Taking the roll, Tool eyed it and smiled fiendishly. Taking a few long drags back to back, he French inhaled dual tendrils of smoke. Tool opened the bag, exposing the still-steaming bread to Zalan. "Food makes everything better.. I can also take responsibility for my actions. Save you some trouble." As he spoke, the smoke exited his mouth in waves and funnels; several funnels exited his nose as he finished speaking. Not a cough nor a sign of struggle as he felt the contents take hold. Calm as he was, the roll made his essence turn to water as he became the flow.

"Just uh.. Follow my lead, Captain." Tool winked lightly as he took another solid drag, looking up to the sky, he exhaled like a dragon. Looking between the two heavily armored guards, Tool chuckled and reached into his bag. Turning one of the guard's palms upright, he placed half a loaf in it and winked. "Fresh from the stove, mates.. Enjoy.." Pressing the roll back into Zalan's hand, he parted the curtain flap and stepped inside. There was silence as the Sapper approached the middle of the floor. Chairs and a few tables were present within Commander Prityin's tent, ringed with several ranking officers, including Altuya. Silence greeted the Baker as he took the center stage with Zalan close to him.

"Commander.. Captains and Leuitenants.. Tool of the Salamanders is at your service. If you would please allow it, I come bearing freshly baked loaves. As my father always taught me, business is best handled with a full stomach. So please, I beg you, take a seat and allow me to please serve you before this meeting." Tool bowed low in respect to the commanding officer officers present. With the sack in hand, he waited for each of them to sit.

Drink and other foods were already present due to the time of night making his job much easier. Going around the table, he produced several loaves of bread for the members of the Iron Fist and Red Hare. Slinging the sack back over his shoulder, he stepped back humbly, keeping the other half for Zalan himself. His captain deserved something for himself.

@Zalan
 
Zalan looked at the roll offered back to him. A little laugh as he looked to the guards who held on to the fresh bread. Confused, but very intrigued by the warm doughy goodness in their palms. Zalan walked up to them and pressed the roll into their hands.

Entered the command tent.

Herbs and spices laid heavy on the nose. Pepper and cumin, mixed with coriander and thyme. The richness of meat fat. And there at the touch of it all, the sweetness of fresh bread. Tool announced his intention, and went by to pass them all their piece of his work. And there they all sat. Confused cocks of brow, and twisted lip. Tension pulled at the corners of their eyes and mouths.

But bread was a sacred thing across the world of Khurun. Meals shared and given, often times of pause and consideration. To dismiss it outright was to invite chaos. Ruin. Ill fortune.

Zalan almost laughed. Took the bread offered and nod to the young man. "My thanks," he spoke between them.

Prityin was the first of the officials to take up the bread. Split it in two, and bade welcome to the pair with a raise of the morsel. He popped it into his mouth and chewed. His officers followed. Altuya grumbled, but would not be the only one to abstain.

"This is a fine offering, Salamander Tool," Prityin spoke, and gave a nod. "I thank you," his eyes cut back to Zalan. "Now, we must be onto business,"

Zalan nod, and stepped forward.

"The bridge was blown, without the enemy crossing," Prityin said cold as night winds across the grasslands. Some of the officers about him shook their heads. Altuya stared daggers at the man. Prityin continued, "With it gone, we have no guaranteed point of ambush,"

"We know of shallows, spots along the river where they might ford," Zalan let.

"You compromised the integrity of our strategy, Captain Zalan," Captain Haruk chimed cold.

Zalan let the statement hang a moment, like a dead corpse. "I ensured the survival of my men, within operational success, Captain Haruk,"

Altuya scoffed. "And now you ask our men to face an emboldened legion, without the blow we had counted on delivering!"

Zalan glared daggers at the man. "I-"

"You and your squad will fight on the frontlines, alongside the Hares, Zalan," Prityin stated.

Zalan growled. "We are not a frontline-"

"You are mercenaries," Haruk cut. "Same as the rest of us, Salamander,"

Eyes hard, and lips set. Zalan looked to Prityin, who measured him from across the way. Bread half torn before him.

The Commander of the Iron Fists nod. "Without the blow we had hoped for, the Legion's numbers will bleed us, Zalan, far more than we can afford, if we've any hopes of ending their encroachment,"

"Then we harry them, Prityan, we play the long-" Zalan tried.

"Or do you still carry so much love for your Empire, that you spared them the blow? Serpent," Altuya barbed.

