A New Dawn - The Battle .open sl.

[lorddevi]

"Sir Moorehound, Lieutenant Jaggd sends his compliments Sir." reported a rather well dressed mummy to his commander.
"You have a message for me Ensign?" queried the tall and heavily armored man.
"I'm afraid so Sir. Rather bad news this. It appears our forces have been sighted by a scout... A 3P scout."
The dark figure didn't reply for a few moments as he merely looked from atop his horse to the Ensign trotting beside him. "3P? Here? Is Lieutenant Jaggd certain of this?"
Occasionally peering into the forest to their left as he rode on wards past Myrken Wood, half expecting to see more scouts the Ensign squinted slightly - for it was day and even the undead can be blinded. "I'm rather afraid so Sir. He called for the combat mages to scry it for a couple of miles. We're very sure Sir."
"Very well then, it's time we setup camp anyway. We've been marching for a week straight now. Send my compliments to Lieutenant Jaggd and Major Kerrington. Have the Major detach the infantry and set up camp in the forest. We'll discuss the matter tonight after camp is setup." ordered Moorehound.
"Yes Sir. Sir." with a whip and a gallop the Ensign charged back down the line, past the cavalry to the infantry to find the Lieutenant and the Major.

With a look behind him the Baron peered over the army consisting of nearly twenty thousand men, some soldiers, some mages, some workers or engineers, as he pondered this news.. This distressing news. "Hrmm, the last thing I had expected was to find the Company here dammit. Those money grubbing humans are everywhere" he thought to himself, "No matter, surely they don't have the forces necessary." deep in thought Winter Moorehound motioned for the cavalry behind to him to follow as he turned into the forest. It's an odd sight to witness trees and foliage wither and die at the mere passage of a man, but it was handy. Moorehound didn't enjoy having nature try to remove his armor or lift his visor merely because it thought it had the right of way.

In an hour there was no more trace of the army on the southern edge of Myrken Wood. Only a large patch of dead tree's where it had halted it's advance.

Later that night as the camp lay relatively silent, the staff officers quietly approached the large tent in the middle of the dead wood. An eerie blue light emanated from within. One by one the... gentry entered and took a seat against the walls of the tent. When all were assembled a calm but dominating voice broke the silence. "So it would appear the cult has a problem. 3P has gotten here before us, they know we are here. Now we don't know anything about their forces, who the local magistrate is, or popular opinion. I need information people. Tomorrow we head deeper into the forest and set up base camp. The temple will begin construction the moment we find a suitable place - the deadline is two months, and I will not have anything, including the Cansics stop us or slow us down is that clear?"

No words were spoken but heads were bowed. "Good. My fine Sirs, they can't outnumber us but the Cansics are very capable fighters as you know and they will not stand for our presence here." a moment of silence washed over the room as Moorehound got up from behind his desk and sat leaned against it. "If it comes to blows, which I'm sure it will, we will use the forest's every advantage. It will minimize their artillery and cavalry.

With a cough, the Lieutenant, Mr. Jaggd stood up, "Sir, I suggest we begin our recon work asap. We need more information on the area and our foes." all eyes were on Jaggd as he spoke, but all nodded in approval.

"Yes get on it now in fact, we have no more to discuss on the matter as is. Everyone is dismissed. Prepare the base assembly parts, tomorrow hopefully the base proper will begin construction in late afternoon. Mr Jaggd, I need to know what the Cansics are doing and where they are. Get the mages to assist you - time is important. Dismissed."

With that last order the command staff shuffled out of the tent leaving a contemplative Moorehound behind.

The tall bald man, the old ex-baron walked behind his desk again - sat down and pulled out a small ring from his desk drawer. Slowly the man put it on and twisted it after it was on while muttering a few secret words known only to him and his master.

An image appeared before him, from the door all that could be seen was a dark blue head floating atop the desk looking at Winter. It had long hair down to it's shoulders, but the hair had a look of unkemptness about it - as if it hadn't been combed or maintained in any form for years and years. In fact it resembled the hair on a corpse. "Yes Moorehound? You have news to report?"
"3P is here Sir. I don't know their forces, but it was unexpected." he emitted with a distasteful grunt almost.
"Unexpected, yes." the head seemed to look down for a moment as if studying something on the desk, "No matter, the local authorities will not have a war break out in their territories, and 3P will obey - they detest losing trade. Deal with the matter as you see fit Baron.". with a shimmer similar to the affects of heat in a desert distorting view, the figure of the disembodied head disappeared as quickly as it came.

