charge of horse archers fireing at teh muarader killing indestricmitly he then noticed a soldier, riding what seemed to be a silver horse, who looked very similar to Iron Heart, the man ordered his troops to turn and give chase to Rowuls Horse archers,

 

"Move if you Bloody well know whats good for you, release your last arrows and prepare for a lined charge."

 

The other side was still giving chase, Rowul roared "NOW" the entire formation did a 180 and then charged with swords held high, charging into the on coming enenemy Rowul saw men fall to the soldier on the silver horse.

 

"come and get some"

Rowul charged the man and brough his calvary saber down but was blocked by a man....oh no,, this was not true.

 

Rowul was staring into the eyes of a man in a Lord Captain armor,, with a silver horse on black .

 

Roaring with anger that any one could be so low as to steal his armor, and his house design Rowul lit into the poor bugger , every move was blocked as if the man could tell exactly what Rowul was thinking and what the counter to the counter to the counter to the fient to the disengage to the counter was. It was if the armor was telling the man exactly what he was thinking , sparing a glance at his men it dawned on him, he was not fight a man. (He saw several of his men fighting themself) he was fighting himself. Iron Heart reared and stamped on a fallen soldeir, then kicked the Silver man off the horse,, using his ax Rowul nearly decapitated teh fake Iron Heart, jumping off his horse Rowul came up with a slashing attack to keep the man away from his ax.

 

as long as i keep him holding that sword i will win

Rowul wistled adn clucked to keep iron heart over the fallen horse so that the man could not reach his ax, Roaring he leapt back from a thrust that would have gutted him, then Rowul rolled backward and picked up the other mans ax and bagan wading into the soldeirs keeping the enemey always in front, then once the his men screamed he turned back to attack his clone.

 

Slicing and hacking rowul kept the silver man at bay till he saw the opening, he threw the ax in his left hand at the man ,something he would NEVER do in a battle, the man never saw it comeinng the ax peirced the others chest and he fell grabbing up his ax and placing it on Iron Hearts saddle, he also place the fack mans ax there, picking up a Lance rowul cried, "TO HORSE WE STILL HAVE MEN TO SLAY"

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Once Logan was done with himself, if that is what he could call it, Logan went from stance to stance loosing himself in bloodshed.

 

Finding Intar after his battle with himself, on horseback again Logan yelled, "Exciting isn't it. A battle gets my blood pumping so much that I loose track of myself."

 

Running up to another shadow, this one very familiar. Jumping into 'Heron Wading in the Water' he fought this man with as much skill as he could muster. The flowing of the forms, metal ringing on metal was very calming. The man was good but Logan was just a bit better, at the moment.

 

Logan didnt come out of this fight unscathed. Before he took the man's head, his opponent cut him good on his right leg and took a good chunk from his left arm. Bleeding profusely Logan struck with all his might breaking his opponents sword and taking his head with one quick motion.

 

Staggering Logan glanced around before collapsing on the ground..........

 

Logan

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Guest Estel

ooc: just a note to Logan and Ingtar, the Band does not use sword forms...and my apologies if I RP Kedyn a little, I'm just trying to make Carnhain's exit...

 

ic:

 

Carnhain knew he was dominating the fight, but he couldn't seem to sink his blade into the reflection of a man he had faught countless times. Carnhain knew Kedyn's favoured tactics, and pounced on the man's hesitance to attack first.

 

The fight wore on, and often both men would be momentarily distracted with another opponent, but every time, the longsword and broadsword would again try searching for the other's blood.

 

Perhaps the greater battle, though, was fought within his soul. He fought the fight of his life, striving to keep control of his own sanity, trying with every ounce of his being to hang onto the cliff. If he dropped, he would be a madman and he shuddered- which resulted in a nasty gash across the back of his legs from Kedyn's twin's longsword- to think of the things he would do- the things he had done.

 

He parried, and spun, landing a left hook to his opponent's jaw. Blood from Kedyn's lip ran over his gauntletted hand and the animal within him surged in power and it took his entire being to hold his grip. His lack of focus on the physical battle resulted in another cut, in the same place the pike had taken him earlier.

 

His blood began to flow harder from the wound, and once more he flashed back to the Red Trench.

 

Finally, Kedyn lost his footing. Carnhain had been fighting him doggedly up the slope for sometime, and his wound down his front throbbed. If Kedyn had held out any longer Carnhain’s half-healed scar would have ripped open and the match would have been lost.

 

Bounding down the hill, Carnhain ran after the tumbling scout. The match was his now, there was nothing Kedyn could do to save himself. Swinging his sword, Kedyn was able to dodge the first blow, striking again, the man moved. But the Scout Sergeant didn’t have the time to regain his feet, it was only a matter of time before his luck broke.