Zalan chuffed. Shook his head as he shift up taller. Held head higher. "My salamanders are most effective as skirmishers, and sabateours, Captains." his eyes cut to Altuya. "We have ruined heavy artiliray pieces, and forced our enemy into terrain far-"

"It is not up for debate, Captain Zalan," Prityan cut. "We will need your men at the front of the battle lines. Your weavers, as well as your unorthodox tactics, will give us the punch we need to bring them low,"

"Pretty words for saying you'll need us to die as bait," Zalan growled amidst a cloud of armonium stink.

Prityan sat in the silence of it. "That will be all, Captain Zalan. Mobilize your unit to the river, post haste,"

Zalan's eyes were cold as river stone. Brow set to heavy arches. Practiced motions saw him salute. And he exited the command tent. Took the roll back from the guard outside, mid toke.

"Hey!" he called out confused.

Already strides ahead, Zalan smoked like the chimney to a bad cookfire.
 
Tool stood silent as instructed his jaw worked slowly, the flow was becoming a storm. Keeping his composure Captain Altuya had more than irked him he now earned his ire. Rolling a small metal coin between his fingers, Tool began to calculate how to handle the morrows situation.

As Zalan bowed Tool followed suite. Then he simply turned on his heel and departed flicking the coin on the air it landed tails side up in front of Altuya. "Please keep it Captain Altuya.. You will need all the luck you can get being in close proximity to my explosives.. They are effective as you have seen and do not discriminate. Please move with caution." With a curt nod Tool left, the warning was fair and truthful.

Within his bags now lay explosives that even he wouldn't dare stand close to on the front line. It might be a late night for himself honestly. Catching up to Zalan Tools eyes remained straight ahead.

"I will get to work in scouting the water ways and laying traps.. It's the only way to reduce self inflicted casualties on our end. There are extra heavy cross bows and everyone's been trained on them. I made sure of it Captain." Grinning broadly Tool was pleased with his somewhat insane method of preparation. From informing his own companions to doing his best to think ahead.

"The shroud in the area has been heavily used. I do not believe the weavers will be of much use around the glassed basin but from the flanks. This is all just a thought Captain Zalan, I am unaware of what the main strategy is but I'd like to boost our odds of survival.." Slowing his approach to camp he could still see the blue ringed silhouettes of his companions. Another smile crossed his dark visage before fading away.

As for his ire against the Captain Altuya, he would deal with him personally. No one called his Captain a Serpant without consequence.
 
A grumble came from Zalan's throat as he keeled his head toward Tool. Eyes narrowed behind the yellowed glass of his lenses. Gave the younger man a look over. Pushed the roll from one side of his mouth to the other as his steps kept pace. Eyes toward the fires and shroud lights.

Drinks being had. Meat being roasted.

He gave a nod to Tool. "Don't work too hard about it, Tool," a grin, all teeth bite down onto the last bits of a spent roll. "Altuya will get his reinforcements before the sun rises," Zalan wrapped an arm around Tool's shoulder. Fanned fingers out to point out the others about. "Right now, we enjoy what we can," let him go with a clap on the back. "Get some food in your stomach, and some drink while you can," Slid out.

Around the flame, the Salamanders passed round bottles of hooch, and what spirits they still carried from the Fell. Cutter and Liminz tended a roast that was skewered and dripping over the fire.

Still high on the Victory.
 
Zalan's response admittedly carried comfort and assurance. Nodding his head, Tool would take his advice and celebrate. "Aye, Captain.. Be well." Tool bid Zalan a farewell, slipping back into the camp. His allies greeted him with a smile as he pressed his way through. Truthfully, it felt great to be a part of such a unit. Tomorrow was still a world away; now he could only enjoy himself. Taking a seat by one of the fires, someone shoved a drink and a leg of meat into his hands.

"Eat up Tool! You must be hungry! Those mallets you made were something else, I tell ya. I can't wait to see what else you make Baker!" Curly clapped the Sapper on his shoulder and bellowed a laugh. Looking up to the lanky man, the youth smiled up at his companion. Curly had been recruited at the same time as Tool, both had been through training together as well. "There's so much to look into, honestly. I need to tweak the output of these items." Tool ate a mouthful, chewing quietly as he warmed himself by the fireside. Peace greeted his mind as the savory roasted meat flavor caressed his taste buds. Drinking down the alcohol, they were the sweetest combo. Humming in contentment, music began as various sabetours rose with their instruments to play.

Swaying with the flow, Tool allowed himself to breathe, relaxing his shoulders, the ocean of his soul churned in stability and harmony. Tomorrow they would survive, tomorrow would bring victory. They must, they had to continue nights like these. Flexing his fingers, he ambitiously ate the rest of the meat. Tossing the bones out past the tents, sharp canines snapped up the treat. The desert dogs pranced around in the shadows, eating the small remains. Tool ate several more pieces before tossing the bones past the tent into the ring of dogs.

