The day after Algan's death as Cirath and Jethorin took command of
the stationed forces, Deran and Jald launched their first attack upon the
Death Watch.
Jald kept his swords beasts in reserve, preferring to use the archers in the front for long range combat. None of the Calpathions could have expected the result.
Meras, was crouched behind a dune with his commanders, laconic gaze turning to the stoat next to him as his soft voice pierced the silence that had overcome the Death Watch soldiers. "Is everything in place, Cirath?"
Cirath took a glance at the sable nearby, lifting a paw covered by a black glove, wiping droplets of sweat clinging to his brow and waving it lightly to his sable counterpart.
Jethroin's turned his brown eyes to the stoat and nodded quickly. The corners of Cirath's mouth flicked upwards as he kicked a weasel's footpaw lightly. "Skintail.take a look up the hill and tell us what you find."
The weasel winced, a small jolt of pain coursing through his footpaw as he stood and broke into a quick job as he dashed to the top of the hill.
"See anything, weasel?" Meras's voice raised in volume as to reach the weasel's ears.
Skintail turned around, even at that distance, Meras could make out the desperation in the weasel's face. One footpaw rose into the air as the weasel attempted a run. He never got farther then that.
A piercing scream ripped through the calm afternoon and the carcass of a weasel tumbled down the hill, stopping at the base. A quick observation told the three commanders all they need, judging from the blue fletched arrow tail that lay broken from the mad roll, and the remainder of the shaft buried in the dead weasel's back.
A rise and fall of the shoulders confirmed Jethorin's apathy. Meras was another story. The ferret looked genuinely agitated, one silver fang dug into his lower lip, deep enough to show a single ruby droplet of blood, fists balled tightly, gray eyes wide, his chest rising and falling with breath. "You..."
"Sent him to his dead?" Cirath smiled plainly, the barest beginnings of a laugh dancing in his eyes. "He did his duty.now we're completely prepared."
"There.were other ways then giving up the lives of my soldiers, Cirath!" Rare anger showed upon Meras's features, his silver fur prickling up as one paw gripped the hilt of a sword."
A resounding crack of flesh striking flesh was heard as one ginger red paw struck a silver cheek, Meras's head snapped to one side, his features returning to their emotionless state, one paw pressing to the red imprint of Cirath's own paw that had been left upon his face
Cirath was grinning, eyes still dancing as he lowered the paw he had struck Meras with. "Calm the hell down, idiot." He replied, merriment fading from his features, replaced by a look of emotionless cruelty. "You and your soldiers are here to serve myself and Jethorin and we will not tolerate disobedience. I say fight, you fight.I tell you to die, you will die! That's the way a soldier lives. Expect a whipping for your disobedience when we're done with the Calpathions."
Meras bowed his head, the sound of grinding fangs was heard, then the rage drained from his body, paws unclenched and Meras replied in a voice tinged by grief. "Yes.sir."
Cirath grinned. "That's good, then.now, are my troops ready?"
Meras's gray eyes swept to a group of soldiers donning Death watch armor, another group sat by testing the weight of their weapons, dressed in the simple tunics of scouts. "They are, sir."
Cirath's grin widened, showing a mouthful of fangs. "Excellent.then we just have to wait.just remember the plan."
"The plan." Meras whispered. "But.what if they get to my beasts before your beasts get to them?"
Cirath turned with a swirl of a blue cloak and drew his curved blade. "Tell them to duck!"
Cirath shook his head as Meras's rage took over, he grinned at the stream of curses the ferret shot at his back, drawing more then a few stares from the soldiers used to his calm, almost gentle stature.wondering what could so enrage him to this point.
Cirath let out an audible display of his mirth, and walked to Jethorin, eager for the battle to soon begin.
Jald kept his swords beasts in reserve, preferring to use the archers in the front for long range combat. None of the Calpathions could have expected the result.
Meras, was crouched behind a dune with his commanders, laconic gaze turning to the stoat next to him as his soft voice pierced the silence that had overcome the Death Watch soldiers. "Is everything in place, Cirath?"
Cirath took a glance at the sable nearby, lifting a paw covered by a black glove, wiping droplets of sweat clinging to his brow and waving it lightly to his sable counterpart.
Jethroin's turned his brown eyes to the stoat and nodded quickly. The corners of Cirath's mouth flicked upwards as he kicked a weasel's footpaw lightly. "Skintail.take a look up the hill and tell us what you find."
The weasel winced, a small jolt of pain coursing through his footpaw as he stood and broke into a quick job as he dashed to the top of the hill.
"See anything, weasel?" Meras's voice raised in volume as to reach the weasel's ears.
Skintail turned around, even at that distance, Meras could make out the desperation in the weasel's face. One footpaw rose into the air as the weasel attempted a run. He never got farther then that.
A piercing scream ripped through the calm afternoon and the carcass of a weasel tumbled down the hill, stopping at the base. A quick observation told the three commanders all they need, judging from the blue fletched arrow tail that lay broken from the mad roll, and the remainder of the shaft buried in the dead weasel's back.
A rise and fall of the shoulders confirmed Jethorin's apathy. Meras was another story. The ferret looked genuinely agitated, one silver fang dug into his lower lip, deep enough to show a single ruby droplet of blood, fists balled tightly, gray eyes wide, his chest rising and falling with breath. "You..."
"Sent him to his dead?" Cirath smiled plainly, the barest beginnings of a laugh dancing in his eyes. "He did his duty.now we're completely prepared."
"There.were other ways then giving up the lives of my soldiers, Cirath!" Rare anger showed upon Meras's features, his silver fur prickling up as one paw gripped the hilt of a sword."
A resounding crack of flesh striking flesh was heard as one ginger red paw struck a silver cheek, Meras's head snapped to one side, his features returning to their emotionless state, one paw pressing to the red imprint of Cirath's own paw that had been left upon his face
Cirath was grinning, eyes still dancing as he lowered the paw he had struck Meras with. "Calm the hell down, idiot." He replied, merriment fading from his features, replaced by a look of emotionless cruelty. "You and your soldiers are here to serve myself and Jethorin and we will not tolerate disobedience. I say fight, you fight.I tell you to die, you will die! That's the way a soldier lives. Expect a whipping for your disobedience when we're done with the Calpathions."
Meras bowed his head, the sound of grinding fangs was heard, then the rage drained from his body, paws unclenched and Meras replied in a voice tinged by grief. "Yes.sir."
Cirath grinned. "That's good, then.now, are my troops ready?"
Meras's gray eyes swept to a group of soldiers donning Death watch armor, another group sat by testing the weight of their weapons, dressed in the simple tunics of scouts. "They are, sir."
Cirath's grin widened, showing a mouthful of fangs. "Excellent.then we just have to wait.just remember the plan."
"The plan." Meras whispered. "But.what if they get to my beasts before your beasts get to them?"
Cirath turned with a swirl of a blue cloak and drew his curved blade. "Tell them to duck!"
Cirath shook his head as Meras's rage took over, he grinned at the stream of curses the ferret shot at his back, drawing more then a few stares from the soldiers used to his calm, almost gentle stature.wondering what could so enrage him to this point.
Cirath let out an audible display of his mirth, and walked to Jethorin, eager for the battle to soon begin.