With a low grumble under his breath, the tall man removed the ring and put it away. "I wish he wouldn't call me that.". Leaning back in his chair Winter Moorehound became lost in thought as he planned out what he should do if worst came to worst and 3P indeed did have a force here. How best to use this particular forest...

[SalsaDoom]

Captain Ambrose Throckmorton was seated at his desk, located in the office assigned to him in the 3P Trading Company's main administrative building, located in the dead center of the Trading Post. It was a smallish room, not meant for the user to stay in for long so the furnishing was sparse. Light was provided by, at the moment, a window behind him and augmented by several lamps. He was busy writing a letter to the tar'Farem'kar Zilut'snel Artillery Authority, his third one, requesting carriages for several naval Demibasilisk cannons he had somehow found in his possession. The fellow is was writing to was acting distinctly obtuse on the matter.

He looked up as there was a knock on the door, "Come in," he said loudly, and an Ensign entered. "Hello Sir. There is a note for you, from the General."
"Hand it to me."
The Ensign obeyed, and give the letter to Ambrose, turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him. Ambrose has been aware of General Pennebrygg's presence at the Fort for some time, but it hadn't really been cause for him to concern, since Pennebrygg was a General for the 3P Trading Company, not his own army. Still, he knew that generals didn't show up at remote places like this for no reason.

Ambrose unfolded the letter and read it.

----

Captain Throckmorton,
Come to the meeting room immediately.

General Pennebrygg

----

"Oh bloody. A meeting? I hate meetings." he got up and went to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a tall glass of brandy, then strolled out of his office and down the hall to the main meeting room. He knocked on the door, opened it up and stepped inside. Immediately he noticed the serious attitude of the room. There were fifteen men, all above the rank of Colonel, aside from himself seated in the room. Everyone was looking at a large map setup on the table. Several pins were setup around the forest.

General Pennebrygg looked up as Ambrose entered. "Mister Throckmorton. Please have a seat." Ambrose did so.
"Have I missed something General?" Ambrose asked, looking at the map questioningly.
"Only a little. Our scouts have located an Lunahern army moving toward Myrken Wood. Its clear their intention is to aggress upon the city proper itself. Naturally, we will be mounting a spirited defense against them. This will be our chance to repel them before they are able to foist themselves into the society."
Ambrose looked around the room silently for a moment, digesting what he had just heard. He blinked twice, than said, "We're going to war?"
"That is correct Captain." the voice that spoke had come from a man he didn't recognize. The fellow had sharp features and a scowl on his face. Ambrose's eyes wandered over the mans form, noting the Cavalry saber on his hip. Then, he noticed the fellow had a peg leg and a wooden arm.
"You must be Major Cruxe MaoVeck, Captain of the Guard?" Ambrose asked him
"Correct again."
Pennebrygg tapped the map with a finger, "I'd like to think they would be attacking us in the open fields, but I don't think so. They'll try and sneak around the back way, through the forests. Damn." He looked up at the men with him. "This operation is being undertaken mostly by the Company's 3th Expeditionary Army. Its understrengthed so we are being reinforced by Major MaoVeck's 88th Infantry Major Company. Captain Throckmorton, your staff has tagged you to help us, this acceptable to you?"
Ambrose nodded, "Absolutely, General. Its my pleasure."
"Whats your strength?" Pennebrygg asked,
"Full strength. Its a light company supported by horse. Four hundred skirmishers full of pip and vigor and two hundred Dragoons, fine men, all of them."
Pennebrygg nodded, "Good. We'll be needing them. I'm going to be using your skirmishers and dragoons as shock troops. This'll be tough work."
"Then you choose the right people for it."
"Good," Pennebrygg rubbed his chin. "I'll keep four of the regiments together.. two on reserve. I'll divide the remaining two into company's and spread them out along the front of the battle. They'll engage and do what they can and pull back into their regiments shortly after engagement. We will have mercenaries under a fellow named Captain Tempresto Starr, he'll be operating on his own doing what damage he can. Hopefully, we'll be able to confuse the enemy into misunderstanding our strength. Then, we'll push the remaining four regiments forward and give them a proper thrashing."
Ambrose gave the room a second looking over, "Where is Regional Prosecutor Canton Lo?"
Pennebrygg replied, "He's been called away at the last moment to deal with an uprising in Seraj, although he sends his complements."

