[center][h2][b]Baldric Durant[/b][/h2][/center]

“All right ye fucking cunts, gather ‘round,” Baldy called the men of his lance.  He sat on a stump waiting for the group to form up, there were only nine of them. “Where the fuck is Webster?” Baldy announced, then mumbled, “proly off rubbing the bell end agin.” Podrick Webster sauntered over to the group after a few minutes, “git yer arse over here ye wanker.” 

“Hold yer tether, Baldy, I was usin’ the netty,” Podrick spoke up.

Once the lance was assembled in front of the Northerner, he spoke in his usual subdued tone. “We’ve thrown our lot in wid that cunt, Howard of Northall. Ye kin espect us to be fightin in a fortnight. The Lieutenant wants us to work on building the defenses. Git yerselves spades and picks. We’re headin’ to the mines.”

“Bloody Hell,” Craig MacDonald mumbled as the group got up and headed to retrieve the pioneer tools. Along with several other lances, they would work on digging a trench and a series or redoubts along the perimeter they would defend from during the upcoming battle. Baldric gave the battle very little thought. He honestly hoped it would not happen. He worked quietly, digging into the rocky soil.