Subj:	 [ffml] [MW] Bloody
Date:	00-07-08 00:07:39 EDT
From:	skyhall@hotmail.com (Sky Hall)
Reply-to:	ffml@egroups.com
To:	ffml@egroups.com

  The brigade stood assembled. Chocobos looked about nervously, men fidgeted 
in their
armor, and gentle sounds of soft chatter and clinking filled the air.
  Tim sat astride his chocobo and looked about. His men stood in a battle 
line to the south of
Hiel Keep. Just behind the men was a strip of forest, which was the last 
wilderness before the
fields and farmlands that surrounded Hiel Keep. Before the men, fields 
stretched out a ways
to another strip of forest.
  In the time that Tim had taken the Hiel Keep, he had gone into a regime of 
training his men
to be better. He had upgraded his cavalry units to dragoons, his phalanx men 
to knights, and
his light infantry to expert swordsmen. The effectiveness of Tim’s whole 
command had
nearly doubled, though the size had stayed the same. Tim’s soldiers were 
more deadly, better
trained and equipped, and capable of so much more then before. Tim marveled 
at what he
had accomplished.
  Urging his chocobo several steps forward, he turned and faced his men. He 
surveyed the
faces which turned to look on him. All of his men looked at Tim with 
admiration, respect,
and even a love. And Tim held the same esteem to his men.
  “I know that when you first joined the army, as children you had dreams of 
being dragoons
and knights,” began Tim. “To wear bright armor, to ride a beautiful chocobo, 
to be master of
the battlefield and to be feared by all those who looked upon you. And now, 
here you are,
knights, dragoons, swordsmen, warriors.
  “I was a mercenary before I joined the Doman army. I fought for money, but 
I also traveled
and learned. I wanted to know what was out there in the world, to 
experience, to see. And I
did. But deep in my heart, in the faintest memories in my mind, I knew I 
wanted to be a great
leader of men. To be a general of an army and to command and to lead my 
troops into battle
and to achieve greatness. And now, here I am.
  “I stand before you and am a part of you. We are all realizing our dreams. 
We are what we
so desired, great men and warriors. We have seen the result of this before, 
how the enemy
quaked at our approach, how they were powerless before our onslaught. And 
now, we shall
do it again. We shall defeat the moogles with no mercy, without pity, and 
with no quarter.
We took Hiel Keep because I knew we could take it, and I knew we could hold 
it. And we
shall prove this today.
  “Be not afraid of what happens today. I need not tell you that, in fact. 
You have trained so
well, learned so much, that no fear should remain within you. What you have 
now is resolve.
Resolve to battle, resolve to fight, resolve to achieve victory.
  “Regardless of what the moogles may bring against us,” Tim was cut off by 
the sound of
splintering wood and a crash from the forest to the south, “you have 
prepared for it. They
may call upon the demons of hell, and we can simply throw water at them, use 
charms to
keep them at pay, and eventually destory them with metal weapons.” At this 
many men
chuckled.
  “So remember that. These moogles are mortal. They can die. There magiteks 
are piloted by
mortals, and the magiteks themselves are not invulnerable. In fact, Evan, 
come forward.”
  The lieutenant in charge of the knights came forward, carrying a very 
large bundle on his
shoulder. He grinned as he walked up to Tim and turned to face the assembled 
host.
  “I had the armor take the liberty of making me a special weapon for the 
magiteks,” said
Evan. He set the bundle on the ground and undid it’s wrappings. An awe of 
amazment went
through the crowd as they saw that it was a gigantic, bladed sword.
  Seven feet in lenth and with a broad blade, the sword looked almost 
ridiculous as Evan
rested it’s hilt on the ground and held it. The handle was long, and had a 
guard that
connected with the rest of the blade. Etched on the blade itself were the 
words “Arrogant
Bastard”.
  “I call this sword ‘Arrogant Bastard,’” said Evan as he heft the sword 
into his hands and
held it aloft. He managed the sword with some difficulty, but demonstrated 
he could wield it.
“The blade is not that sharp, but it’ll get the job done. Just keep me 
covered till I get close to
one of those machines so I can use this baby. I’m sure the moogles will be 
quite surprised
when they see this bastard go to work.”
  At that, several men cheered.
  Grinning, Evan rested the blade on his shoulder and carried it back to his 
position in the
battle line.
  Smiling, Tim spoke again.
  “You men will do well. Just remember the priorities and the plan. After 
the dragons and
avariel do their thing, take out the magiteks, and then worry about the 
moogles themselves.
The moogles cannot stand up to our might and fury. For we are Doma’s 
soldiers, Doma’s
warriors. None will stop us from reclaiming our fatherland!”
  At this all the soldiers cheered.
  Tim turned and faced the moogles.