* * * Later that Day * * *

Mounted men in colorful uniforms trotted south away from 3P's Trading Post and toward the forest. They were scouting ahead for a much larger body of men, coming up behind them.

A great long steam of men, marching in long columns comes marching behind their scouts. Most of the men wear navy blue jackets, sky blue trousers, with a black crossbelt with a silvery metal buckle and a similar belt. On their heads they wear tall black shakos with polished visors. Each man has a wooden framed backpack, a tall and heavy wooden shield and he carries on his shoulder a strange and distinctly Canthric weapon -- the Molins-Bennet bolt-pipe. The weapon used a spring contained in a removable cartridge to throw a typical bolt with impressive force. These ones had a thick blade welded on the business end of the weapon. They marched in unison, their boots stomping the ground at the same time. Their faces were the stoney masks of soldiers expecting to do battle. Every once and a while, a column of other soldiers would march by. They wore green trousers and had similar, but slightly shorter and thicker weapons that didn't have a welded blade. Instead of shakos they wore rugged tri-corne hats. A third kind of infantryman marched as well, in similar numbers. Guards, they were called. They were all over six feet tall and wore tall furry bearskin hats. They were an impressive and tough looking lot that apparently meant business for whoever they were marching on. Every once and a while, there would be a break in the soldiers for a marching band beating and blasting out fantastic marching tunes. Last in the column comes men dressed in all black uniforms, wearing tall stove-pipe top-hats, four hundred of them. Behind them, comes two hundred mounted men dressed similarly. Company after company marches one after another, thirty two company's of roughly 600 men each. Almost twenty thousand men. Behind this mighty column of men, oxen strained to pull heavy field cannons, `Bastard culverin' for the infantry and lighter 'Minion' for the horse artillery. Behind that baggage was being towed. Officers were scattered along the entire length of the column, chatting and keeping an alert eye out for trouble.

The Company's Third Army had mobilized and was marching south to meet their enemy.

[Jirai]

Jirai was thinking hard. It would have been impossible for her to miss the movements of the 3P Company, of course. Between her employment by Canton, her hatred of the man and the rest of the Company, and the imposed love she had for Company products, she paid very close attention to things concerning the 3P. So the mobilization of the Third Army had caught her eye. Always alert for chances to cause trouble, this had been an opportunity the odd little drow could not resist. She found a good vantage point in the outskirts of the forest, concealing herself in the shadowed branches of a convenient tree, from which she could observe the force marching towards her, ears twitching in annoyance with the loud noise from the various bands accompanying the Company. She pondered her options. Her first thought was the baggage train...she had poisoned Company food once, it had provided her with a good deal of amusement. But that would be impossible during the march. She would have to wait untill they made camp. That went for most of the things she could do. But not quite all.
So, the drow abandoned her perch, and began moving silently through the trees, following the scouts, with the intention of picking off one or two with her poisoned little crossbow bolts before they made camp.

[lorddevi]

The elves from back home would have cried at the site, The Undead encampment known as A New Dawn has setup camp in the middle of Myrken Wood - and where the undead industry was, there was no life. The trees in a three mile radius had died. However one would have to be a bird... or a ranger to notice. Amidst the encampment, skeletons went about their business cutting down trees to build their warehouses, officer houses, troop barracks etc. The largest building seen wasn't near completion. A large temple, this one resembling a ziggurat. An architecture only heard of in these lands. Down in the middle, a building glowed with eerie candle light at night. Winter Moorehound minded his business, filling out form after form as the crews were busy about him. *Knock*knock* "Come in.", and almost without waiting an Ensign opened the door and walked calmly inside. "Sir, our mages have located the 3P military force." stated the 'young' mummy. "Indeed? Report."
"Well sir.. they have an army here, and it's marching this way. It consists of nearly twenty thousand." The Ensign handed his leader a piece of paper upon which were the numbers of various troops and cannon. "Here are their forces Sir."
Silence reigned in the office of the commander as he read this.. report, this surprise to be sure.
"Ensign, send for Colonel Koph, and give him my compliments."
"Yes sir." with a nod and a salute, the Ensign hurried to carry out his orders.