Slowly, he mused on the thought of how they might be used.. Someone adept at shroud and animal handling would do. His eyes widened as he turned to look at Curly. Of course, it would not hurt to try. Nudging the sabetour lightly, Tool handed him a slab of meat which Curly happily accepted. "You've got that look in your eye! You sly dog, what are you planning?!" Curly bit into the meat hastily as he observed Tool with amber eyes.

Tool smirked fiendishly as he drained the mug in his hand. "Listen, Curly.. I have an idea that may help us tomorrow. Hell might break loose, so we must be prepared. Those dogs out there, think you can repeat another pack in a night?" Tool recalled the memory that Curly had spoken of during training. One time, he'd managed to control a pack of wild dogs in his family's woods. Using them to scout the woods to find the wolf that killed some of the flock. Hypothetically, it could work, though Curly had never spoken of the details needed for such a task. Still chewing on the slab of meat, he gazed off past the tents. Tool could see the wheels turning with every bite until nothing but the bones remained. "Hypothetically, we would just need some shroud stone collars, perhaps? Something to help maintain order.. Other than that, if we infuse some of the food, it could help build that affinity with us. We've already fed them the past few days on our travels. Or at least I have, I've made a friend of one so far." Standing up, he brought Tool to the side of the tents, kneeling in the blue light, Curly held out the bone. From the shadows, a scarred dog strode forward confidently.

Hazel eyes addressed Tool before coming to take the bone from the other's hand. Lying on its stomach, it chewed on the bone as Curly ran a hand through its head. "This guy was the first one.. The rest seemed to come afterwards, though I haven't gotten closer to any of the rest." Looking over at Tool, the man shrugged again and waited. "It's a long shot, but I am sure the extra support wouldn't hurt. Have them ready by morning, you can find what you need in the crates in our supply tent. Last crate on the right. Feel free to remove some stones from the hammer heads. They are carved to store shroud for use." Tool patted Curly's back as he turned away to prepare. Chuckling, he sauntered past the firelight and singing voices.

Grabbing his bread sack, he turned in for the night to draw up some new plans.
 
In the dead of night came the blast of shroud crystals and fire armonium set to blow. The horrid squeal of horses caught in tumble and crash.

Brass bells rang out. Alarm. Alarm. Trumpets cried over din and chaos.

"Cavalry raid!"

Zalan was out his tent, sword in hand, with nothing but his scivvies. Eyes unbridled of their lenses stung with the kiss of acrid smoke in the air. A haze that smeared fire warm grey across the dull darkness of pre-dawn.

Shouts to hurry. To arm. Trained ears heard the whistle of feathers in mass. Eyes cast up to the dark sky.

Like hundreds of fireflies gathered in swarm. Arrows alight with fire sailed up high. Fell like a wave come to crash. Flit. Snapped. Hissed. Sank in with wet bite. Flame caught against cloth. Went hot and high in oil.

Cutter barked commands over the murder. "Shelter the explosives. Get them into cover!" dunsteel lock boxes were dragged off carts as the kenneled dogs barked mad and arrows went on falling.

Zalan hissed. Spat. Grabbed up an arrow from a nascent fire. Too weak to spread far. He took the thing and scrawled into the dirt. Signs and channels of power. Old words in a long dead language.

Vinli, and Harro hurried to their own stations.

Zalan spat, and stopped the last stroke of his scrawl in the loose earth. The seal burned blue. Bled into the dirt and spread about the Salamander's tents. Linked to other seals where Vinli and Harro stood. A shimmer, like stained glass and oil slick above water, spilled overhead. Slowly, coalesced into a shield that caught the volleys of arrows and dulled the shouts and chaos outside.

"Shield'll only last two minutes salamanders!" Zalan cried out. Turned to his men. "We need a hunting party ready!" looked at the feathers of the arrow he had picked up. Red and brown fletching. "Seems like the Harpies have taken on an imperial contract!"

The Harpies were a notorious Selvari mercenary band. Specialized in raids and hit and run tactics.

Outside the Salamander's woven shroud bubble, fire went on raining from the sky. "Vinli, Harro!"

"Cap!" Vinli reported as he pulled on his pant leg. All half-a-flopped himself down in there.

"You two stay with the company, try and shield them from the arrows best you can,"

"On it!" Vinli smacked Harro and nod toward the chaos. Harro gulped, and nod.

"Baker! Get those crossbows ready!" Zalan ordered. Tying on his sword around his waist, and shouldering one the kid had prepped earlier. "With me, to the north west perimeter while Cutter secures the special bread," hurried on, half naked and barefoot.
 
As expected of them, a night raid to counter the one already done. Quick and to the point, no doubt someone was amped up for revenge. Tool rolled from his tent fully dressed, Curly's pack howled to life as the sabetour sent them off into the night to attack the oncoming forces.

