Imperial Year 1627, 47th Day of Fall
The Feast of Servon's Justice
The twenty-one men were the pride of their House. Not many Common Houses could afford to field such a fine unit. For that matter there were not many Common Houses that had members of the Warrior Caste among its members. Since the time of its founding House Dark Door has been know for providing the Empire with fine swordsmen. Proud warriors that could trace their family lines back to the Conquest and the Kingdom of Altha.
The twenty-one men stood ready on the hill. Once they had been fifty. The summer of campaigning on the North Coast had cost the band of warriors' lives but earned honor for both them and Dark Door. Today, at what was to be the final battle against humanities greatest foe they stood as General Cullough's bodyguard.
Fifty men who had been lead by the famed Captain Rodrigo, Hero of Kettle Ridge, were now just twenty lead by a sergeant. The standard red and green livery of the Empire had replaced the pale green silk surcoats originally issued with much pomp by the House leaders some months ago. The men were much like their uniforms now. Well worn, much patched, and no nonsense.
Sergeant Harmon stood at the forefront of his twenty men. That is how he thought of them now after a season of campaigning. His men. He had total confidence that they thought of him as their leader. That was one thing battle gave you, confidence. Or else it broke you. The man higher up the hill behind them with the plumes on his helm and the enameled breastplate was not their leader only their general. The captains, servants, messengers, and hangers-on were all depending on Harmon and his men to handle any of the Grimmer that broke though the main line.
The sun was rising well toward midmorning when the battle below the hill was joined. The Grimmer preferred to attack during the heat of the day. Their insect like bodies functioned better in the heat then the cool of night. With the Fall season's nights bringing the promise of the colder Winter the horde was becoming desperate. With their living ships destroyed in the first battle they had no recourse to win here in the lands of men or perish when the snows came.
Their army was more of a mob then a true army, a multitude of multi-armed nightmarish creatures unloaded from their living ships months ago. Most of the ones that can fly had been destroyed by the archers and wizards many battles ago. The animal like creatures that killed by instinct were mostly gone also. The Grimmer that were left were the smart ones and the big ones. The ones that stood and thought like men, and the ones as big as a house.
The Gods of the Arch willing, the Northern Army of the Empire would kill the invaders to the last horrible creature. This last battle and they could all go home. For Harmon and his men that meant back to the estate and families and friends. Families that would ask after the lost men. Memorials for the dead, widows to consol, and orphans to raise to take the place of their fathers on the battle front. Such had been the way of the Warrior caste for generations.