  From out of the shadows of the forest, a line of moogles and magiteks 
emerged. Bearing
some banners and holding weapons, the assembled moogle host stood resilent 
in it’s white
fur and dark metals.
  Tim tried to count and thought that the moogle force was smaller then what 
he had been
expecting, but he paid it no heed. Raising his arm, he dropped it and the 
march began.
  The doman soldiers, knights in the center bearing large shields, dragoons 
and rangers on the
flanks, keeping pace, moved forward, their steps resounding through the air. 
The moogles
also began their approach.
  Tim let his line of men pass by him and then followed after. Though he 
wanted to actually
lead his men into battle, his place as commander was behind the lines and 
ready to give
orders, not in the heat of battle, and certainly not taking the first 
crossbolt to the chest.
  Running things over in his mind, Tim was certain that his seven hundred 
soldiers were
ready. They had been given enough training and variety in their training 
that the eventual
upgrade to their new classes was nothing new or unexpected. Indeed, many men 
seemed to
relish the idea of their new status.
  Tim watched as the moogle line moved ever closer. He hoped things went 
well.
(Soulfly “Eye for an Eye”)
  Over the trees to the east, a flight of dragons appeared. They formed a 
ragged line, but
followed a leader. Flying almost at tree top level, the dragons veered to 
align themselves
with the moogle battleline and quickly flew over it.
  In singles and in pairs, the moogles let out blasts of fire unto the 
unsuspecting moogle host.
The moogles had known the humans had dragons, but were unprepared for this 
tactic, since
they had not spotted any dragons for a while.
  A veritable wall of wire descended on the entire battleline of moogles. 
Many caught fire
and began flailing about, some were singed. Those not affected, were 
stunned. A few
magitek armors hit with a direct blast of dragon’s fire, exploded in firey 
balls.
  Tim watched one dragon fall from flying shrapnel of one blast.
  The dragons did not breathe that much fire, but did enough to drive panic 
and confusion
into the moogle ranks.
  At this point, the humans stopped advancing, and the avariel, waiting 
patiently behind the
human soldiers, took flight. Almost immediately, they began raining arrows 
upon the
moogles.
  Tim watched as the avariel’s magically enhanced arrows zipped through the 
air and strike
down moogles. The avariel continued to climb into the air and rain hell upon 
the enemy.
Moogles gave startled cries as they were struck dead.
  “Fuck..,” muttered Evan as he watched the show.
  The avariel mages began hurling every magic they could at the remaining 
magiteks.
Several were knocked over and a few exploded. Some had the nerve to unleash 
their
arsenals. A few avariel fell from lasers and crossbolts. After this, all the 
magiteks unleached
their weapons, firing ice shards, fireballs, and ball lightning at the human 
men.
  The wooden shields held up rather well, even to the ice shards and 
fireballs. However,
several men fell.
  Tim waited a moment till the avariel’s attack began to waver. He would 
then order the
avariel to halt, and his men charge. The victory would be sweet!
  The moogles would die!
  A movement caught Tim’s eye. He paused.
  From out of the forest, several figures emerged. They quickly took the 
shape of another
battleline, almost identical to the first.
  “Those damn moogles!” muttered Tim. “How’d they get so smart?”
  Tim turned and looked up, hopping to spot Nighthawk in the air, but was 
surprised to see
her on the ground, right behind him, watching the battle intently.
  “Captain Nighthawk!” barked Tim.
  “Sir,” responded the winged officer.
  “Tell your warriors to now concentrate their fire on the second wave, my 
men will finish off
the first,” said Tim. He quickly turned back to face forward.
  Nighthawk began issuing orders.
  “Alright men! We know what we have to do. Finish off the first wave and 
then get ready
for the second one.” Tim paused, swallowed, and screamed out, “Charge!”
  With a deafening roar, the Doman soldiers yelled their battlecries and 
rushed forward.
  The line of knights were paced by the mounted troops, who used their 
spears and lances to
impale the moogles on the flanks. The magitek’s continued to fire and rain 
hell on the
troops, but their training and discipline held true as they continued 
forward into the fray.