Grabbing his Crossbow, Tool had taken extra care to put most of the arrows towards the back. Lifting a side of the tent, he gestured for them to be taken as he quickly opened the boxes for the heavy crossbows. All were set to go another box held bolts and flamers.

"Get your bow and your pack of ammo and follow the Captain! Go go go!!!" Tool did not wait around; he went back towards his tent and pulled out his goody bag. Coming out of the other side of his tent, he narrowly avoided getting struck by flaming arrows. Gods below, they weren't joking. Horse Archers were a pain in the ass no doubt. Mobility and now with their camp nearly ablaze. They had all the light in the world to see the approach.

Running for the nearest cover into the shadows, Tool lay low in the dirt. Opening his bag, he began arranging pieces and changing out his heavy crossbow's wire with a braided wire instead. Once both were in place, he lay back, eyeing the sky and where the arrows arched from. "Catch.." The crossbow shuddered as a large incendiary pod arched over and down into the midst of the Harpies. Spreading flames and debris, the second landed several paces over, scattering their group.

Dogs weaved from the shadows and struck, catching some riders unprepared. The volleys ceased as they turned their attention to the dogs around them. Thanks to Curly's tireless effort, the pack that he founded had grown in size.

Tool wasted no time, rolling over, he grabbed the bag and slung the crossbow over his shoulder, crawling further off to the side. He still had his cloak on from before, using it to mask his movements. Curly ushered more archers with Tool's modified heavy crossbows. Made now with two triggers and a swift reload ability. Capable of launching close to Scorpion-weighted arrows.

"Stay for cover, lads, the dogs are nearly spent! We will have company soon, half of you will fire bolts to cover your companion the other half will fire the flamers to cut off and shatter their ranks! You two with Captain Zalan!" Two of the rangers nodded and headed out. A spare set of hardened chest armor was passed into Zalan's hands. The pause was heard and seen as Tool's explosives went off, lighting up the dusky sky. The second one ignited, shaking the ground, and cries of pain and terror rose. Flames licked and scorched ground and flesh alike. "Fire!" The barrage was effective. Flamers caught horse and man alike spraying a good number with the damage. Bolts took out those they could now see. Several archers were knocked from their horses.

Turning to Zalan, Curly saluted the man and departed towards the explosives tent. There was something he had to do. "Tool requests you hang back until after this is done! Please come with me!" Curly beckoned to any who would join in the construction of their homemade artillery.

Just beyond, foot soldiers could be seen climbing up and out of the riverside behind the cavalry. Guarding their faces, some soldiers had not been so lucky with sharp debris impaling and cutting armor and flesh. Dogs barked and bit, and corpses littered the ground between beast and men. It would not be long before the air was sweet with the scent of cooked flesh.
 
Captain Lihark of the Harpies was many things. Overzealous was not one of them.

As his first party of raiders came under fire. Explosions. Return fire. General butchery. His eyes never wavered from the lines. How they rippled and moved under the pressure.

He knew the men there upon that number of stout silvari horses. The squat breed so common across the wide open steppes to the inland west. Knew their mettle. Shocked as they were by the barrage. He trusted them to see it through.

"More horses than I thought we would lose," he said cold as a grave stone atop his saddle. His shadow colored horse snort a breath. Shook its head.

"Shall I sign the retreat?" his second asked. Signal lantern couched beneath his arm, ready to be free of the blinders that kept its light in shadow.

"No," a smile cracked across his lips. "That's the Cabal there," he said, too familiar with the smell of armonium smoke wafting through the air. "Hit a lot harder than they can take," he drew his sword from its sheath. The flash of silver against the night air signaled his men to move.

As one, the main body of the Harpies set their cavalry to move over the crest of the hill they had hidden behind.

The Harpies ambush had come from the north, to the rear of the camp. The riverfront, to the southeast, was still defended by the Iron Fists' main host, dealing with main imperial forces crossing over in the chaos. The Red Hares moved archers and spear-men to cover the rear of the camp. Many men still fought the fires, and tried to save what wounded they could.

Zalan grit his teeth, face smeared in armonium smoke and streaked with sweat. Ass planted in the dirt, back against a ridge, his hands cranked the lever of the heavy crossbow to load the new belt of bolts. He hissed through his teeth as the mechanism jammed. Precious seconds wasted as his fingers fidgeted around in the dark.

His rangers plinked shots as arrows fell around them.

The stink of burnt horse and man was thick in the air. The whimper of dogs and the dying screams of beast and mercenary there with the horrible crackle and hiss of the fires. Hungry and delighted for all they had to eat in their short and horrible burn.

