The rank-and-file were no doubt a motley bunch. With the recent abrupt shortage of war materials, new conscripts carried their own weapons. Examples were butcher knives, worn daggers tied to staves, barrel shields, pitchforks, sickles and pretty much anything that posed the remotest danger to anybody. There were woodsmen, hunters, farmhands, woodcarvers, scribes, and pretty much anybody else that was forcefully ripped out of a comfortable place in society, thrown a spear and shield, and told to kill the enemy - whatever they were. The expressions differed in ways from soldier to soldier. Some of the new scrubs who had barely seem any action stood straight, attempting to look like the heroes that they were told they would be. Some of the country boys who were perfectly comfortable with their past lives gripped their sodden pikes and staves so hard that their knuckles turned the same color as their faces. The older ones, the ones who had been in the army for nearly and even as long as Malcer, shared a solemn, sorrowful, melancholic state, looking at the jumpy younguns with a nostalgic air. Their were backs straight, their swords were shining, but they all had that same lethargic look in their eyes - they had one too many battles to fight. The 116th's captain was Randolf Horelphus - a rather young man in his early 30s, probably another lieutenant replacing his captain. He looked rather nervous, but he looked like he was eager to get the spot and carried a tone of authority among his men. After Bali spoke to them, the two conversed. Randolph spoke first.
"With all due respect, mister Greystorm, I think we should fight on the front lines. Some of my men think it would be a nice way to go. Also, rumor's out that some creatures, tree-men - some kind of devilish troll or another -  is assisting our commander. My boys would preferably like to fight with their own species."
"No, Randolph. Even if the middle is left unguarded, we need to assist the commander whatever happens. If he falls, our men will be even more demoralized. And as for the tree-men: I have a faint hint of what kind of creature they are. If they were not to be trusted, we'd all be dead by now. Now, I don't want to address our boys like this, but let's get to the point. We  need warm bodies holding pointy sticks charging at the enemy. Tree-men would probably fit the criteria, don't they?"
Randolph opened his mouth to speak, then shut it just as quickly. He had heard of Malcer's stubbornness and it probably wasn't a good time to deal with it. He issued an order to his lieutenant. The lieutenant got a mixed reply. Some of the conscripts clicked their feet and stood to attention like the good boys they were, some began trembling violently and puking, and some lifted a forlorn glove and mumbled halfhearted pledges of allegiance. Neither captain liked the mix of expressions. They would need at least some brotherhood among them.
Malcer saw a conscript comforting his brother who was leaning against a wall retching. Not exactly a warm and fuzzy moment, but it would have to do.
"Ten hut! Mooove out!"
The about forty-strong company jogged off towards Fenris' assumed location. Either way, the company had done a pretty good job dispatching of the Dark Creatures, so there was a lull in combat in their district. The company saw the weeping of soldiers over dead men, the furious decapacitation of dead Creatures, and the looting of corpses, friend or foe. Looting technically asked for a smart beating in the Firenian army, but nobody ever followed it and it ran rampant and unchecked among the conscripts. Malcer glared at a soldier who had his hands in the pockets of a dead Iavan crossbowman. The pitiful man looked up with frightened eyes at Malcer, and dragged his prize behind an alley.

"Reporting for duty, sir!" Randolph hollered. It was a smart move. It got all of the disheartened in check and brought them to their senses. "We will defend the flanks, sir! It would be an honor to die alongside you, s..." Randolph trailed off.