Moments later there was another knock at the door and in walked Colonel Koph. "Moorehound?"
"Colonel, we have a problem. Halt base construction and assemble the forces. Prepare for a night attack. The Canthrics are a lot more well equipped and prepared than I had anticipated.", Winter pushed the piece of paper with the troop listings on it across his desk toward the Colonel.
"Is that so?", with the wave of a finger the piece of paper flew off the desk and sailed across the room straight into the Colonel's outreached hand. A frown grew on his face as he read the numbers. "It says here sir that they are already marching on the forest, is this accurate?"
"My mages don't make mistakes Colonel, time is of the essence. I think we're going to need the bone golums for this one."
The Colonel's frown turned from a grimace to a smirk as he thought about Winter's idea of a night battle. "Yes.. Yes sir." the paper crumpled in the air as it flew out of his hand toward the garbage. "A night attack sir, our men will be ready in the morning. It looks like battle will be engaged in two days time if I read my maps properly. I don't know of any surprises in the forest yet."
"Dismissed." ordered Moorehound as he stood up forgetting about his paper work. Battle was to be had tomorrow or the day after.. and he should prepare. Best not be caught unawares without his armor. Moorehound idly rubbed his single bracer on his left arm as he pondered the battle that was to follow.. Yes it should go nicely he thought.

The next morning....

It was a sight, Four columns of skeletal infantry, ten deep five hundred men long. Only one military used such a formation. The sheer weight of the men was used as a weapon. Phobos it was called, dominate by fear. To impose fear in your enemies hearts is to win half the battle - and it worked well. Although this instance.. Phobos doesn't work so well on who these troops would be fighting. The Canthrics, even company troops, were stout fighters and knew their battlefields well. Which is why the attack was planned for night. Canthrics don't fight well in forests, and especially at night. At intermittent spaces in the columns could be found the monsters of the army. The bone golums. Two story tall behemoths made out of the remains of the fallen. Lunahurn armies weren't ones to waste resources. Serve us, and serve for ever was the general philosophy. Atop the hulking behemoths could be found a built in howdah of sorts, upon which two mummy mages a piece would stand come the battle. A tall vantage for their destructive magics. By far the most feared part of a Lunahurn army.

Moorehound, trotted down the line of troops beside his officer staff examining the 'men'. Thousands of undead ready and willing to serve. "Colonel, I want you to take personal command of the calvary, send all three thousand around north in the wood to get behind the Cansic army. When we route them we don't want retreat to be easy. Take along a company of horse artillery mages to obscure your travels. I don't want them to be detected."
"Yes sir. See you after the battle Moorehound," and with a nod the officer was off.

"All seems to be proceeding smoothly. Gentlemen! Prepare the scouts and let's march. We have Cansics to dispose of!" shouted the ex Baron.

With a shout and rippling orders being yelled up and down the line, the monstrous hammer that was the undead army began to march from it's base camp toward where he knew the Cansics will be waiting for him. Battle would be had, and victory would be his, he was sure of it.

[SalsaDoom]

Deep drums continued as the 3P Trading Company's 3rd Army continued its march. Like automations, the soldiers trooped into the forest. In the dim lighting of the forest, the brims of the soldiers hats shadowed their eyes out of distinction, leaving only the thin lines of their mouths distinguishable on their faces.