  The lead element of soldiers had their swords at the ready and quickly 
began taking down
moogles. Behind them, men advanced on the magiteks. The metal monsters began 
slowing
down their fire and some re-adjusted their angles to now fire at the humans 
that were among
their comrades.
  Tim watched as one corporeal followed the procedure that Tim had laid out.
  The corporeal, followed by his men, ran to a magitek armor and stopped 
right underneath
it. Several of his men kept the moogles at bay while the corporeal took a 
coil of cable from
out of his sachel. One soldier grabbed an end and tied it in a loose knot 
around one ankle
joint of the armor.
  The pilot of the armor could not aim so low and tried stepping side to 
side and moving back
and forth, but the soldiers kept in a tight group under the magitek. After 
the soldier had
finished a knot, the corporeal began running the line around the legs of the 
armour. As the
pilot continued to move about, trying to free himself from the human 
nuisances, the legs of
the armor became tangled and the cable began cynching tight. The corporeal 
completed a
few passes and then made another knot around the ankle with the end of the 
cable.
  The magitek armor, two legged and awkward, began fidgeting. While some men 
were tying
off the legs, a few soldiers were taking hatchets and axes to the underside 
and exposed areas
of the armor. Hydraulic fluid leaked out like blood from the metal monster. 
Soon, the
magitek fell over.
  Tim watched as all of the remaining magiteks in the first wave where taken 
care of. Even
the hatches were removed and the pilots killed where they sat.
  But before all of the first wave could be eliminated, the second wave of 
moogles charged
forward and overwhelmed the human soldiers.
  Where Tim had been just beyond the fray, watching his men, he was now 
among them.
  Pulling his sword, Tim joined the battle.
  Men and moogles were struggling everywhere. Moogleboars were roaring as 
they
bludgeoned armored men to death. The few magiteks still working were 
stomping about,
frying soldiers with fire.
  Evan held Arrogant Bastard at the ready and followed a group of men as 
they ran towards a
magitek. Dodging and blocking ice shards, the men reached the safety below 
the guns of the
armor.
  Using his moment and yelling for his men to clear out of the way, Evan 
raised Arrogant
Bastard and swung at the leg of the magitek. The thick blade cut into the 
metal joint of the
knee and shattered the covering there. The blade cut through and impacted on 
the joint itself,
denting it severly.
  The magitek was in mid-stride when Evan attacked, and almost immediately 
fell over from
the blow. The left leg could not move and thus it was trapped on the ground.
  “Alright!” yelled Evan, pleased at his new weapon.
  He raised it and swung down on the one of the projectile arms. With a loud 
thud, the arm
snapped off. Grinning, Evan looked for his next target.
  Spotting a magitek that was advancing on some men, Evan hefted his weighty 
blade and
charged.
  This magitek was smaller, barely eight feet tall. Using a dead moogle as a 
step, Evan
jumped into the air, swinging Arrogant Bastard down unto the canopy of the 
magitek. The
metal mesh which covered the pilot cracked and a gaping whole was left.
  Evan could see the pilot within stare at him in shock.
  As Evan landed, he pulled the sword free. The magitek wheeled about to 
face Evan, who
was right before him, and began backing up. Evan grinned and as he raised 
Arrogant
Bastard and cleaved the leg of the magitek right off. Falling over onto it’s 
side, the magitek
fidgeted on the ground, as if in spasms. Evan raised his sword and swung 
down on the
projectile arm, severing it off. He raised his sword again to strike at the 
engine block when a
crossbolt struck the blade.
  Arrogant Bastard flew from Evan’s hands and flipped, immediately landing 
itself in the
earth beside him. Evan, stunned momentarily, looked to see where the shot 
came from, and
spotted the magitek. It fired again and Evan barely dodged the bolt. He 
reached for Arrogant
Bastard and with some effort, pulled it free of the earth.
  Evan saw the mark where the bolt had struck, but was relieved to see that 
there was no
other damage. He turned and yelled at the magitek.
  “HA! Arrogant Bastard takes shit from no one!”
  With that, he charged towards the magitek, dodging a fire ball, and took 
down the metal
monster.

