3rd day of Cinderfall 20th year of steel
The day started like many other for Myles, his life in the infantry was nothing if not regular in schedule. He pulled his fur collar tighter around his neck to ward off the morning chill and cursed whatever godforsaken scout that'd brought news that'd rattled the brass. Having chow time cut short made for a bad morning when the meal hall was the one warm place in the barracks it felt like. Stomping the cold from his feet he listened as his company was added to a detachment that would total two hundred. They and several other similarly sized detachments would be patrolling the east in search of some supposed movements of a small fighting force. Most seemed to think it was nothing more than ballsy or desperate bandits, easy marks either way.
They set out as the first rays of dawn dotted the landscape. The valleys and low spots where pregnant with heavy fog that danced about the soldiers and dampened them worsening the chill. Marching into the hill east of Zaichaer the soldiers grumbled to one another wondering about the necessity of sending such a large detachment to search for bandits. Myles was familiar with most of the men around them, having served with some of them for over five years at this point. His officer, Horst, was a tough but fair man who'd never asked anything of his men he wouldn't do. Jamison, his second was a bit neurotic but he'd always made sure that they got everything they needed from the quartermaster which was more than every unit could always say. “Look sharp lads, It doesn't matter how large the army is, you don't want to be the fool who catches the first arrow” Horst chided to his men as they started to get sloppy with their formation. “If we don't find anything I'll let you all have the rest of the evening to hit the town” With that little bit of encouragement he roused his men back to a wakeful awareness. Horst was old enough to know better than to trust numbers or rumors for safety.
The man in charge of the entire two hundred was less cautious. Being of the camp that thought this whole excursion was pointless or excessive at best. Marching them in columns with little regard for the environment surrounding them. As the sun grew higher and the fog burned off the smell of burning wood began to waft through the air. In the distance a tattle tale trickle of smoke made itself known in the forest. The commander thinking that he'd found the small force they'd been sent to find spurred the column onward. “Onward men, we'll have this work done before midday strikes.” He shouted before having the men jog the rest of the way.
Before they reached the copse of trees however a single figure stepped from the tree line approaching them with his arms spread wide. The captain, confused by the figure halted his horse and the column before addressing the man. “State your business interloper. You are in Zaichaeri space!” Stopping its approach the cloaked figure through back its hood revealing an elderly looking man with an impressive shock of white hair. Then he spoke in the voice of a man thirty years younger filled with command and malice.
“I am Vicar Belgrand the purifier, And I am here for you.”
With that he clapped his hands and like flint striking steel above oil, the world caught flame. A tongue of flame darted from the mages hands and into the earth before the column of soldiers. Then the very ground beneath them exploded with all the heat and fury of an eruption. In a single moment a quarter of their force and their commander had been reduced to ash and burning flesh. Those behind them were hurt badly by the heat and in need of support. In all about a third of their force had been disabled in a single moment. Horst and Myles nears near the rear of the column could do not but bear witness to the inhumanity that was cult of mending.
As the smoke cleared more and more figures came rushing from the forest, all of them covered head to toe in soot. It should've been so obvious that thew where being ambushed but the shock of what had happened froze Myles as it did many others. Horst grabbing his shoulder brought him back to reality. “Myles move lad!” Shaken from his paralysis he drew his sword and watched in horror and bloodthirsty cultists streamed forth wielding fire against the noble Zaichaeri. The screams of burning men filled the air and the smoke took on an acrid choking smell. He swore he could hear the sound of the Vicar laughing above it all.
No more time to think on it all however, Horst had roused the men around them, they were soldiers and they had an enemy to face. “Move lads, we've got to take a stand, hold for the reinforcements.” With his orders heard Myles Lurched into action a war cry tearing from his lips as he charged in to help the few soldiers left at the front of the column. The first soot covered mage that ran across him cackled as it threw a fire ball at him. Raising his shield to receive the fire Myles shuddered as the impact vibrated through his arm. Still he charged forward to the dismay of the mage who found Myles sword now sticking into his gut. Pulling the sword from his slumping foe Myles winced as he noticed the hot glow coming from the metal of his shield as it began to singe the leather of his gauntlet. Gritting his teeth he charged forward into the chaotic fray bursts of flame whipped through the air as Myles Approached another skirmish. From a wall of smoke to their flank a warlock more decorated than the rest rushed holding a growing flame in his hands that he released in a spray rather than a single blast. Again raising his shield Myles tried to deflect the fire but this flame stuck to him and set his shield and stomach ablaze. The smell of burning hair filled his nostrils. Standing above him the warlock prepared another deadly spray of flame to immolate him. Things slowed for a moment as Myles suddenly realized he was about to meet a fiery end, he'd never thought that this patrol would've ended like this... Before his the warlock could end him, he was speared by Horst. As Myles watched the wicked spear that Horst favored pierce the chest of the warlock, he released his deadly spell directly into Horst's head. At point blank it was a near instant death for the warrior who'd deserved so much better. Myles watched in horror as his officer and foe fell to the scorched earth together.
Before he could process much more Jamison pulled him to his feet, screaming that he had to keep moving the, reinforcements where coming, an airship was on the horizon. Gritting his teeth he stood the mail around his stomach glowed a dull orange still from the heat they'd absorbed, the flesh beneath beginning to sizzle and blister as it was cooked by his armor. Following Jamison Myles regrouped with the dwindling remains of their detachment men beginning to back together against the walls of flame and foes that had encroached on them. The fighting force against them was burning away their potential exits but marking their location with a thick black plume of smoke.
The agony was near overwhelming, hot tears sizzled away when they fell from his face to armor. Kicking a wounded cultist in the head as he retreated Myles cursed the fates. How many of these bastards could there be he wondered, the ambush had so dwindled their numbers and the fire driven them apart it was hard to tell who was left. With a wall of fire approaching their left Jamison grabbed Myles shoulder and yanked him down as wave of fire roared over their heads and the haunting laughter of Vicar Belgrand filled the air. Laying on the ground Myles and Jamison looked to each other looking for a solution in the others eyes and finding none. Both frozen by fear of eminent death at the hands of the Pyromaniac they prayed his flames were fired with indiscretion and he hadn't seen them. The two belly crawled towards the rear line, or what remained of it. No longer hoping to win but to maybe survive at this point.
The forest burned around them but over that Myles believed he finally heard the sound of an approaching airship. With a little hope to cling to Jamison and Myles crawled on, the burns on Myles stomach screaming in protest just barely suppressed enough by Adrenalin to keep him going. Standing when they felt they'd escaped the vicar the too rose and ran towards their destination and the sound of rescue. It seemed they weren't the only ones with the same idea either as more Zaichaeri soldiers appeared also running toward the reinforcements all thoughts of formation broken.