A horseman rode into the formation, he trotted down the line until he came to General Pennebrygg and his staff officers. He saluted, and spoke, "General Pennebrygg, we have located the enemy camp up ahead. We now have strong estimates of their strength." The scout handed his General a paper containing the appropriate information. Pennebrygg read over the paper, then pulled a timepiece of out his pocket and looked at it. "It is to late to launch the attack tonight. We'll setup our guns just inside range, and begin the assault at dawn." Pennebrygg twisted in his saddle to look at his staff, "Give written orders to all Colonels, I want them to know exactly what they are doing."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, for a brief moment, he wasn't entirely sure. He knew the Lunaherns would be employing devastating magics, the sort of magic that was likely beyond what the Arexians had employed in his previous battles. He dismissed the thought, his cannon would smash their columns and send the skeletons flitting about like skittles. The trees would get in the way, but he was confident his gunners would put their backs into their work and give the enemy the Empires Work.

The General looked at Captain Throckmorton, his lowest ranking staff officer. But he knew the Captain to be a capable man, if vicious and not as scrupled as he liked. But in a battle like this, he was the sort he wanted. "How about it Captain, are your boys in the fighting spirit?" he asked, curious as to how a man like that felt before battle.

Throckmorton puffed deeply on his pipe, then took it out of his mouth to reply, "My men love the sting of battle, sir. I'll personally make sure the enemy is sorry he ever had the nerve to leave his own shores." he put his pipe back in his mouth, then shrugged his Molins-Ezekiel Rifled Bolt-Pipe off his shoulder and sighted it against a distant tree, "We'll see about these fellows, rest assured." He smiled to himself, looking forward to the next day, when he would be shooting to kill, not just to leave a mark.

Pennebrygg nodded absently to the Captain, then waved at one of his Cornets. "Give the order for the column to stop here, and prepare for the night". The young man rode off and soon the entire army lurched to a halt. They could hear the enemy working, building, preparing. It was impossible not to wonder; just what did the enemy have planned for them?

Gunners unlimbered their mighty cannons, dug them into shallow ditches to control their recoil and used their entrenchment tools to build defenses. Cavalry fed their horses and rubbed them down, then set about to getting themselves something to eat. The infantrymen constructed themselves a series of sod bulwarks throughout the camp as precautions. Others sat round small fires, sharpening bayonets, drinking tea and trying not to think about the impending battle.

Sentries kept hawk eyes out for trouble, bayonets glistening in what little evening light made it through the forest leafs. Each man, no matter how many people he was with, was alone with his thoughts on the night before a battle.

All they had to do now was wait, and see what fate had in store for them.

[Jirai]

Jirai waited patiently, unmoving, untill night had fallen, and still more. Then, she began her slow, catious descent into the camp. Not a particularly easy job, with so very many people around, but she'd done things like this before, albeit on a smaller scale. She'd spent her wait pondering her options. She was rather short of money at the moment, a state which was reflected in her current supply of poisons. She had enough to maybe kill ten people...but if she mixed that with some other things she carried, while no one would die, a lot of people would be very unhappy. Sickness, halucination, temporary paralysis, it would be very amusing. So she endevoured to get close enough to the breakfast supplies to leave her little presents. Then, whether or not she accomplished that task, she fully intended on wrecking most of the so very annoying instruments the Company insisted on toting around with them before dissapearing into the night, back to her chosen spot to await the coming dawn.

[SalsaDoom]

Soldiers camping by their fires are clearly cooking their own foods they seemed to be pulling out of pockets -- there wasn't a camp supply for tonight. Moreover, it would be fairly clear, getting into the camp unseen on this particular night would be impossible. The sentries were simply too alert, and getting captured would result in an immediate execution.

Jirai would have to wait a little more yet for a chance to cause trouble..

[Jirai]

Her plans foiled, the small drow retreated back a distance, moving closer to the other encampment, actually. Undead, lovely. It was difficult to choose which she hated most, the undead or the 3P Company. Peorth's dislike of the undead had rubbed off on her, it seemed. So she settled in for more waiting.

[Aeri`]

Upon spending the previous night watching the soldiers near the river, unknown by them, the elf had returned to the Dagger. She had noted in her blunder she lost her silver dagger. The elf quickly exited and retraced her tracks to the area she was in the eve before. A clatter of voices heard in the distance. The elf ducked behind a tree and hid in the underbrush.