Through his bare feet, Zalan could feel the earth rumble beneath them. "Fucking shit," he cursed through clenched jaw. "Get the flamers back!" he cried out over the din. "Get them back!"

The flame spitters were a crude device. Long pipes loaded with armonium dust, set to spout in gouts. You had to get in close.

Great defensive weapons to punish a charge. Needed spears to make them really count. Frontline units. The Salamanders were not front line units.

Lihark and his band of riders thundered over the plain. Trained to shoot from saddle since they were kids, his Harpies loosed arrow after arrow at the red-hot flamers. One by one they were arrowed down. The thunder of hooves louder with each second.

Zalan stood wide eyed. Felt the flames hot in the air about them. So many little tongues, that wanted more. He drew in a breath, swept his hands out to take hold of those threads of the shroud. Hot as white irons. Sweapt his hands up with fingers that clutched.

A line of fire scorched across the grass and earth. Wavering heat that spout up a wall of flame, blazing red and gold in the twilight.

Some of the horseman peeled off their charge. Some dove into the fire. Armored in wools and steel. Horses trained for worse. Ablaze, they broke through to the other side. Drew back their sword, and sliced through the Salamander's ranks. Blades cutting and slicing at anything they could reach.
 
The adaptation worked like their own slingshot, with significant range and weight to it. Thanks to the updated Crossbow fletching, Curly made several mobile launchers. Using the remains of some of the boxes as placers, Curly aimed their launchers at the rising hill where the Harpies were coming from. "Fire!!" Solid thuds were heard as a deep humming struck the earth in their advancement. Blasting sharpers in the cavalry's direction to slow down their advance. Yet even as Tool had tried to anticipate, it did not bring them too much space and time.

At first, it worked, but then the steamroll of horses began mowing down his companions. A scream of rage left the Baker as he ran back towards camp. Heavycross bow in hand, he fired off shots after every few steps. Some missed, some had struck home, knocking down his enemy. "Form up! Groups of five!! Fire the Javes!" Grabbing his sword and shield, he plucked Tools set and placed it facing where Tool planned to return. Two more of the spikes he had used on the bridge came from the tent. This time, though, they were set to disrupt the Earth. Two solid thuds, and the javelins were soaring past Zalan and into the ground within the flames. The runes acted of their own, forcing the ground to spike in a six-foot cone in two sections.

Creating two blockades in the flames, Tool had hoped this would slow any oncoming assault. Soldiers grouped into fives, shields, and spears poked out and blocked to help reduce casualties. That did not stop archers from picking them off with nearly worthless arrows. At this point, Tool had returned to camp, grabbing his sword and shield, he sprinted towards the Zalan. Keeping low, he eyed the approaching riders, jumping into action. Grabbing a bag of three javelins, he hurled them side-long into three riders who dared get in his way. Continuing his trot, he rolled out of the way of a slash. He rose in a shield bash, crushing the enemy's face with the serrated edge.

Blood sprayed as he knelt, using the body as a shield against another rider before kicking it off to continue his approach. Several soldiers soon joined in throwing Bolas into the short horse's legs, catching their hooves and grounding the riders. This soon created a few stopping points, causing riders behind to crash and tumble. Some suffered broken necks and backs, others were not lucky enough to avoid being trampled by their own.

As Tool came forward, he found a couple of Soldiers doing their best to survive with four men. Jumping into the lineup up he pulled out a spear from a corpse. Bringing it up, he caught a rider in the chest, half ducking, half buckling under the force and weight. There were a few parties of six with a ranger in the pocket, firing off shots when possible. "Move up!! Cover the Captain!! Move!!" Tool called as they drew closer to the heat. He could feel the shroud waning and burning away all that it could. Once they were close enough, they hunkered down with spears ready.

Two more rangers joined in the defense, ready to catch Zalan once he was done with his spell. Tool stood at the man's shoulder, slightly crouched beneath Zalan's left side. His shield in the right hand, traded out for a tower-like shield. As soon as Zalan was done Tool stepped in front of the man, shield up and sword drawn. A protective shell was placed around him.

The Red Hares were soon to be among them, spearing the riders down. Those that cut through were dealt with, keeping his eyes peeled on those who had retreated. Tool kept his shield high to block the captain's head in case an archer came for them.

Curly ran from body to body on the field, grabbing whichever injured he could find. Carrying them back with two towershields for cover from possible returning arrow fire. The fires in camp have been put out, now smouldering in the rising sunlight. Tool dared not turn around. He had to trust that the Fist had held the front.
 

