[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/46225469/RP/Forsworn/Betrayer_p.png[/img][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/46225469/RP/Forsworn/captain_p.png[/img]
[h3]— The Great Dunes —[/h3][/center]

The Betrayer looked back from his position near the head of the unwieldy formation. His smaller, more nimble group had an easier time of things, neither fatigued by the constantly shifting terrain nor restricted in their movements by numbers. They had been marching ahead in a loose chevron, the dozen strong force was dwarfed by the armies around it.

He doubted that the rest of the alliance was pleased with the contribution from Morrins, a dozen men, barely a squads worth. The betrayer would have been happy if he'd had those that he had begun this ordeal with. Two hundred would be better than a mere twelve. Better again would be the three thousand that had fought with him all those years ago, before a man named Alexander Scariot had the hubris to presume to overthrow his lord.

The noise had caught his attention and the lightning pushed the champion into action. He held up a fist to signal a halt Swords slid from sheaths and pole arms swung to bear facing back the way they had come. He pointed towards a tall dune near where the fighting looked to now be breaking out. When he spoke his voice rasped as if the speaker was unused to using it. Regardless, it echoed with the familiarity of command.

"Regroup there. Cinder, ready a Flare. Stitches, Lance, Stout take point. Breaker and Cook on the flanks. Captain, get us cover. Move."

The small force broke into motion, shifting into formation with long practiced ease. Their feet churned the sand as the broke into a run towards the dune. Behind him a warm glow signified his mage drawing power for a brief moment before they were surrounded by a blackness deeper than that which had blotted out the sky.

Their formation crested the dune, giving them a view of the situation before them. Rain wetting the sand made their footing more certain as the leading rank faced the center of the melee below.

"Cinder Go. Captain, Drop the veil."

The mage in his black cloak and antiquated armor stuck his staff upright in the sand. A glowing nimbus surrounded his hand that he then threw up into the air. It blossomed into a sphere of fire that drifted lazily into the sky, illuminating the hilltop and sizzling as raindrops struck it. Either it would serve to rally allied forces to them or at least draw some of the enemy from below.

The latter happened first. A mass of the sand demons surged up the hill towards them and soon figures began to fall from the steady blasts of high speed pyromancy from Cinder. The small force formed a circle on the top of the dune, weapons going to work with deadly practice. The Forsworn held for now but soon numbers may begin to turn the tide. This desert was far too open for an effective defense.