Soldiers were about. Five to be exact. Along the rivers edge the elf had crept. She crouched down and waited for the guards to clear the area she had lost her dagger in. She had huddled close near the underbrush, violet hues peer out at them. Instead of the soldiers leaving as she presumed, it seemed they were going to take advantage of the river and bathe. As clothing was stripped, the elf's eyes widen and cheeks redend. She turned her head quickly and cursed under her breath as she got rather an eye full.

Aeri` had froze against the tree and hidden with the aid of the underbrush. The soldiers where splashing and shouting at one another in laughter. The long march had been tiring and it was the first time they had a bath in a week. Thankfully the elf was upwind from them. She peeked up to see if any were looking in her general direction. With luck upon the elf, they were far to busy attempting to get the grime off their forms. She spied the uniforms within her reach.

Aeri` lifted up slightly, biting her lower lip, arm reaching ever carefully so not to make a sound. The elf grasped upon the uniform of one of the guards and dragged it back into the underbrush. The cloth quickly rolled and tucked under her arm. Somehow she felt this would come in handy perhaps later. Luck seemed to go with the elf this eve again, for just within her vision was the dagger she had lost as well. She plucked it quickly from the ground and inched her way backwards from her spot. The elf turned and ran like the wind, the soldiers oblivous of her or her actions. The sun was slowly setting and the elf hurried quickly back towards the tavern.

She was on a mission and would offer the said item to one of the two she thought upon. Who received the uniform would be a mystery for now.

[Jirai]

Her back against the trunk of a tree, the small drow rested on a branch, staring down at her hands as she carefully traced runes onto small, rounded pieces of metal, copying and improving on the ones she was using for a model. But she'd left part of her attention watching the ground beneath her, and her patience paid off, it seemed, as a soldier wandered into her line of sight. A sentry perhaps, or just answering the call of nature. It didn't really matter to her. She slid her work into a soft pouch, hooking the pouch back onto her belt as she drew out the tiny crossbow she always carried. Carefully, she loaded a bolt onto it, with enough poison coating the tip to kill a much larger creature than the soldier she now targeted. A flick of a finger launched the bolt right at the man's neck. Not waiting around, the drow dropped out of her tree, near silently, and hit the ground running, to find a new hiding spot.

[Zorana]

The small squad of guardsmen slowly advanced upon the battlefield. Each man was dressed in tunics of indigo, with a silver stripe down one sleeve, and simple black breeches. Each man wore a sash of white, slung over their right shoulder and tied at the waist. It did not cover the emblem, embroidered in silver, of the Order of Straka.

They were hesitant, and rightly so. Only one of them, the man carrying the rolled parchments in his hands, had ever been on a real battlefield, where armies met and clashed and killed. He was a veteren, and the men and women who followed him had not seen so many people in a single place at once.. much less walked among them while they tried to kill each other. Next to the Lieutenant walked a younger man, carrying a large, wooden pole. On the pole, he flew two flags - the flag of the Governor of Myrken Wood, and a white flag. Of peace.

And they prayed that the leaders of the army they approached would let them deliver their order. An order to cease fighting upon Myrken land.


---

OOC, the guardsmen have approached the 3P army, bearing orders from the Council, signed by the governor, to stop this fighting. For details on the writs themselves, please see 'An Urgent Missive Delivered to the Captain,' under Barracks/Gaol in the Myrken Town section.

[SunStrider]

The steep and treacherous foothills that marked the beginning of the Sikasoon mountain range’s climb into the heavens provided a commanding and safe view of the distant armies as they vied for position upon the field of battle. An easily visible figure standing dressed for the occasion in glossy ebony armour and a resplendent snowy white cotton coat trimmed with crimson silk, his already perceptive gaze reinforced by a primitive telescope or viewing glass which he uses to discern the exact numbers and type of the troops that make up both armies.

With the marrow freezing mountain wind snapping his long brown hair into flowing like water and causing his coat to billow and flap wildly, he mouths the words of a prayer silently to himself. Undead. Although hate perhaps was too strong a word, it was quite apt to describe his disgust towards the restless damned and those who cavorted with or commanded them.

Focussing away from the rival forcesm, his farsighted gaze settles upon the approaching groups of Myrken Wood guardsmen. He decides to wait for the both armies’ reactions to what the local government wants of them, although it doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out what the guard would want of both parties the reactions of each are yet to be seen.

