The woods near the path that the supply train will take is unnaturally quiet. Not even the blackbirds disturb the silence with its chirping. It is almost as if the very forest is holding its breath for the ambush.
Morgana brushes a stray hair from her eyes as she squats near the foliage, listening for the awaited sounds of the supply train. There is no breeze today, but it is noticeably cooler than the unexpectedly sweltering heat of July. They are halfway through August already- if this battle does not prove decisive, the coming winter months would provide an advantage for Albion over the Saxon troops, who admittedly could not be expected to possess the same resistance to the harsh winters.
Sometimes it is difficult for Morgana to understand why the Saxons would choose to invade Albion, of all places. With its rain and chill, this is no place for Saxons. Albion soil is said to be more fertile than the Germanic lands of the Saxons, but it cannot be too great an incentive. And had they truly wished to settle, they would have invaded two generations ago, when Albion had been thrown into turmoil following the withdrawal of Roman power from the island. Why now, after the new kingdoms risen from the chaos had had time to gain power and prepare?
Morgana can only suppose that it has something to do with the invasion of the Germanic lands by a tribe of barbarians, recently grown into power- the Gauls trading with Cornwall had called them Huns. Perhaps the Saxons considered the natives of Albion the lesser of the two evils, having chosen to face them rather than the barbarians. She knows little about these Huns- being southernmost in Albion allows Cornwall to receive more information regarding the outside world than the other nations, but at the end of the day they were an island and isolated from the continent.
In any case, whether the barbarians are as fearsome warriors as she makes them out to be is of no concern. The Saxons had chosen to attack Albion, and she was to fight them.
"Morgana, they'll be visible in less than fifteen minutes. Are your men in position?"
Merlin's voice suddenly emanates from the ring on her left ring finger, shaking her out of her reverie. Morgana nods to Keredic, sitting in wait with the men hidden on the other side of the path. "We're ready."
The Plains of Peredor is by nature devoid of resources to support an army, save shrubbery for horses and kindling. While the Albion forces could draw on the reserves at Glauchedon and further on at Camelot, the Saxons were forced to constantly cart supplies they had plundered across Cornwall to the battlefield. Merlin and the other magicians had tracked the supply train's weekly journey to plot the path it invariably took- it had been Morgana's job to plan the ambush.
In truth, it is a relief that Keredic has volunteered to assist her. Not because of Keredic, of course – if anything, the prince is just one more thing to worry about in the current circumstances – but because of the extra men sent along by Rodor with Keredic's participation. With Cornwall in the first line of fire, Father had seen fit to send only three hundred men to Glauchedon, keeping the rest to fight the incoming Saxons. With the casualties of the first battle, the ambush party barely numbers four hundred even counting the addition of the Nemeth troops.
Four hundred is hopefully more than enough to overpower the quarter of a thousand Saxons that regularly ferry the supply chain. It is rare for Morgana to ever be on the side with a numerical advantage. She intends to make full use of the opportunity.
Keredic waves to her and points at the path. There is a dust cloud rising in the far distance- it must be the pack mules and donkeys driving the wagons. As they lie in wait, the supply train slowly makes its way through the pass.
The soldiers tense when the head of the train passes by them, but Morgana shakes her head. Holding her breath, she counts the number of wagons and men- the Saxons are setting a leisurely pace, thankfully unaware of the danger hiding in the undergrowth. There are at least thirty men at the vanguard heading the train, but little in the way of protection once the actual supply train begins. One hundred and forty seven wagons. The sixth wagon passes by where Morgana is crouching as she finishes counting.
If she lets a handful more wagons pass before attacking, her forces should be able to take out the middle before the vanguard attacks. They are less than half a league from the Saxon camps- even if the Saxons did not notice the attack, the few survivors would soon have them straight on the ambush party's heels.
The ninth wagon passes. Morgana watches the unsuspecting wagon trudge past. Even if the Saxons don't send a force after she has taken the supplies, Morgana can easily call off the prepared battle by communicating with Arthur and be content with the acquisition of the Saxon's supplies. This strategy would be advantageous no matter the Saxon response.
Tenth wagon. Keredic throws a questioning look at her from the other side of the path, barely visible in the gaps between the wagons. Eleventh. It's time.
Morgana nods to Keredic. Count one, two, three, and the magical flare she sends up bursts through the foliage. The troops storm out of their hiding places, flooding the path. A cacophony of bird cry clutter the air as thousands of blackbirds alight from the treetops.