 

But what Carnhain wasn’t expecting was the pile of sand thrown at his eyes. Stopping mid-thrust to rub the sand from his eyes, he grunted as his wrist was seized and his middle elbowed. If not for the scar, Carnhain would have been able to keep his sword, but as it was, Kedyn’s elbow hit his scar, and he doubled over.

 

Pain blinded him for a moment as he hunched over. It seemed like forever to him, but in a moment of pain and anger, he flexed his arm and swung as hard as he could at the other man. No longer was this the Red Trench. It was Emond’s Field again and battle raged all around. The noise from the crowd was just the shouts of dying men and Trollocs and the clash of battle. No longer was this a mock fight. This was a fight to the death, only one of them would live, and it would be him. Nothing mattered but this man’s blood. This wasn’t Kedyn, his friend, it was an enemy, and enemy who would kill him if he did not end its life first.

 

In the grips of blood lust, he forgot the sword, fallen at his feet, and his fist connected with Kedyn’s shoulder. His shoulder-length blonde hair was loose now about his shoulders, framing a face that belonged on a twisted monster spawned of the Shadow. Nothing would stop him from having his enemy’s blood. Nothing.

 

A fist connected again to his scar.

 

Pain. Pain as if the world was ending. Looking down, Carnhain saw that the bandages he had wrapped tightly around his scar, protecting it, now trailed behind him and hung loosely about his waist. The red, half-healed scar was ripped open by Kedyn’s punch, and blood covered everything. He was losing a lot of blood. He was dying.

 

Everything and nothing went through Carnhain’s head. He remembered everything of his life, every little detail. He could remember his sister. His mother. His father. The day he was kidnapped. The day he murdered Anon. The day he joined the Band. Everything. Every insignificant detail was there.

 

But he comprehended none of it. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He couldn’t connect anything from his past, which now flashed by his eyes, to himself. All he knew was that he had to kill the enemy that had done this to him. Kill him before he died.

 

He threw himself at his enemy, raining punches to his face. The hot sticky blood that now covered the trench and the two grappling, frenzied men was no longer only Carnhain’s.

 

Taking his bandages between his fists, he used it as a cord and wrapped it around his enemy’s neck. He was fading fast now as blood poured from his wound, draping everything in a red stain. He could feel his strength waning and could barely hear the choking sounds coming from the man under him as he strangled him. He only needed to hold on just… a… little… longer...

 

As if the memory increased his lust's power, it attacked. He hang to his sanity by a fingernail, but the blonde man became a beast. Feet, teeth, hands, sword, knees, his entire body was now dedicated to the fight. Nothing could stop him.

 

He forced Kedyn over his own reflection's dead body, tripping the scout. He fell onto the man's body, his knee going into the man's groin and his left hand to his throat.

 

Gurgling noises began as Carnhain squeezed Kedyn's air tube. The suffocation began anew. Dropping the sword in his right fist, he threw his gauntlet to the ground and wiped his hand in the blood dripping from Kedyn's lip. Smearing the red liquid over his face he spoke with a confused mixture of insane rambling and paritally sane confessions. Bouts of tears and fury came and went like a flame in the wind.

 

"Die, you sheep-hearted son of a whore! Blood and ashes, I'm standing over my own corpse! You're no better than the bastard who raped my mother! I killed him and I'll kill you! Why must I kill you too?"

 

Like two separate people combined into one being, Carnhain raged and wept. Only moments went by, but it felt like years. He couldn't do it. That much sanity remained within him. He let go of Kedyn's throat and fell to the ground. His last muttered words before darkness took him were "I'm no better than the animal within me..."

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Miria tried to do as Kedyn had said, not thinking but reacting, heeling her mare to stay alongside him as they surged towards the copy of their army. Keeping balance with her knees, she ignored the fact that the faces she saw coming closer were ones she recognised and shot almost blindly, loosing several arrows towards the shadows of those she knew.

 

Over and over she loosed arrows, as quickly as she could, some hitting their mark, revealed in the telling squeals of pain, others dodged and fallen to the ground unheeded. Regardless of her efforts, they kept coming closer, madness in their eyes and blood in their sights. Fear threatened to overwhelm her as she grabbed at the reins, desperately trying to turn the animal around when rough hands grabbed at her, making her scream in panic as she was roughly dragged from the saddle, hitting the earth hard.

