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As it Is
Sun Apr 15, 2007 17:55 (XFF:

"The force assembled this time is greater than that of the last incursion, sir." The corporal sidled up at the command table and saluted smartly, adorned in his blacks, and over that, armor. Locke's unit would be moving soon - again. "Scouts report that the camped trollocs number in the thousands; the number of their Myrdraall handlers are as of yet unknown." The corporal shifted his weight to facilitate pointing at the map that was spread across the table, moving markers and indicators deftly, showing everyone observing locations and numbers as quickly as he could.

"The terrain is most beneficial, for them." Locke mused, considering the steep hills preceding the ravine. Forest spread north and west; the only viable area to attack from was from the front, which was dangerous with Shadowspawn. It was dangerous with anything. "We should Gate to their rear, and attack from there, though this leaves little margin for error, and no room for us to be pushed back. Were we to lose the momentum, we would be summarily crushed. Surprise is the only advantage we have there."

"So no?"

"So no." Locke pointed with a thin, tapered wand, to the hills. "I surmise that it would be best to come in as two, one from beyond each hill, and doubly flank them. Given this, they will have been turned upside down - what was before easily defensible terrain and a positive to their army becomes a stronghold for us, from which we can destroy them from afar." Locke cocked his head. "I do not understand it." Narrowing his eyes, he continued. "As Tarmon Gaidon approaches, the Shadow comes into the realms of people more and more, though I cannot make high nor low of WHY they choose the places they do."

"Panic and confusion, sir." He was a bright boy.

"True. But still, one would think that to soften us up, they would be focusing on... anything but the countryside." Locke frowned. "The Last Battle is still a far ways off, I'd suppose. And until then, life such as it is, I would suspect that it has to be enough to now know precisely why they're here - we must know only that we should crush them before they cause any more damage. Everytime."


The bloodied grounds still vibrated with the pounding of feet. The tactical incursion had been a success, much as they usually were; trolloc upon trolloc had been cut down, and a few Fades, as well. It was in these successes that Locke's infantry unit, an elitist assembly of both channelers and non, came to be called the Undying. Locke bit into a mite of hard tac and surveyed the carnage silently, allowing himself to feel, for the first time in a few hours, just how heavy his armor was. The groaning was odd and unhuman; the first dozen battles with trollocs, it had unnerved him, to hear them die slow. It was no longer any concern of his. Amazing, what a person can get used to. He bit into the tac again, spitting it out quickly, this time. I hardly suppose I'll ever get used to weevils. Blegh.

"Bodycount is in, sir. We lost forty nine."

"I do believe that is acceptable." Beneath his steeled boot, a trolloc twitched. Prodigy came wheeling down into the thing's chest, splitting the bones cleanly as it passed through the flesh left exposed by the grisly and contorted position the monster had taken upon being felled. Locke grunted and eased the barbed steel spearhead out of the wound channel, careful not to spatter blood on his biscuit. It oozed. Holding the tac between his teeth, the newly commissioned Brigadier General set upon the muck on his weapon with an already blood-soaked cloth, before consigning the exercise as entirely futile. There was just too much trolloc blood to be dealt with, with but a mere handkerchief.

"Legion! Call in!" Locke bellowed, slamming the haft of his spear into the thick, black steel plate on his chest. His call was answered with the battle cries of all under him; as it was, ninety six percent of them taken on the mission were alive and yelling. As military statistics go, that was a beautiful number.

It was a beautiful yell.

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