[center][h3][color=a187be]Amare Internellis[/color][/h3][/center]
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			It was an interesting spectacle for Amare as he watched his fellow brothers-in-arms prepare for the battle which was about to commence just a little less than a day from now, a battle some could consider an easy task though not without losses. Amare had known war for a while since taking the call of duty to defend the last bastion of mankind just fortnight ago, in his few encounters of taking on foes since his first days as a Men of the Scarlet Coats, a mercenary guild he had officially left another two years prior to taking the freelance and began his search for some since of individualism. Though that was only so short lived, many men who could say they are truly self-sufficient at such a young age were often the ones who either made history, or have wished they did. And so, it was back to jumping from one guild to the next for Amare, hoping for a chance of bottling the fame as those written down in history and told around the campfires of warriors who aspired to be the their idols as their names echoed in eternity. Amare was mostly self-made though it would take very laborious condition in order to bottle the fame and reek the fortune of eternal life in order to become truly one of the greatest at his occupation. Eagerly, Amare was destined to prove himself in battle as he so dreamt of. 

			[i]What a colorful group[/i] Amare thought to himself half optimistically as he walked around the camp of equally eager young men and women, standing to fend their country against a sea of troubles that threatens the last of mankind. Though the same thoughts could not be expressed in how the small band of warriors were unorganized. It one be one thing if the king had hired and called upon a reasonably experienced group of warriors who could substantiate the defense of mankind though these in general were no such warriors. They had been gathered of commoners, peasants mostly who hadn't the knowledge of anything more to battle than a fistfight over bread and that was not to necessarily be exaggerated. The empire needed as many men as they could, this was true, and the last of man could have easily levied men from villages, though they exhausted all resource of men in order to do so. All that could be what was left of mankind could be summed by the gathering of any warrior willing to fight his or her race. That was not to necessarily to say that it was a pathetic group of soldiers, it was certainly better than Levies of fresh recruits. They were also a handful of: Experienced guild members, trained knights of lesser born sons, mages, and even a priest who had kindly offered his services before a battle, though anything but coming close to being members of the King's Guard and Amare would rather pray to the Gods himself. Amare had sparred with the men who were quite experienced and rather skilled with the sword and he could himself say they were not terrible, though some were initially brought up of not knowing which side of the sword to hold onto. With time, however, it would definitely benefit mankind's last stance, but to send them into battle surly meant the ultimate test for those eager enough to prove themselves or die trying, jeopardizing a great defeat. Luckily, it was only a hundred men. A hundred men, though diverse in their skills - preparing themselves to fight what historians would consider 'the good fight'. 

		Those who so often pride themselves in whatever prowess they dare to try to express and convince to themselves or others of are very rarely often as good as they think they are and a country seeking not to depose of whatever warrior were left still alive to defend their lands could say it would be just to weed out such commoners and what many could call 'mediocre' in order to benefit the higher ranking, more experienced men though that could not be said for a nation that serves as the last bastion of mankind. Cannon fodder could only be considered [i]Cannon Fodder[/i] if only there were so many to spare and at this moment of time, a race of people on the edge of being conquered and possibly extinct could not afford to do so. No, the could-be [i]Last[/i] Empire of Man needed whomever they could take to arms and those convinced rightly so by propaganda could not resist the call of duty. Whatever lied ahead, whatever task that needed to be done, Amare was ready for it if it meant either death or another chance to climb the ladder of fortune. Only time would tell, and his experiences would certainly pave a way to redemption. 

		The camp was beginning to be swallowed by the departure of the setting sun and tranquil sun that began to set over the horizon and cast the shadow over the land. Throughout his two weeks of training in this guild after being placed by his recruiter, he had not bothered to know his fellow companions for too long despite the occasional sparring session which were far too often. This was something he regretted as he was usually a quiet fellow. Often, Amare would spend days shadow-fighting, training his muscles for hitting the perfect strike though very little spending time on how to attack and defend against a moving target. As the days passed, more and more often did the recruits come in, lesser trained and then some. 

		Tonight, he had spent another evening in solitude, praying to the Gods, and put his blade to whetstone to ready himself for the morrow morning which was surely to come. While coming back to his campfire after a break to relieve himself, Amare overheard the conversations of the Jehan de Challon, his squire, and the accompanying coutilier. He had already known the Challon family from his father, the Count, who had offered the Men of Scarlet Coats a percentage of coin that needed to be collected from peasants at a nearby village, though never quite meeting the fourth-born son of the family. Any man experienced enough to judge an army such as the one he was in, Jehan very much came to the same conclusions as Amare did. Amare himself had only one horse, Dustin who as almost as slow as a mule, a horse who he had spent only three months with since Attamir had fallen in battle to a band of raiders another month before. Though not as well as riding as a nobleman, Amare considered himself proficient enough to fight with a spear and while riding horseback, as lightly armored as he was though there was only so much boiled leather could take in the violence of a battle against orcs. If this fight were to be so destined for defeat, he could try to fight off as many orcs as he could and if needed be, retreat and run for his life to fight another day. Amare soon after, turned his back when he thought Jehan had noticed him and walked back towards his own tent, passing by the soldiers he will be standing next to in battle on the morrow. How many he would see again, he could not be certain, for Amare could only hope for the best, both for him and the band of warriors he was to stand side by side with.