Disclaimer: Don't own and never will.

AN: Okay I've been replaying this game a lot recently and it's given me an infestation of plot bunnies

Varen Seawine looked ruefully at the weapon in his hand.

It wasn't a particularly bad weapon as per say. The blade was sharp and it was reasonably well balanced. It was just…not really the weapon of a mage. Not a staff or septre like he was supposed to be carrying!

No, he was going to war with a spear. The weapon of a brutish footslogger. Wearing heavy metal armour to protect him from Tuatha blades and magic. Magic he was supposed to be learning. Magic that, deep down he knew, he had failed at. Magic that he was no longer able to learn at the Scholia.

Oh he knew a few spells. Simple things that were easy to learn from books and the like. Nothing akin to the greater magical knowledge that was beyond him.

The ships approach the city of Mel Senshir, it's battered walls looming over them and he could feel the air growing tense. This was it. The battle for Mel Senshir awaited them. The breaking of the siege that had lasted for over ten years Everyone knew that it was going to be a tough battle. He could hear the man beside him saying prayers to the gods, desperately worried about the battle ahead.

Varen tried to swallow, but his mouth had suddenly grown dry. He wasn't even sure if he could say anything, much less pray. And it seemed almost pointless to do so anyway. The gods had more important, more useful people to protect than a mere failed mage who couldn't even handle the Scholia Arcana.

As they slowly made their way into the harbour, their sergeant began yelling orders.

"Form up!" his sergeant bellowed. "Shoulder arms and leave the ship in a two file march. Step towards the front, not the back! I will personally rip you a new one if any of you idiots march towards the rear!"

Valen allowed himself a small look towards the sea behind them. It was almost tempting. Just jump in and swim back to the city of Rathir and from there to Gohart. Or at least the Seafoam Tavern and his drinks. Back to safety, away from Tuatha blades and magic and arrows and whatever else was waiting for them in this battered city.

He would have drowned of course. In his armour, he would have been pulled under. And even if he wasn't immediately dragged under, he doubted that he could swim that far.

Still, it was a tempting idea.

There was a slight jolt as the ship came to a halt, dragging Varen out of his daydream. The soldiers stood up and shouldered their weapons. The rest of their kit would follow them later, or so they were told. (Or, if they failed to survive, not have to leave the ship at all, Varen found himself morbidly thinking to himself.)

"Forward march!" the Sergeant bellowed and they began to march forward. In front of them, he could hear the sounds of battle ahead of them. He tried to swallow again, but his mouth was still far too dry. Fumbling, he opened his water bottle and tried to take a drink, but his hands were shaking so badly that he struggled to connect his mouth to the top.

"Come on you miserable Hellspawn!" the Sergeant bellowed. "This war isn't going to fight itself you know!" He raised his blade. Who wants to sent some of these Tuatha bastards to meet their new god?"

There was a ragged cheer from the troops as they marched towards the gate. Other regiments were waiting there, assembled and ready to wage war. The tension in the air was even more palatable. Everyone was scared and with good reason. It was the biggest gamble of the war and they were all going to be a part of it. Would they save the city, or would they be doomed to a glorious and hopeless last stand? If they failed here, would Rathir be next? The rumours of someone who could break the binds of Fate itself and the supposed superweapon of General Tilera ap Gwydion was on everyone's mind. If it failed…well it didn't really matter what else they did. They'd all be dead anyway.

"Platoon, halt!" the Sergeant shouted and as one, they stopped. Varen could feel himself sweating nervously. Suddenly it felt incredibly hot in his armour. He was doomed, he was sure of it and his sister…his dear sister Alisen…what would become of her? An image of his sister, her short blond hair and blue eyes so full of hope. She didn't know anyone in Rathir…

Well it was too late to worry about that now.

He gripped his spear once more. It might not be his weapon of choice. He might have expected to be a great mage by now. He might have even thought that he was going to change magic for the better. But that was an irrelevance. He was in Mel Senshir, a part of something bigger, something more powerful, something…everything really. More important, more…he wasn't sure.

Behind him, he could hear more soldiers arriving, marching into place. More fodder for the war, just like himself. The gates almost leered at him, mocking him with what laid beyond their doors. Screaming Tuatha hoards, waiting to eagerly kill them. Monsters with humanoid forms, both strange and different.

The ground began to shake. The Tuatha were bringing up something big and powerful. He could hear it.

Behind him, he heard a woman, no girl really take a deep breath.

"Come on, you Tuatha monsters!" she yelled defiantly, shaking the tip of her spear at the gates. "Come on and face mortal steel! You'll not take this city as long as I draw breath!"

There was a small cheer from the ranks around her and the Sergeant glared at them.

"We appreciate the sentiment, Umdri, but I prefer that the other side do the dying!" the Sergeant shouted and there was some good natured laughter.

"Just eager to teach these bastards a lesson Sergeant!" Umdri shouted back and there were some amused chuckles from around them. Varen tried and failed to laugh with them. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. It managed to get lost somewhere on the way out of his throat.

"Order arms!" an officer shouted from the front and the men and women assembled moved their weapons into position, pointing them towards the gates and the enemy beyond.

The doors began to open. They were slow, unused to moving and it felt like an age had passed when they finally did. The Sergeant pointed his sword to the forward positions of the Tuatha army and gave the command that they had all been waiting for.

"Advance toward the enemy!" the Sergeant said and they marched towards the Tuatha hoards screaming ahead of them. Varen tried to swallow one more time, wishing that he had a glass of ale in his hand, sitting in the Seafoam tavern and not here. Still, here he was and whether he liked it or not, it was time to fight.