The thunder of hooves tore through the ranks. Ripped through earth in violent spray. The scent of burnt hair, acrid and full in the nose, as the screams of beasts and rider trampled over the cries of dying men. Arrows sunk. Mail broke. Steel flashed. Bones cracked. Heart pounded hard in Zalan's head.

Harpies rider and stead barreled down. Eyes wild as a cat's. Every hair bare to the wind stood tall across flesh. Charged electric with alertness as horse, aflame, trumpeted raw its rage. Rider hung to its side by saddle. Legs hooked, sword gripped. Like a creature of the deep late night. Scaled armor bristling with reds, golds, and blacks that hissed and snarled behind him as they ate.

A roar high on their throats. Rider and stead together.

Zalan let out a long plume of breath. Arms whipped in semi circle, fingers traced the shape of flame tongues, as he set to step. Centered, so sparks spewed out of ringed fingers set before piped lips. Set to rise with hot wind. Trailed and curled about the rider and his horse.

A twist of hips, and turn of feet. Hands wide as if fans as feet skipped and body spun with the kick of dust. Cold steel flashed in the wake of embers. Zalan whirled away from the horse's pounding hooves and its rider's reach.

Magicked, those embers danced. Like torchflies carried by the breeze. About the rider who charged on by. Burned bright as a chain of stars across the night. Went down throat and lung. Glowed there, like ember behind paper lantern. A clap of sure hands. Rider burst to flames.

Spears lanced the horse. Drove it into the ground where flame chuffed in the crash, and crackled rampant in the after.

Rangers scurried forward. Let loose their shots from better spots as the Harpie formation wheeled off of the crush. Avoided the slow and sure approach of lowered spears in solid lines.

Breath hot in his lungs, Zalan watched the field as flame gleamed off grime and sweat streaked skin. Bare feet dug into the warm soil betwixt his toes. Arrows zipped over and by. Sank in grass, flesh, and mobile wall worked into the ground. A hand pulled the Captain back. The line of spears enveloped the Salamnder line. Shields raised and turtled behind.

"You've relief, Salamanders!" came the cut of Altuya's voice from within the spear line. His eyes snapped back, a command fan there with it. "Loose!" he cried to his archers.

Well formed and with good number, the archers loosed their volleys at the fleeing Harpies.

The Iron Hands held the river front firm.

Zalan came too, adrift in the river of bodies. "Salamanders!" he cried out to his men. "Break to the Iron Hands. On the flanks, dump whatever you got left on those Imps!" He pulled through to the other side. Drew his sword from its sheath with a half glance over his sweat shone shoulder. Lungs pumped hard and hot with rasp. Feet already moving to the next desperate action.
 
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To bear witness to the flames was a baptism in itself. Flames reflected off Baker's eyes as he swallowed shallowly in the heat. "Honoratus Est! Follow Ignas Spiritus to the Iron Hand!" Bellowing at the top of his lungs, the group departed with Zalan. A set of hands passed the Captain his chest plate and helm, along with a satchel of water to drink. Curly had taken care to pack something small.

A well-practiced jog was now in place as men jogged through to grab reset crossbows that were fixed on the side by those unable to return to the field. Boneknitters has worked to help those they could. Curly made an effort to maintain some order within the camp. Towel in hand, the man cleaned a wound, applying pressure as needed. Nose blind to the scent of iron, Argo murmured small encouragement as his hand throbbed with energy—a pale glow emitted over his comrade's side where an arrow had gone through. Groaning, the soldier turned his head to the side as Argo worked steadily.

"Get this man some water and dress those cuts.." Argo stepped back from the Salamander and moved to the next few cots laid out in the tented area. Thankfully, with the incoming Red Hare units, they did not need to break camp at this moment—still, preparations and others who could were taking the wounded to the main infirmary. Gritting his teeth, their unit had caught the brunt of the ambush. He could not help but pray that they all made it through the skirmish at hand.

Tool had skipped over the need for a crossbow. Instead, he would be getting up close and personal. Checking the shield as he jogged, he tinkered with another small contraption, causing the serrated edge to shrink down, opening a gap on the inside of the shield. Taking a long dagger, he slotted it into place so it stuck up past the shield edge. Adjusting the brace on the inside, the dagger points out as an extension of his hand. The lateness of the Red Hare had not gone unnoticed, but Tool kept his mind on the area before him. Their approach had been swift, breaking to the flanks with what few they had. Tool sprinted ahead to break in first.

Parrying a downward strike, he saved the soldier's life, cutting his enemy down with the dagger shield. His bones ached, muscles burned, but the next wind soon took over. Shield bashing into an approaching enemy, Tool brawled as his father had taught him to. There was no place for gauntleted knuckles on this battlefield, and yet he moved as if possessed. With the blades as extension, he jabbed and crossed, piercing and clashing. With his shield hand, he made several gestures, pulling the shroud into himself. Giving himself a physical enhancement, Tool closed in on another fellow Salamander who had caught up to him. Protecting the warrior's back, he would do his best not to see anyone else perish.