  The battle was finally over.
  As the sun set, Tim was kneeling beside a soldier, his hands covering a 
puncture wound.
Blood slowly seeped out of the bandage he was applying, and between his 
fingers.
  The soldier had passed out, his face was white.
  A healer ran up, his hands and uniform bloody. He took a look at the 
situation and casted a
spell on the leg wound.
  Tim removed his hands as he felt the heat from the spell working in the 
leg. He peeled off
the blood-soaked bandage, revealing an ugly looking mess of blood and flesh, 
and applied a
new bandage. The healer casted a second spell, this time directing it 
toward’s the body of the
soldier. When done, color began returning to the soldiers face, and he 
looked relaxed.
  Sighing, the healer thanked Tim, and pulled out some ingrediants for a 
poultice for the leg
wound.
  Tim stood up, and certainly felt weary. He looked about, and used his 
forearm to wipe his
brow.
  Jayel approached.
  “My lord,” spoke the captain.
  “Jayel, report,” replied Tim.
  “Not too good, sir,” said the man. He was uninjured, but his armor was 
smeared with
blood, and he had a haggard look in his eyes. “By my count, we have 
forty-something dead,
and eighty or so wounded.”
  Tim nodded solemnly. “That is too big of a loss. We lost some good men 
today.”
  “And Evan is injured,” added Jayel.
  Tim swore. “How?”
  “We found him beside a magitek armor that had exploded. Guess he got 
carried away with
his Arrogant Bastard.”
  Tim smiled, relief finally hitting him. “Aye, he must have. I hope he 
pulls through.” Tim
paused thinking. “Look over things here. Since the avariel have good night 
vision, let them
hunt down those moogles that escaped. Take those dragons that are available 
and have them
patrol the countryside. Let’s try to get the wounded out of here as soon as 
possible. I’m
going back to the keep to write a letter to General Wang about what happened 
here, and
demand some reinforcements.”
  “Very well, sir.” Jayel saluted. Tim returned it and started walking back.
  A few minutes later, he spotted his chocobo. “Fluffy! I thought I lost 
you.” Tim checked his
mount, stroking her neck and seeing that she was un-injured. “Poor thing. 
Sorry about that.
Let’s go back to the stables, yeah?”
  Tim began leading his chocobo back, and spotted two men. One was rather 
small and
trying to help his bigger friend, who was limping, back. Tim instructed the 
larger man to ride
Fluffy, while Tim himself picked up and carried the smaller man on his back.
  Before entering the forest, Tim looked back at the battlefield.
  “What a bloody mess.”


