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[b][h3]C A P   R E D A M E[/h3][/b]

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The fleet from Eskand materialized out of mist like breath or thought so that they did not arrive but simply appeared, god-driven. The maws of many-toothed ship heads loomed like mythical beasts reared back as to unleash torrents of flame, and the ropes holding closed the great furl of their sails snapped in a salt-tainted breeze.

Osanna’s mouth tasted of salt as well, dry with trepidation as four knights led by a man of Oraphe and one of the horsemen of the steppe rode back to join the main force at Cap Redame. Far ahead of her, in this shifting sea of creaking leather and rustling mail, they spoke to the soldiers, and their message was relayed back in a series of grunts and shouted orders. [i]Take up defensive positions. Prepare to harry the Eskandr.[/i]

At the Rezaindian Convent in Chiroux, Osanna had been taught the ways of fighting. She knew how to draw a bow, how to heft a spear, how to wield a mace, and of course, always, from the time when she had begun as a child in stolen secret moments at night, there was the sword.

None of this had prepared her for open battle. She was a creature of the night, of silence, shadows, and slit throats.

This— This was madness.

With an avalanche of hooves, the force at the Cap Redame thundered forward, magic hissing to life around her as practitioners drew on their schools. The longships were just an arrow’s throw away, separated from the Parrench defenders by a thin line of rock cliffs and a stretch of wind-torn water. Despite their higher ground, the ships seemed to loom over them, large and unearthly. 

Osanna drew back the string of the bow, timing her shot with the steps of her mare and the beating of her heart. It flew with dozens of other missiles, both magical and mundane, a barrage of steel and energy that must fell any opposing force. Osanna almost thought it would as the great ship positioned before them reeled in the water, slowing as fire bloomed over its deck, lighting along the mast like a torch for the Pentad. Osanna drew again, the arrow going wild as Shade tossed her mane, then drew again and struck true, just one among a clawed, roaring mass. Another ship careened away, and then a third.

If this was madness, then let her be mad. A wild, new exaltation filled her even as the first few drops of rain darkened Shade's gray hide. [color=000000][b]”Echeran empower me in this fight against the heathen Eskandr. Let them fall to bloody deaths amid salt and fire and their souls become an offering to the Bringer of War. Should I fall... In death, glory.”[/b][/color] Osanna shot another arrow, and then the reprisal came.

The first blast struck to Osanna’s right—lightning hot enough to singe her skin yards away. A shower of dirt and stone followed it, pelting her through her leathers and the thin opening in her helm. In the aftermath, her helmet rang with it, and no other sound managed to penetrate, the world falling to sudden, buzzing silence. 

Shade reared, and Osanna fell from the saddle into churned earth, boots and hooves coming down in a frenzied panic around her. The ground shook. Shade side-stepped and snapped Osanna’s borrowed bow in two. The heavens split again, heat like no fire she had ever known leaving great, spidering scorch marks across the land even as it toppled man and beast alike. 

All around her, the defense of Cap Redame was breaking, space opening up as knights and soldiers wheeled their horses around to flee. Osanna hauled herself to her feet, bruised but whole, and reached for her horse only to find the gray galloping back towards camp, Osanna’s saddle fallen haphazardly to the side as the girth tore partially open.

There was nothing else for it. Osanna ran.

Earth sprayed up behind her, the air miasmic with smoke and rain. The muscles of her belly stretched, her thighs reaching up in a full sprint. A passing warrior on a big, bay warhorse held out a hand and half-hefted Osanna up, her armor splattered with dirt and gore, and Osanna scrambled for a hold around her waist.

For several moments, there was nothing but the rhythm of horse hooves, Osanna bouncing against the rump without the benefit of a saddle. A dark braid fluttered beneath the rim of the knight’s helm, sending strands whipping across her face, and the crashes of rock and splintering wood continued behind them.

[B]“You up for more?”[/B] The woman’s voice was half torn from her lips by the wind, and Osanna just laughed in response. More of what? The bombardment?

They joined a party of fleeing defenders from the Cap as they came upon a stretch of beach to the north where a number of enemy boats were just nosing up to the sand. It was beginning to rain, a cleansing patter that soaked through Osanna’s leathers and obscured the thin stretch of land she could see through the slit in her helm. She tore it off her head and left it in the mud behind them; she would be able to see better without it.

The small group of defenders slowed to regroup. There were so many less than there had been, a ragtag assortment of lesser knights and soldiers. They weren’t the only such party that Osanna could see, but they were the closest to the beach—if beach was even the word for it any longer given the strange pools, trees, and protrusions now dotting the sand. Osanna braced herself against the lady knight’s shoulder and swung off the horse.

It was calm, just for a moment. Osanna had a breath to find herself, and she leaned back, letting the rain splatter across her face before drawing her sword.

[B]“Are you ready?”[/B]

Osanna grinned up at the knight and made the sign of Echeran with her sword hand, drawing her dagger with her left. [color=000000][b]“Find me after?”[/b][/color]

The knight just laughed, and then they were charging again, spilling out onto the sand like an inkblot over fresh paper. They hit the first Eskandr to jump off their boats in a tide of bodies, Osanna flicking between them, her sword leaping into the nooks offered by armor.

A big, fur-cloak warrior ran in with a longsword, attempting to cut her in two, bringing his blade down in a heavy-handed sweep. Osanna just side-stepped slightly, letting his weapon slide down the length of her raised sword even as she thrust her dagger through his throat. The next was more cautious, standing back with his blade raised in a guard. Osanna sheathed her dagger and gripped the edge of her sword in her left hand, shoving aside her opponent’s weapon and sliding the honed tip through his throat in one smooth motion. She took up a shield dropped by a fallen Parrench soldier and took the brunt of a heavy bash from another Eskandr, reaching around to hamstring his unguarded left leg. When he fell, she put her sword tip through his eye.

All around her was a chaos of blood-mad bodies, but this sort of battle made sense. It was a sword in her hand, a touch of Force in her veins. Dancing in the rain.