The Saxons handling the wagons are dragged down from their perches and slain. Screams and battle cries mingle in the once-silent forests. The vanguard marching at the front turn back in confusion, then rush to defend as they too are attacked by the ambush. The clash of steel on steel fills the air as the Saxons are slowly overwhelmed. Morgana does not need to involve herself in the midst of the melee this time- with such superior numbers, it is more important for her to direct than join the battle.
Arthur wants her to lure at least three thousand Saxons out of the camp. There is no way the Saxons would send that large of a force out if they knew only four hundred had been involved in the ambush. To give the appearance of a large force, Morgana had specifically requested a number of magicians skilled in mirage casting to be included in her troops. "Talwyn! Gwennol! Lowenek! Start it now!" she shouts to the head casters. The sorceress standing closest to her, Talwyn, nods assent as her eyes flash golden. The rest of the magicians, standing aside from the battle, follow suit.
Suddenly there are thousands of soldiers streaming into battle from the surrounding forest.
The pack mules mill around in confusion, straining against their reins as their drivers fall to their deaths. The mirages mill around, giving the appearance of strength and providing distraction for the real soldiers. The images aren't excellent; they more or less look the same with a few variations and the deception would be obvious if they weren't in the middle of battle, but it is enough to give an impression of vast numbers. Morgana shouts for her troops to move downward to capture the rest of the wagons. Keredic somehow finds his way to her side unscathed.
"We can't move the wagons until they start moving from the other end," he pants.
Morgana nods curtly. "There's a rear guard as well. You lead the half against the vanguard. Make sure a few of them escape, but not too soon."
"Okay," Keredic says, looking determined. "You'll be alright?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Why would I not be?" She turns to the soldiers not engaged in battle with the vanguard. "To me! Seize the wagons at the rear!"
Morgana has to step out of the way as a stray donkey kicks at her. She leads the soldiers through the pass, meeting the charge of the rear guard head-on. Then there's no more time for thought as she's immersed in the heady rush of battle.
The rear guard is engulfed by the rush of Cornwall and Nemeth soldiers. Morgana plunges a dirk into the joining of a neck and shoulder with her left hand, then pulls it out bloodstained to slit the throat of an oncoming Saxon. There's a knife coming at her head, and Morgana parries it with her sword before cutting deep into the arm. The rear guard is being decimated, and she gestures for some of her soldiers to seize the rest of the wagons.
Morgana beheads one last Saxon with a sweep of her arm, and soon enough there are no more Saxons left standing. She looks around; the battle is over on Keredic's end as well. There have been casualties amongst the Albion soldiers as well, but far less than would be expected. More than enough to carry out the bait mission. The sorceress Talwyn looks questioningly at her, and Morgana walks over.
"You can stop the mirage now," she tells the image-caster. The sorcerer near her, Lowenek, lets his eyes flash yellow before sighing in relief. He rubs his hands together before saluting her.
"Tho' Saxons never knew what hit 'em. They were quailing like little bunnies when they saw three thousand men swarming the trees, they were."
"You've done well," Morgana says to the group of image-casters. "Are any of you skilled in physical magic as well as illusions?"
It's a stretch, she knows. Illusions are a branch of mental magic, and requires a special gift and training that is differentiated from the generalized physical magic. Morgana had been lucky to get three image-casters for this mission, considering how rare they are. She could have done the mirage herself- it was the type of magic her own magic was better adapted to- but she would not have been fit for duty afterwards. Around one minute was her own limit, like the red dragon she'd produced during the drills, and any more would drain her too much. The image-casters were necessary, but it is unlikely they will be able to aid in more than that.
As expected, the three shake their heads. Morgana nods.
"Your work is done here. Return to camp and recuperate. You've been shown the way. Protect yourselves."
Talwyn grins. "They won't know we're even there. Fortune to you, your highness." The sorceress snaps her fingers and isn't there anymore. Gwennol and Lowenek follow suit. Their invisibility spells aren't as neat- the outlines still show- but it is near impossible to see them. Morgana is envious- invisibility is one of the highest levels of image-casting, and she would never be able to make a ring disappear, let alone a human being. Shaking those thoughts out of her head, she turns back to face the path.