@Zalan
 
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Chest plate strapped, Helmet slipped on with displeased grunt. The way it all closed in on him. Held his lungs back from their full pull for air.

Kept the knives out all the better.

A grit of teeth as he moved across the camp field. Calm simmer set to motion. Heartbeat hammering between skull as his limbs tingled with anticipation. All hairs at attention. Wind across his skin to stirr him. All his muscles strained with all of their use. All the shroud he had pushed and pulled and set to flame. Coming to collect.

He'd press his luck all the same.

Into the melee. All cut and thrust. Twist and turn. Shouts to command. Salamanders shot bolts into shifting lines. Cutter hacked limbs in lops. Kicked a man down, Ink there to stab their sword into the soft spots. Turned to catch the thrust of rogue spear across the meat of their shoulder.

A hatchet found amidst the dead was snatched in Zalan's hand. Hacked at spear. Over and over until it cracked apart. His sword driven fast into the spearman's chest. Felt the pop of leather, and the stop of bones. Heard the screams of all the dying, and about to die. Saw the numbers of imps, still on their march up the hill. Pushing, and pushing those slave soldiers at the front into the lines of the Iron Hands.

All just piled up.

Stench of it all, swirling down nose and throat. His teeth bared, hot smoke poured through gaps. He realed back, threw hatchet forward. Head plinked useless off of a man's kit. A knife, hidden in the sheath of Zalan's sword, slipped out.

Sliced shallow the flesh of his trembling arm. "Flame spitters!" he called out over the din. Those Salamanders around him chained the echo back the line as Ironhand shields and Red Hare swords went on with the horrid grind.
 
Upon the call, they answered with fury. Like a Cerberus temper, the Flame Spitters spread death. The field was a mix of many smells, but above all, the burning of flesh was most apparent. Overhead vultures wheeled, looking for a good meal. Hood's own shadow yawned open, welcoming all the souls set free today.

How many times had he cut? Been cut? Yet he rose like a man possessed by demons. As if lying down would only summon more into his very core like a Legion. There was only room for one pilot, and he dared not let anything take his control. How far had he pushed? Benath his feet, he felt the slick mud making it hard for him to move. Bodies piled high like a secondary floor, his main sword had been broken some time ago. Now he looted the dead as he could only to slay more.

It felt never-ending, yet from further back came a familiar CLANG! From overhead, he saw a sharper land over into the oncoming forces. An explosion detonated along the line. Flames came from in front and from behind. Armor melted to flesh as men cried out for a home no longer meant for their return. Last wishes that fell upon a deaf god's ears. Here on this field, there was no one greater than the other, just sinners in the eyes of their gods. Doomed to die for mortal men's greed; right mortal men's greed. The fist and Altuya himself were both to blame for the fall of his comrades. This was no fighting unit; they should not have been out here, but for Zalan, they would move mountains if needed.

'When you see him, son, follow the man with the Asharkan sword and smoke. There you will find your purpose.' The words rang in his ears every night, and Tool would never forget them. The ground trembled again as another detonation lit up the backs of the enemy lines. What was once a hemorrhaging resupply was slowing to a trickle. Yet he had lost all taste for the thought of victory, even the desire to have bread, died beneath the carpet he walked. Side-stepping a spear, he hurled his sword into the man trading weapons once more, he began poking and swatting, tripping and turning, laying low enemies for his brothers to put to rest.

"I am but a Tool.. A harbinger of death.. This is my music, so it must play.. A dirge for many men doomed to die." Tool's thoughts turned, yet he could not stop. A misstep had a spear go into his hip, causing him to stagger back. Stabbing back, he pulled the weapon free, dropping to one knee. Another detonation closer this time sent him off his feet and underfoot fighting to stand again.

@Zalan
 
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Awash in the wave of furious reds and crackling golds, the sweat and the stink, the grim mess that clung, dried and squelched. Through it all they found him.

"Cutter, Lago! Axe break!" Orders crackled like a hot wind on heat wave. "Axe break!"

Behind the bulwark that was Sargent Cutter, Long and lanky Lago grabbed what tattered threads of shroud still bound themselves to the desecrated earth. All bent fingers and claw. Strong lepudine feet thumped hard against the earth. Long flat ears bent back as whiskered lips ruffled and shook.

Cutter's axe, a heavy headed thing, lit up with a light as red as the flame spitter tongues that still ate away at the corpses they clung to. A crash through spear shafts. Wake of the chop blazing with the shimmer of fire's heat. An upswing, another score of spear necks cracked. Lago went on with their weave work, hissing and muttering the spell that let fall from his lips in ashen breath.