--Sky


Subj:	 [ffml] [MW] Bloody (part 2)
Date:	00-07-08 23:37:35 EDT
From:	larathia@mcs.net (Larathia)
Reply-to:	ffml@egroups.com
To:	ffml@egroups.com

(These events are concurrent to the events in Bloody, so I kept the story
title.)

Nighthawk surveyed her flights, each group standing proudly. 299 soldiers,
eyes gleaming with battle-lust, stared back at her. She enacted the small
enchantment that would let each soldier hear her voice clearly.

"Our moment of testing has come!" she cried. "Today we face, not
stragglers, but a unified host of the demonic creatures that would threaten
our world!"

She began flying along the battle-line.

"When I called, back in Variel, for soldiers, you - the bravest of the
brave - answered my call. I repeat now what I told you then - *we are the
dead*! We are dead to our loved ones! We are dead to our king! We are dead
to our nation! And for our lives, we must exact the highest possible price
- the safety of our people!"

As she spoke, the avariel began beating their wings, in unison. It sounded
like the coming of a powerful storm.

"For our lives, the moogle host must pay highly. I have watched your
practice, and I have watched your training. The moogles may have hides as
tough as steel - we shall shoot out their eyes! They may have machines
stronger than the strongest golem - still we shall prevail! Not a single
moogle shall threaten the highlands we call home - be that home here or
anywhere in the multiverse!"

The avariel gave voice to a high, keening cry, as though hundreds of
falcons swooped upon an army of rabbits.

"Go forth, my people! Exact your price from the moogle's hides!"

And the flights took to the air, rising to form ranks behind the great
dragons. Nighthawk watched them go, 29 flights of warriors tested in
centuries of battle, who had decided they had nothing left to lose. Nine
avariel remained behind with her; the flight from which the first avariel
had fallen. She had special plans for them. When she turned to face them,
each one saluted and bowed, to signal their readiness.

"To you, I give a special assignment. You have seen the human leader, Tim.
He is a capable warrior, as you have seen. But he is become a hero, a god,
to his people - we cannot afford any harm to befall him. Even the greatest
warrior cannot watch his own back, and that is where you come in. Do not -
I repeat - do *not* fight his battles for him. He is no baby to be guarded
so, and to smother him with protection would be to imply he is weak - and
we cannot afford that his army lose even the smallest degree of faith in
him. You nine shall avenge Ashiant's death by preserving this one's life.
Watch carefully - strike only when you know that Lord Tim does not see the
blade coming towards his back. I am quite sure he can take care of
everything else himself. This host is substantial; it can only be that the
moogles wish to tarnish his record of victories, and steal the heart from
the human army. Deny them that victory. Go." As one, the reduced flight
saluted, and took to the air. 

Nighthawk herself flew higher than the dragons, higher than her
flights...to the 'observation position' near a mile above the ground. From
here, with her bow, she could rain death without risk to herself. The bows
of her people did not have a range that would allow all of them to fight
with so little risk to themselves, but Nighthawk had for many years been
the inheritor of Taulmaril the Heartseeker, a silver bow that had been
wielded to good effect by many archers on the world of its creation. It
could fire magical silver arrows that would fly through steel and stone,
and its range so far appeared to be unlimited. She scanned the forest line
for the moogle army - and realized it was half the size reported. She had
faith in her people's scouting skills, so the other half had to be around
somewhere, possibly still in the trees. She scanned the line of the human
host - and noticed Tim also took a defensive position to the rear. Good,
she thought to herself. This one knows what his life is worth.

The moogles advanced, and she watched the dragons skim low and rain fiery
breath down upon them. The dragons of this world were considerably weaker
than the ones back on Seromath, she noted, with fires that did not extend
so far, nor burn so hot, as the dragons she knew. Still, it was more than
enough to cause the moogles to be confused in their movements. She took
advantage of that confusion to fire into the host, smiling grimly at the
flashes that could only be moogle bodies exploding from the arrows' strike.
Seeing her strikes, her people flew into action, raining death upon the
moogle army. One dragon had fallen...not good, but in his fall she saw
moogles crushed.

Her chest swelled with pride and even a kind of love, as she saw her people
unleash the full force of their anger. Her thirty mages called as strongly
as they could upon their magic, destroying moogle and magitek alike in
walls and fists and blades of wind. When the strain of their calling caused
them to fly lower, though, fully ten of them were shot down. They aimed for
centers of moogle groups, bursting into flame as they called the final
spell that would turn them - briefly - into a living fireball. As the
others saw their fiery descent, the avariel pulled up a bit, into more
defensive postures.

That was when she saw the other half of the moogle host, coming through the
trees. Immediately she flew down towards Tim; the attack must not be a
surprise. He turned to look for her just as she landed behind him.

“Captain Nighthawk!”, he barked.
“Sir,”  she responded, not taking offense at his tone. It was quite evident
he had not needed her warning.
“Tell your warriors to now concentrate their fire on the second wave, my
men will finish off the first,” said Tim. He quickly turned back to face
forward.
Nighthawk lifted off again, using her magic to communicate with the flights
since there was no time to call a conference of flight-captains. With a
free hand on the second host, her people would have much less trouble.
Immediately, she saw the flights pull out of the battle completely, and
race towards the second army. "Concentrate on the magiteks," she ordered.
"The humans can handle the moogles if we can take out those beasts! Aim for
the flamethrowers!"