Morgana surveys the bodies of the dead strewn throughout the pass. There's no way around it; they'll have to drive the wagons over the bodies, and Keredic certainly isn't going to order it done. It's alright-she's not going to be sleeping for a while anyways.
She stops a Nemeth soldier from dragging a Saxon corpse out of the way. "There's no time," she tells him. She raises her voice to reach the others. "You have five minutes to move your fallen comrades, then we head onwards. The bodies of the dead will be retrieved after the battle has been won."
The soldier looks sick. "So the Saxon bodies- we just-"he gestures to the wagons.
Morgana nods. "The wheels of the wagon are built for rough terrain. It is of little consequence."
Mutterings arise from some of the Nemeth soldiers after those callous words. It's a good thing most of the troops are Cornish- they're used to her brutality, and they don't complain as much. But the truth of the matter is that if they don't head off within the next five minutes, it is more than likely that the entire bait party would be slaughtered before they had even reached the pass. If they have to march over the corpses of the Saxons to achieve the objective, so be it.
Keredic is tinged slightly green as he approaches her. She expects him to protest, but he seems to be even more worried about the time than she is. "We need to get out of here soon," he begins.
Morgana watches a woman struggle to move a dead soldier out of the path by the armpits. The corpse has been stabbed straight through the chest and the abdomen is split open, and Morgana watches with strange fascination as one bloodstained boot slips off and lands in a puddle of blood and mud. He'd been a Cornwall soldier; she remembered him once tapping out a dance with those boots at a military banquet before the battle. He'd won a barrel of mead for that. Morgana doesn't know if he'd managed to drink all of it. It wouldn't do him any good now.
"Morgana?"
She shakes herself out of the reverie. "Two more minutes. We can give them that much."
Keredic hesitates before he opens his mouth to speak. "Did you mean it when you said we'd retrieve the bodies afterwards?"
Morgana glances at Keredic in disbelief before remembering that this was probably the first time he'd been in a full-out melee. She'd sent him back to the rear in the first battle, so he would not have seen much action then. And before that, he'd probably held the stronghold of Nemeth while Mithian and Rodor went adventuring. She laughs mirthlessly.
"It's a matter of course if we win. If we lose, we'll all be corpses littering the battlefield. There won't be anyone to pick up the bodies then." Keredic looks even greener. Morgana twists her lips up at him. "How was your taste of the kraken?" She's not interested in the answer, but Keredic answers anyways.
"There's….there's so much blood. So much pain. I don't even know- how can you deal with it?"
Morgana looks down. It's been two minutes, and she does not have the time to coddle him.
"No one ever comes out whole from war," she tells him, then raises her voice. "Prepare to set off!" she orders the troops. The soldiers reluctantly take their places, whether they be driving the wagons or guarding the front and back. Once everyone is in place, Morgana takes her place at the head. Nobody is mounted, so they would have to make haste to extend their lead as much as they could before the Saxons came in inevitable pursuit.
"Forward, double time!"
With her order, the seized supply train moves slowly forward. The wagon wheels make a chilling crunching sound as the spikes slowly dig into the bodies on the ground. Morgana doesn't have to look around to know that the soldiers are as unsettled by the noise as Keredic is beside her. The wooden wheels grow bloodier and bloodier as they trudge through the carnage. Morgana can practically see the morale dropping in her troops with each unbearable crunching sound, but she knows that at least the Cornwall troops can be trusted to continue. And the Nemeth soldiers don't seem to be untrained recruits either.
Finally the last wagon crushes past the last corpse and travels on the dirt path. Biting back a sigh of relief, Morgana turns to the troops.
"Our destination is an hour's hard marching from here. Over three thousand Saxons will be at our heels. The slightest straggling will get you all killed. Do you understand?"
The soldiers look grim, but they assent. Morgana nods. "Onwards."
The trek is harder than the one she had made with Arthur for scouting out the area. It feels like they aren't going faster enough, and Morgana tries to contain the anxiety that brims up from that thought. It is difficult to go faster with the wagons weighing them down. Ten minutes in, and a voice abruptly sounds from her ring. It's Odin.
"The Saxons are starting out for you. Looks like they're taking out a detachment of three thousand; I won't need to step in to cut off the pass until the battle has started."
The gruff voice cuts off. Morgana looks back at the path. There isn't yet any sign of pursuit, but this lead would not last. The paths are becoming more mountainous; the wagons are cumbersome deadweight over the roots. She urges the troops on.