Two arms back, Cutter swung the axe behind him, spine all flex and curl as the weapon's great head seemed to catch light.

A snap of body and arm forward, and the axe flew end over end until it caught one legionnaire's shield square enough to sink in. It glowed brighter. Lined with rune wells and shroud channels. The enchanted steel cracked. Split. Burst to shrapnel that ripped through the line of imps and hit them with enough fear they thought more than twice about filling the hole left in the wake of their shredded comrades. So the Iron Hands filled it in for them. Lines shift and crash forward. So did the Salamanders.

Zalan found Tool in the muck. Grabbed him up, and slung him over the shoulder. "'Manders! On Me!" he cried out like a roar of flame. Hauled the young bastard out as the others covered the retreat.

They had survived the night. Bandaged and battered as they were, the surviving Salamanders milled about their section of the ruined camp. Glass eyed, and holding together.

"Over one third, Captain," Sargent cutter said through the bandages that wrapped his face.

Zalan nod, as he sat in their arrow hole riddled company tent. Arm slung. Roll of smoking herb hung lazy from the corner of his mouth. "So we have some forty left?"

"35 of the sixty,"

"Names?"

"Being sorted out,"

A mutter. Curse. Shout. His good hand snatched up the nearest thing that wasn't tied down, and flung it across the way. A bottle of Old Henhouse Mash smashed against the ground.
 
Darkness was overcoming his vision as he floundered in the muck, reaching out, someone had grabbed him. In the fading moment of his consciousness, he heard Zalan call for the Salamanders' retreat from the front line. Then there was silence.

Within his mind, Tool had gone back in time to an old farmstead. There he ran through the fields of wheat, the dogs barked, and other children laughed in glee. His mother sat in the front with his sibling swaddled in her arms. Gently cooing as she poked the chubby cheek. The sound of horses and hammering could be heard as others gathered in their respective areas at work. The day was all but spent, and the birds chirped their song as their wings danced with the wind.

Horns sounded, and he turned, youthful in ignorance and glee. The field turned to fire, and screams rang out. His family turned to ash along with the rest. No more birds were singing, only a field of trampled crops and bodies. Smouldering builds and blood, whose he did not know, but the split happened there for him. Laughter masked stress and anxiety amidst the fall; the view changed, he was now older, and his father returned from Miraj'Dah and took him along back to the Floating City. There, he learned what he needed, and when his father passed, he departed once more. 'Find the man with the Arshakan blade who fights against the Empire.. There you will find your path." The words rang through his mind again before the scene changed to another field of blood, before his eyes shot open.

Gasping Tool awoke moments after the bottle crashed to the floor. His eyes were sunken and his lips chapped, on his legs, one of the stray dogs lay resting to keep him company. He recognized this one from the Iron Fist battle side. It had been injured when he saved its life getting it out of the battlefield. Thankfully, someone else had gotten it back. Across from him, Curly slouched in his seat, asleep and weary. The scent of Grief was heavy here, reaching out from his bedside. Tool grabbed a small canteen, which he drank slowly. Coughing a few times, he groaned as pain lanced up his side.

From behind a curtain, Argo arrived, coming to his bedside. "Well, well, look who's finally awake. You're damned lucky you survived, lad. Any later and you might have lost too much blood."

Argo knelt beside him, checking his bandages. The worst of the damage was healed, yet Argo could not fully mend the bone. For now, Tool would be walking with a crutch or cane till his hipbone fully healed. Tool looked over the man, his vision still a blur as his left hand began stroking the sleeping dog's head. "She wouldn't leave you be there, Baker. You got yourself a new companion for the time.." Argo turned and laid a blanket over the sleeping Curly.

"This one's finally gone to sleep. As you should be, don't worry, I made sure to grab any extra bread loaves from your satchel and passed them out." Argo had spoken Tool's thoughts plainly, and it comforted the lad, but more so, he wanted to check in with his captain.

As he tried to rise, the dog and Argo both pressed him back down. "I will let him know you're awake, Baker. Rest for now." Argo finished changing out his dressings before departing to speak with Captain Zalan and Cutter.

Drinking more of the water, he exhaled slowly, and he could slowly feel his voice returning.

Argo sought out the Captain as he stepped over the shattered bottle. "All do respect Captain, this is a place of healing, ain't no bar round here for miles. Please be mindful.. Baker is finally up. His hip is still shattered, but his wounds are good. Now let's have a look at you both.." Argo began to check on both Cutter and Zalan. He gestured for someone else to clean up the broken remains on the floor.

@Zalan
 
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