Should the trading company appear to deal honourably with the local authorities, the dark armoured paladin will definitely consider lending his individual strength to the merchant army. He was Zoltan’s servant, and the sun god in turn provided a rich array of tools with which to destroy both undead and demons. And although the thought of war and the spilling of mortal blood turns his stomach, some battles must be fought. One way or another, the undead must be stopped.

[SalsaDoom]

A knot of sentries called out to the approaching squad of guardsmen, they came out of their hiding places in the bushes and trees. Weapons were pointed at them, and a Corporal with a serious look on his face came forward and spoke to the guards crisply. Once if figured out they were from the local government, and wanted to speak to a commander he looked around, annoyed at this nuisance, then ordered a handful of men to escort them to the General.

The guardsmen were lead threw the camp, passing by rows of men, some of alert, others building defenses, but most of them resting or beginning to drift off to sleep, since no battle was happening yet and wasn't expected till the next morning. The number of men is difficult to tell due to the forest, and the locations of the vast majority of them would be impossible to discern. Only that it was a lot of men.

General Simmons Pennebrygg was standing just outside of his tent, chatting quietly with several of his staff officers. He was still fully dressed in his uniform, tall shako included. Despite being on the field, Pennebrygg maintained his uniforms elegance, his tall black riding boots were still polished sufficiently to reflect light slightly. A cigar was smoldering slowly in his mouth, and he was holding a saucer and tea cup.

"Don't believe that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting Mister Lo. Its a shame he couldn't be present, I'm sure that he would of found some way of making himself useful that we shall miss." Pennebrygg spoke to Major General Packett. Packett, for his part, seemed mostly bored and awaiting the battle. He was an uncommonly tough sort of for a staff officer, and privately though that Pennebrygg was a foppish person.
"Mmmhmm." he grunted with minimal interest. He had once met Lo, but it was years ago and he doubted that the man remembered him. It was a brief meeting, and Packett was the sort of took a long time to decided if he liked someone. Which meant, in his case, that just about everyone was treated with a distant coolness.

The soldiers lead the Guardsmen to the staff officers, and the men waited to be acknowledged by their leader. Pennebrygg didn't keep them waiting for long, he excused himself from his company, and walked to the soldiers. "Who are these men, Trooper?" he asked, eying set of flags skeptically.
"Locals, Sir." the trooper replied, keeping his face expressionless and eyes set forward.
"Well then, what do they want?"
"I don't know, sir." he trooper replied. Pennebrygg scratched his nose, looked irritated briefly, then dismissed the troopers back to their posts. He took a sip from his tea cup, then looked at the party. He sighed to himself, noting that none of them men appeared to be an Officer. Rudeness, in his opinion, not to send a proper Gentleman to him.

He spoke to them long enough for the Guards to figure out that he was in charge, to get his name and rank, and to deliver him the parchment with its plea. He was distance, but polite as he felt appropriate to the Guards, and once he received their parchment, ordered a set of guards to escort them out of the camp safely.

He returned to his staff officers and opened the parchment. He read it, then rolled his eyes, "I tell you Packett, these natives. They cobble together a few stones and call it a building, a group of the greediest of them team up and call themselves a government. Suddenly, they are taking on airs, expecting the powers that be to listen to them, just because they have declared it should be so. Completely ignorant of the reason for things. Its as if they believe that we have traveled all his way, simply because we felt like traipsing into the forest to find acorns and perhaps battle anyone we meet along the way." he rolled his eyes, then crumpled the parchment and tossed it into his camp fire.

"Devil may care, Packett, but we have real work to do."

[lorddevi]

Moonlight glinted off the metal iron crosses arrayed throughout the forest. Skeletal hordes arrayed in huge deep columns all wielding cutlasses with iron cross hilt guards, massive bone golems standing almost a story and a half tall carrying awe inspiring war hammers with iron crosses for hammer heads.. they were everywhere.. as numerous as the dead. The 3P encampment just ahead of the huge army was ill-prepared for this assault. Expecting a morning attack the rather clumsy commander would learn of his mistake too late. A giant iron cross, an item at least 3 inches thick - twice that in width, swung heavily on the chain that supported the item from Moorehound's neck. A even larger looking man in his Xevic tournament plate. With a grin of malice, hatred for the people ahead of him, people who were not supposed to be here - hatred culminating in one gesture. One word. "Charge!"

