2- Brass Squire
"It's impossible to have a conversation with you!"
The Auriok captain told her silent companion, a Brass Squire Myr that had been in her service for the past month. It barely stood above her waist and though the Myr were designed to have a beak shaped head, the captain often remarked at how much like a Frogmite its face was. At times, the remark was met with agreeable replies from the other Auriok, but the Myr, however, would say nothing, and accept the comment.
The pair stood on the lookout platform of their outpost, staring at the black wave that slowly advanced across the Razorfield Plains towards them. The captain knew that they would not survive the coming Phyrexian scourge without aid, which most likely was not coming. But that didn't discourage her from attempting to calm her nerves by holding a conversation with the person next to her.
Unfortunately, the closest thing to a person that was next to her at this point was her Brass Squire servant, whom couldn't respond back. At least not in a language she would understand.
The Brass Squire had no real origin. It simply appeared outside the outpost one day. At first the Auriok dismissed the Myr entirely, believing it's eager helpfulness as a disconcerting ruse. The captain, however, realized the Myr's possible potential and had adopted it into the rooster. She had strapped a harness onto it which allowed it to carry multiple weapons, tools and equipment. It would then distribute them to whomever needed or requested them.
The Brass Squire learned it's place and duties quickly and a few times had proven invaluable to the survival of the outpost during several of the Phyrexian's earlier attempts to lay siege to the Auriok defenders. Though the captain was doubtful that this night would be one such case.
"You wouldn't care to know what I'm feeling, would you?"
She asked. The Brass Squire only stared up at her with those blank eyes, and offered no reply.
"No, I don't suppose you would."
She looked out upon the plains again, and saw the black Phyrexian tide approaching. She could see so many. Much more than she has ever seen in her life, though short it may be. She steeled herself away, hid her fear and ordered the Myr.
"See to it that everyone has a weapon! If they don't have one, make them hold three!"
The Myr quickly scurried down the ladder to accomplish its mission. But as it reached the bottom of the ladder, it heard the captain whisper:
"Creator. Be Merciful."
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