 

Her bow fell from her hand on the impact, and instinctively she twisted to get away, only seconds before one of them was trampled, Kedyn's blade slicing into the other, blood splattering across Miria's chest and face. She froze on the spot, looking at what was left of them man, panicked tears forming in her throat when a hand grabbed her arm. "Are you all right?" She nodded slowly, bereft of speech by what she had seen. It took her a few moments to realise that Kedyn had likely just saved her life, turning his back to stand between her and the enemy.

 

Fumbling she pulled the small dagger from her belt, nothing substantial, but better than nothing. Her eyes darted around feverishly, her hand tight around the dagger. Something hit Miria's back, only a soldier falling thankfully, but she turned, eyes wild as she fought to stay alive, slashing blindly at the bodies around her, no longer knowing who was friend and who was foe, just knowing that she had to stay alive.

 

Whirling, Miria yelled as searing pain struck her side, fire and ice warring one another and making her stagger. Unthinking she lashed out, heel of her palm slamming with all the force she could muster in the direction of her attacker, barely noticing when her palm connected with their nose and they crumbled to the ground, the dagger, fresh with her blood clattering to the ground. Instead she looked down, at the blood seeping from beneath her shirt, the pain again making her cry out in agony as she fell to her knees, the sounds around her suddenly fading as the blood roared in her ears like thunder. She struggled to breathe against the pain that threatened to consume her...she tried to stand but stumbled again, eyes flicking around wildly for Kedyn.

 

"Kedyn!" Her voice was a silent scream as she saw him in a death struggle with someone she knew...Carnhain...they seemed a million miles away...the roars, the clash of steel, the wounds, the blood...so quiet, so far away...No, Kedyn was in trouble! Shaking her head she tried to fight the void that threatened, to hold on to reality. Again she tried to scream for Kedyn, for someone to help him, but no sound came out, her mouth open for the silent scream when the world suddenly whirled and flickered as something fell against her back, knocking the back of her skull as surely as knocking her to the ground.

 

Tears mingled with the blood on her cheek as she struggled, the dark slowly drawing her in, enveloping her with it's endless quiet as the first drops of rain began to fall. "Kedyn..." She whispered, before the wave of nothingness took her under and silence reigned.

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Air. The lifeforce of the human being and the most important thing a body needed to live. And Kedyn had none of it. His lungs burned and his chest heaved as he tried to throw Carnhain off of him but to know avail, his fists landed on armor and slowly his muscles stopped responding. The first rain drop fell, landing on Kedyn's face to slide down his cheek like a teer. Slowly the darkness came t consume him as it had not so long ago, the all to familier void at the junction of life and death.

 

Kedyn rose from the ground, a soft meadow underneath hs feet. He was home, much like his last vision at the Trench. Kedyn could almost see it, but any memories of the real world faded as they were just beginning to form.

 

"Have you begun to see why your color is red brother? Why you will never see this," His sister's image spread her arms wide to indicate his home, "unless it is in your dreams."

 

"I know you are just a ghost Jenna." She was, her image was still of the twelve year old girl who had been screaming at him as he rode away on Arrow's back. Towards his new life, the life he had now. "You can't touch me."

 

With that cold smile the little girl strode foreward boldly and took Kedyn's hand, swinging it back and forth playfully. "Oh really brother. I think ghosts can hurt more than any steel, you can feel it in here." The green eyes looked up into his as Jenna's image rose up to poke him lightly on the chest.

 

"You are bathed in blood brother, you reek of it, your eyes bleed it to replace the tears you try and hold in. Red is you color brother." And much the same way as she had the first time she stepped back and slowly faded into nothingness. Kedyn's head hang and he felt like colapsing into a heap on the ground.

 

But when he looked up again it was not the person he was expecting. When he had expected Lavena's image to haunt his death there stood before him Miria, smiling in the dress she had worn when they were dancing. She strode foreward to him. "Do not worry."

 

Her tone was light and friendly and before Kedyn knew what was happening she was leaning foreward, her lips meeting his....

 

Kedyn jolted upwards as air flodded his lungs, and brought him back to life slowly, before he collapsed onto the ground unconcsious.

------

 

The rain began to pour down steadily. Bodies, both alive and dead began to become soaked and slowly the copies of the Band began to melt away and eventually into nothingness.

 

The Pattern had righted itself and the true BAnd of the rEd Hand stood victorious, though the men lying dead ont he field with no enemy to show for it had litle proof of that. The cries of men in an anguish so pure, so hate ridden began to rise from isolated spots on the battlefield as men looked down ont heir friends they had just slain. The wounded limped home to heal and the men and women began to mourn.

 

But the Band still stood to fight another day.

 

 

Kedyn Alastair

Scout Sergeant

Divison Leader

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