985: The Battle Strategies of the Verna – Part 2 985: The Battle Strategies of the Verna – Part 2 He, as much as any, wanted to pave their way to victory.
He didn’t part from the main charge rely for the sake of it – he did it because he knew his n better than anyone else, and he knew they could carry more of a load than they were being assigned.
“HEAR THAT, N?” Oliver shouted.
“THOSE VERNA ARE TRYING TO SNUFF OUR CHARGE OUT!
IT SEEMS IT’S A PATRICK JOB TO KEEP THAT FIRE BURNING.
BUT THAT IS WHAT WE DO, IS IT NOT?
WHERE WE WALK, THE GROUND SCORCHES.
WHERE WE BREATH, THE AIR SPARKLES AFLA!
EVEN THE BLOOD WE SPILL CATCHES THE SUNLIGHT AND BURSTS INTO A FIRE!” He shouted even as he swung his sword.
His words were tainted by the furious passion of combat.
He was very much in the mont, his emotions were very much stirring.
Ingolsol’s excitent fed him, as did Claudia’s.
With both of them together, the young Captain’s Command was enough to be overwhelming.
Even those newer n, both Yorick and Blackthorn, wore the barest of smiles.
They were aware of where they were now – it was the depths of hell, where blood and fire were spilled aplenty.
The Patrick n pushed even harder, hearing their Captain’s call.
They began to approach that overwhelming unity, despite their individualism, that they had had for those three years before.
Bit by bit, Oliver moulded them towards that which he willed.
Soon enough, his will began to manifest.
He found his heaviest hitters by his side.
It was them that would have to clear the way forward, and push on despite so many obstacles in their way.
Blackthorn had co up just behind Verdant, and Jorah and Firyr were just to the left of her, with all the oldest n putting in as much work as they could.
“NOW IS THE TI TO LOOK AT THOSE PLUS AND TAKE THEM DOWN!” Oliver said, as he swung his sword in a swift downward slash, separating a blue-plud man’s head from his shoulders.
He held the head aloft for his n to see, illustrating the point.
Once more, a wave of Command rippled through them, and their forward pressure redoubled.
It wasn’t long before they reached the wall of n that had ford up to the left of the main arrowhead that Karstly was leaving.
Bit by bit, they cut them down.
There were a re four hundred of them, yet the pressure they were able to exert simply because of their positioning and their strength was overwhelming.
“I-it’s working, my Lord!” Karstly’s officer said.
Karstly had been fighting with the vaguest of awareness of his left-hand side.
He’d known that it was working already.
A kinder man would have sent n towards the left, to make the secondary arrowhead even bigger, to ensure that it worked even more strongly, but Karstly was an experienced enough General that he did not spare the kindness for that.
He knew that part of the reason the Patricks were having such a good deal of success was because of their number.
The enemy couldn’t afford to focus an equal amount of force on them, because they were so few compared to the main arrowhead.
That in turn allowed the main arrowhead to remain as strong as it otherwise would have been.
It was one of many contradictory holes that arose in the odd course of strategy.
“Your move,” Karstly said, angling his eyes towards the tower where that golden-plud man stood.
He raised his sword up in a challenge.
General Khan Narook ground his teeth.
It was a gesture of exasperation, not overwhelm.
The very fact that the puny army of Stormfront invaders thought that he was overwheld was the very thing that pushed him towards exasperation.
“You think sothing so simple can best strategies as old as these lands itself?” He said, his exotic words as pretty in his strange tongue as birdsong.
“You are bold, Stormfront General.
Bold, but uninford.
Yadish.
Send Inka and his n.
Cut this foolish secondary charge off at its head.” “Very well, Supre General,” the attendant Yadish replied, giving the golden-plud General a stiff bow from the top of his tower, before raising the first of many coloured flags, and he communicated the General’s intent to the rest of the n.
“Sothing’s stirring, my Lord,” Verdant comnted.
Both he and Oliver had felt it shifting.
An army was a body of n, and though a General might have thought he could keep his intentions hidden, by keeping his plans within the depths of his mind, and not even sharing them with his soldiers, those sa soldiers would be the sa little points that gave away those sa plans.
There was little a man could hide from the pieces that had known him so well.
The Verna back ranks were moving.
Oliver had seen nurous blue-plud n by now, but the others had kept their distance.
He didn’t know what the different colours ant exactly, but he assud the blues to be the lowest, and he knew the gold to be the highest.
So too, though, did he see purple and red, both of which had yet to engage him.
They gave orders with flourishes, waving their arms, and waving their flags, but they hadn’t charged within range yet.
Not until now.
“General, Sir,” his officer Samuel said again, “they’re moving.
A thousand strong by the looks of it.
The young General Patrick appears to be their target.” “The helt colour?” General Karstly asked.
“Red, by the look of it,” Samuel replied.
“Our equivalent of a Colonel, then…” General Karstly replied.
“They aren’t playing gas, it seems.” “Your orders, General?” Samuel said.
“Orders?” Karstly laughed.
“I have none.
Focus your eyes ahead, Samuel.
The Patricks have served their purpose already.” “Red, Verdant,” Oliver said, noticing the glorious plu of red horsehair that ran down the length of the man’s helt, and down onto his upper back.
He was a serious-looking man, and he was riding right towards them, with what looked to be a thousand n.
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