The interception of the supply chain had taken place approximately twenty minutes' march from the Saxon camps. If they're lucky, the Saxons would be behind by a safe distance when they reached the mountain pass for Mithian's ambush. Morgana could only hope this is so.
The rest of Albion's troops would surround the remaining Saxon troops and pounce once the three thousand were a sufficient distance away from the camp. That meant at least thirty minutes more of luring the Saxons before the major battle could begin. Arthur should be informed.
Morgana taps the ring on her left hand while continuing the harsh march. "Arthur," she whispers to it.
There is a brief silence before she can feel the magic connection being established.
"Arthur?" she repeats.
"Morgana," Arthur's disembodied voice answers back. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Morgana rolls her eyes at the courtesy, knowing he can't see her. "Status report. We've successfully taken the supply train; the Saxons have just begun pursuit. At the moment we should have a thirty minutes' worth lead. Are the troops in place?"
Arthur's voice turns serious. "Escetia and Mercia has made their way around to the rear of the Saxon Camp without being noticed, which is a relief. Olaf and the Cantian troops had a nasty run-in with some scouts, but that's been taken care of. The front charge is ready as well."
"Good," Morgana replies. "I'm thinking that twenty minutes will be enough time for the Saxons to be lured far enough away. But attack at your discretion, your majesty."
"I will." There is a pause. "Were there severe casualties?"
"No." With that, Morgana taps the ring again to terminate contact. She hasn't had the time to examine the communications spell yet, and she doesn't know how it would handle multiple connections of private conversations. Morgana doesn't want to have accidentally blocked other essential communications to Arthur by monopolizing the ring connection.
Morgana takes a deep breath as she continues marching; it really is harsh terrain, and talking at the same time winds her more than she'd like to admit. She can see Keredic on the other side, looking even more tired. He's keeping up surprisingly well, considering.
The ring's magical connection crackles to life again. "Morgana?"
It's Arthur again. Morgana huffs a bit to catch her breath before answering. "What is it this time, Arthur?"
"You haven't been injured?" Arthur's voice is seemingly nonchalant, but she can hear the concern hiding underneath. Morgana would be touched if she wasn't hiking up a mountain right now for her life.
"No," she exhales harshly. "Is that all you wanted to ask? A bit busy here."
A pause. Morgana is halfway about to cut the connection when Arthur speaks again.
"Be safe."
She sighs. "I will. You be careful."
"Don't get hurt," Arthur says, and then finally cuts the connection. Morgana looks down at the ring for a bit, then curses as she nearly trips over a root.
Keredic makes his way over to her. "You recognize this place, right?"
"Yes," Morgana answers. She looks up at the rising incline. "There in the distance, that rock shaped like a crow? That's our halfway mark. We pass there and it's slightly better terrain all the way to the pass."
Keredic nods. "We'd better keep the troops moving, then."
They rush through the forest, but the wagons are making it harder to make a good pace. The wheels get caught on the tree roots, and the pack mules prove recalcitrant in the strangest of places. Morgana breathes a sigh of relief when they finally pass the crow-shaped rock.
"If we're lucky, we might even make good enough time to have to slow down for the Saxons at the pass," she remarks to Keredic beside her.
Keredic is frowning. "Do you hear that?"
Morgana quirks her head and tries to listen past the beating of the marching boots, the squeaking of the wagon wheels. "No."
"In the distance, behind us- you don't hear it? It's very faint, but-"
Morgana whirls and listens intently. Keredic's right- there is a faint noise behind them, a clamor with the shouting of what seems like a multitude. Morgana's eyes widen in realization.
"Saxons. They're still a distance back, but we've lost a sizeable amount of our lead."
"We're only halfway there," Keredic worries. "That we can hear them…"
"They're not too close yet. We'll probably be able to reach the pass before they catch up to us."
Keredic looks unconvinced, but nods. "Troops, on the double," he orders. Morgana raises an eyebrow, but does not comment.
They both keep an ear out for the faint sounds of pursuit as they hurry on towards the pass. The clamor slowly grows louder and louder- Morgana doesn't know how far sounds travel, but even an idiot can tell that their lead is being eaten up by their pursuers.
When the sounds grow loud enough for everyone to hear, Keredic frowns. "It's too slow going. We can't go any faster with the supplies we've taken…"
Morgana looks around at the soldiers struggling on. "Then we burn some."