With that the spells assisting in the stealth of his army were dropped, sudden noise erupting from the forest. The sounds of swords bashing on shields, trees falling over as mighty bone golems pushes them out of the way to make way for their magic-wielding riders. Loud chants of necromantic power set an eerie background for the sudden evil racket. Then moments later, the drums began. A loud, slower began to echo across the forest as a hundred undead drummers began to pound away at their instruments. It wasn't for them they beated, no.. Perhaps a little for their commanders, but mostly for the enemy. The sounds of Lunahurnian drums were feared across the land they marched from. Lunahurns relied heavily on phobos, the aspect of fear - particularly when it comes to battle. The drums meant horrors man wasn't meant to experience were about to rip through the ranks of your friends.. sometimes family as well if they traveled in the rearguard. The skull spirits would be next.

As the drums started to beat faster the skeletal grenadiers emerged from the darkness, crossbows in hand. They surged forth in well-organized groups. Six ran forward while another six covered them, fired their rounds and reloaded their under-powered light crossbows as they moved. Each group of twelve had one skeleton that fired not at the enemy, but at the trees. An odd bolt, one that produced an eerie red glow from the butt where a gem was lodged into the shaft. Soon the tree tops over the edge of the camp where home to hundreds of red glowing gems. The eerie red glow over the field only added to the evil look of the entire scene.

Probably unbeknown to the 3P camp a large group of calvary was still working it's way fast but silently, thanks to the adept mages accompanying the group, around the 3P camp to the rear. They knew now that they were on time. The sounds of the emerging battle could be heard now. They estimated they had another hour at least to be in position. They would have guessed shorter had they not been fighting 3P. This group was used to fighting in unfamiliar surroundings and in situations.. less than optimal. No matter, they'd be there soon enough then escape would be impossible and the 3P army would be nothing more but a memory. Or at least this was their master's plan.

The chants of the necromancers aback the bone golems and behind the columns culminated as they reached the climax of their spells. The drums beat rapidly now, as the 3P soldiers ran to order themselves. Skeletal soldiers marched forward alongside the Lunahurnian behemoth golems. It all seemed so terrifying, until the spells finished and the skull spirits arrived. Hundreds of them, almost half a thousand of them ripped forth from the red gems planted in the tree tops towards the enemy encampment. Yes.. This would be a bad way to wake up for any soldiers - or officers - not on their toes tonight. Moorehound rode forward at the head of his army with a smirk on his face. He knew his troops were well versed enough in these tactics to need very little direction from him, if any at all. So on he went fully intending to join in the main battle with the rest of his troops. If he was lucky, his debt would be paid, but he knew this wouldn't happen - so he merely set himself to the task of completing a job he knew he wold enjoy. Showing these capitalist pigs that not everyone is for sale. Some places have more money to be lost than gained. They had learned this at black jungle point and he would make them learn that here as well. "Efficient weapons those skull spirits." he thought to himself. Once created they would attack any living creature, friend or foe - they knew no difference. For a full day yet.. yes that limited their usefulness, but who of import would be near this battle today? Definitely no one in THAT camp.

[Jirai]

Once more up in the branches of a tree, the sudden outburst of nearby noise startled the drow from her doze. Eyes snapped open, flicking rapidly around the shadowed forest as the drums began to pound. Her thin lips twisted in disgust, hatred for the Undead that she had picked up from her one time lover and her own hatred for the 3P Company mixing.
She pulled fingerles leather gloves on (ones that she'd bougt from the 3P company actually. She may hate them with a passion, but they sold good products.) and slithered down from her perch, ghosting silently through the trees in the direction of the battle noises. As she moved, her hands were occupied in sorting out certain rune-marked bits of metal from a pouch, fitting one into the sling she'd untied from her belt. Magically enhanced, it would provide a lovely little explosion.
If she could get close enough to the fighting, she would launch three, one right after the other, then dart away, on an indirect path towards the rear of the 3P encampment, looking for more opportunities to cause trouble.