Immediately, the avariel assumed a special formation. None of them had seen
magitek before this battle, so it had been quite difficult to train them to
respond in what would be the proper direction. Now that they had seen the
armors, and what they could do, understanding was immediate. The flights
worked in pairs; ten would fly over a magitek in a swarm, attempting to
distract the operator. Another ten would then fly in low, and fire arrows
at the barrel of the flamethrower. If an arrow went down the barrel, both
flights would break off and attack another - leaving the magitek to blow
itself up the next time it tried to fire. Avariel arrowheads, like avariel
weapons, were made of tempered glass. Nighthawk knew that lasers would melt
glass on contact - but that glass would refract and reflect laser beams to
a certain extent, causing the beam to go awry and destroy the armor. Still,
the tactic was not without risk - and by the time the magiteks were nearly
all destroyed, fifty more of her people had fallen to their beams. She
herself could take out magitek without risk, firing Taulmaril's arrows
through the cockpits of the armors and killing the operators. The rest of
the moogle host descended on the humans, but so far as she could tell, the
humans were able to handle it.

Nighthawk was on the ground, surveying the carnage of the battle's
aftermath, when the messenger arrived with orders to 'patrol the
countryside for stragglers'. It added that she should use the dragons also.
Crumpling the message and nodding the the messenger, she launched herself
skyward again. Her people were hovering in formation, waiting.

"We have done well, my people," she said softly. The enchantment allowing
her to communicate with them easily remained. "But the work is not yet
through. Grievous though our losses are, with sixty of our people fallen,
the humans lost more. They ask that we hunt the stragglers of the moogle
army, so that none arise again to threaten us."

One of the flight captains responded, saying "How shall we uncover the ones
who hide in the trees?"

"We cannot. We must accept that after this, the moogles will know of us.
But the trees are not a perfect cover. Those of you who are still able,
patrol this night and kill any moogle or moogleboar you find. The rest of
you, report to the healers - and healers are NOT to volunteer for patrol.
We, and the humans, require your ministrations. Dragons will patrol the
fields, where their movement-sensing eyes will have a better shot at
spotting fleeing moogles."

She noted that only forty of her remaining soldiers felt well enough to
hunt stragglers. Near to two hundred - with the sixty healers among them -
headed back for the Keep. She watched the scouters fly, wingtip to wingtip,
just enough above the treeline to keep them out of moogle bow and crossbow
range. Occasionally, she would see arrows descend. Moogles would survive to
tell Turan of their defeat and how it was accomplished - but she would lay
bets not more than a dozen would live long enough to do so.

Deep in the night, Nighthawk stood on a ledge some distance from the Keep.
Here, she was out of earshot of the humans and her own people's keen ears,
and her perch was near-impossible to reach from the ground, so she feared
no moogles. She relaxed that part of herself that had been steeled
throughout the battle, and keened her grief and pain to the skies. Sixty
times today, during the battle, her people had died, and each death had its
price; a soul-wrenching pain as the sprit-bond she had forged between
herself and her soldiers was broken. The bond gave her people courage, for
it allowed them to *know*, instinctively, where she was and that she lived.
This was its price, that she suffer each one's death as if it were her own.
She had blocked that pain during the battle, knowing she could not afford
to show weakness to the enemy. Now, with the battle over, the pain washed
over her in waves, and her voice cried out at a pitch at the limit of
humans' hearing. Sixty burning deaths, fire engulfing the whole body, the
most terrifying death her people could know. And she had sent them to it.
That grief added to all the rest would have broken most commanders;
Nighthawk had lived with this for a millenia.

The whole night after the battle, whenever Nighthawk was asked for by
anyone, her people merely said she was not available and turned away.

The whole night after the battle, those few moogles who escaped the carnage
ran with a high pitched keening echoing in their ears, as if someone
somewhere mourned for the death of a whole world. 

--------------------------
Larathia
Some Sort Of Witch, Maybe
Lurker Extraordinare
---------------------------