"But we need those supplies."
"At this rate," Morgana snaps, "They'll never reach the High King. We transport as many as we can, and we burn the ones we can't. We'll still be carrying enough to lure the Saxons, and they won't be able to repossess the burnt ones."
Keredic looks hesitant, but Morgana cannot be bothered to care. "At ease!" she orders the troops.
The soldiers breathe heavily at the welcome break. Morgana pitches her voice to reach everybody.
"The Saxons are at our heels. We need to lighten our load if we want to reach the pass. I want the last thirty wagons to be pulled out of this trail into the woods. They will be destroyed, while the remaining wagons will be used to continue luring the Saxons. The rest of you, begin marching again. On the double."
She lowers her voice to talk to Keredic. "Lead them onwards," she tells him. "I'll catch up after I see the wagons destroyed."
Keredic nods, determined. He's a good enough commander, Morgana thinks. If only he could actually fight as well.
The prince leads the hundred or so remaining wagons onwards while the last thirty are led into the grassy foliage. Morgana directs them to be set up in a close pile with each other and the pack mules scattered away. A few of the soldiers take out skins of oil and wine from the wagons, while others who'd been leading the wagon shoo the mules out into the forest. After the soldiers pour the oil and wine onto the wagons and step back, Morgana brings down lighting on the clump of wagons and supplies.
The wheat catches fire from the lighting in one go. Tongues of flame lick down the trail of oil, blackening the wood and making it smoke. The soldiers continue pouring oil into the flames, until a veritable inferno is devouring the scatter of wagons.
The clamor of pursuit grow louder. Morgana gestures for the thirty or so soldiers with her to rejoin the main troops before turning back to the fire. The Saxons cannot be more than fifteen minutes away. The wagons are charred, but still recognizable. Morgana strikes it with lightning two more times, then forces the flames down and blasts the still smoldering mass away so they scatter in the woods. There is still a chance of the forest catching fire, but there is no more time. It's August anyways- the damp would be setting in soon.
It takes only ten minutes for her to sprint the distance to the main. At one point she could hear the Saxons dangerously close, but it is easy for one to outrun the measured marching of an army of three thousand. She is dismayed to catch up to Keredic so soon- it means that much less headway has been made.
Keredic looks relieved to see her. She gulps in air, trying to catch her breath.
"The going's gotten better," Keredic tells her. "Ten more minutes of marching and we should be there."
Morgana grimaces. "The Saxons are faster than we've expected." And we have to keep luring them for two and a half hours after we reach the pass, she thinks. She does not say it out loud; there is no point in bringing down morale.
They pick up the pace as the marching and bugles sound louder and louder behind them. If Morgana strains a little, she can make out individual voices in the clamor. Three thousand Saxons indeed; by the sound of it there's enough soldiers to outnumber their little troop many times over. This is good, she tells herself, because Arthur's probably started the main battle and with three thousand troops elsewhere the Saxons are outnumbered. This is good.
Except it's a little hard to think that when the three thousand are at her heels. Just as Morgana has rarely been on the side with superior numbers, she has never been outnumbered like this. Two more hours to lure them. She's not scared, she's not scared, she's not scared.
Oh, she's definitely scared. Morgana lets out a huff of breath as she hastens the pace of the march. That's okay, as long as she doesn't show it. Panicking is for children, and the four hundred in this troop is under her command. Morgana cannot afford to show fear.
Arthur. Arthur trusts her to successfully lure the Saxons into the ambush. She cannot let down that trust. This battle must be a victory for him to cement his position as High King. Her honor and Father's depend on this.
"We're here," breathes Keredic. Morgana glances up to see the imposing cliffs rising to two sides of the familiar narrow pass. They've arrived. Now comes the struggle. Morgana turns to the troops.
"The pass is narrow enough for only one wagon or four men to pass through at a time. Those with wagons will go through the pass first; march as fast as you can and do not stop no matter what happens, unless I give the signal. The vanguard and rear, we wait for all of the wagons to pass to cover the retreat. Remember that our objective is to lure the Saxons two hours into the pass."
At Morgana's signal, the wagons enter the pass. It feels excruciatingly slow; the wagons stretch out in a line and follow each other in one by one. Forty four, forty five, forty six. There should be only a hundred or so wagons; they're halfway there. The sounds of pursuit grow louder and louder; Morgana can see slight dust clouds from the forest. Sixty one, sixty two, sixty three.
Morgana fists her hands to stop them from trembling. As soon as everyone is in the pass they'll be in a more advantageous position. With the narrow pass bottlenecking the troops, there will only be four Saxons at a time to face. They just need to get into the pass before the Saxons arrive. If they're caught in the open like this, it would be a massacre and the Saxons would have enough time to return to the main battle to strike from the back of the Albion troops. She can't let that happen.
One hundred seven, one hundred eight, one hundred and nine- except the wagon isn't moving. Morgana strides over.
"What's wrong?"
The soldier leading the pack mule attached to the wagon struggles in vain to get it to move. The mule takes a step, but the wagon does not budge; the soldier looks up in consternation.
"The wheel's stuck," she tells her. Morgana turns slightly to listen for the clamor growing so loud it is now palpable. Eight wagons to go. She turns back to the soldier.
"Cut the mule loose."
The soldier nods hurriedly and pulls out a dagger to slice the ropes.
"Stand back," Morgana orders her. Keredic's hovering over her shoulder now.
"What's going on?"
"Wheel's stuck." Morgana mutters a curse before chanting the spell for blasting. Her eyes flash dark yellow.
The wagon explodes, and the debris ricochets off the entrance and out into the open. Morgana tilts her head at the next wagon in line.
"Get on with it."
The terrain of the pass itself is smooth; this should not happen once they entered. At least, she prays that nothing like this will happen in the pass; should a wagon break down in the middle of the pass, they'd be stuck with three thousand Saxons behind them and nowhere to go. Finally the last wagon passes.
Morgana gestures sharply for the soldiers of the vanguard to follow the wagons in. She has little time to breathe a sigh of relief before the first Saxons appear in the distant woods.
"Hurry," she hisses to Keredic, who tries his best to herd the rest of the troops in. They swarm into the pass, more a mob than rank and file. The three thousand of the Saxon troops appear in all their vastness, filling the forest. It looks like there are more soldiers than trees, slowly converging upon the pass.
The last of her troops enter the pass, and Keredic grabs her by the wrist.
"We need to go."
Morgana nods, brought back to reality. They turn and rush away into the pass at the tail of the retreating Albion troops.
Morgana looks back on more time. She can see nothing but Saxons past the narrow opening of the pass, a multitudinous wave swarming in pursuit.
A/N: Soooo I recently heard of something called the Bechdel Test. …I should probably pay more attention to making female characters talk. Sigh.
This is actually one half of a whole chapter; I thought it'd be better to get you what I have faster than spend another month on finishing it. I'm sorry about how long the wait was and how relatively short the chapter is compared to the wait and the other chapters. I kind of forgot about this fic, and when dear Kreuse reminded me, I had to reacquaint myself with the world. I'd forgotten all my settings for the war- how many soldiers are under each nation and so on and so forth. So I had to go and research all the details again.
For those of you interested, I usually use ancient Roman info because one, there's not exactly a lot of easily available data on logistics like how much Saxon/ancient Briton soldiers ate (necessary for calculating how much a weekly supply chain would have to carry, which I need for calculating the size of the supply chain and the number of people), and two, the ancient Romans are more or less contemporary and there is a lot of info on them. The research took extra long this time because Roman military logistics are either given huge books or a couple sentences, with not much in between. So I started reading one of the books, and then it was interesting, and then I kinda ended up researching Roman clothes instead. It took me a long time to actually get back to what I was supposed to be doing.
Aaaand basically I'm telling you all this in a poor attempt to excuse my extreme lateness of updates. Which I don't think is working. I'm SORRY! But if there are still people reading this story and wanting to know the exact figures and maps, please tell me in the comments and I'll add them at the end at the relevant chapters.
(By the way, I put the casualty rate of the first battle of Glauchedon at 30% each. There's a lot of controversy about casualty rates of ancient wars- apparently the reaaallly ancient ones were brutal, with rates that could go over 99.6% for the losers - Battle of Thermopylae yay - while in medieval times they could be as low as 7% for the victors.)
Thank you to all reviewers and people still reading this! :) Special thanks to Kreuse, Arya Tindomial, Bass Friday, and Your Favorite Oxymoron for their continuing support!
Please review! I'll be reminded to update faster :)
