The next morning the Myrmiese host had begun their march north, it was a few hours, just as the sun had begun to shine down fully upon the world below that the crimson shields came into view. Unlike the professional legionnaires of the Ociri republic they clearly aimed to emulate, the host was uncoordinated, their formation loose. However, that lack of professional soldiering did little to detract from the reality of the force congregating on the upon the open plains just beyond the rocky and uneven terrain.

Soon enough dozens of campfires sprouted upon the open ground, followed closely by the smells or roasting meat, and the laughter of hundreds of men. Opposite this fanfare, the people taking refuge in the hills were busy finalizing the defenses. A quick warm meal of bread and soup was all they received before getting to work.

The wagons were latched together in a tight circle in the center of the plateau, this is where the elderly, untrained women, and children were positioned. They took up posts within the center of the wagon train, safely behind the makeshift wooden walls they could safely thrust long wooden pikes toward any enemies who attempted to scale the wagons. Whatever few elite rangers remained in camp were placed upon the wagons, standing alongside them were the most skilled archers within the scout troops.

As for the skirmish infantry, remaining scout troops, and frontline fighters they were positioned along the path leading towards the plateau. The primary focus was on the defense of the central approach, the steepness of the western approach would deter and inhibit a treacherous climb. Especially as the enemy would likely come under missile fire, whether stone, javelin, or arrow. Whereas the eastern side was guarded by natural cliffs and river which flowed from the nearby mountains. This left the enemy with two possible approaches, breaching the center in an all-out assault, or starving out the hilltop defenders.

“Are you prepared for battle boy, those men down there have absolutely no concern for the well-being of anyone here. If we lose you and everyone else will end up as slaves, as for the women… well, I don’t believe I need to explain that to you. In either case I will need you and the former slaves to hold the line up here, Apollonius is aware of the plan, make sure to follow his lead. If our plan is successful the enemy shouldn’t even set one foot upon this plateau, let us hope everything works as intended.” Timeaus ruffled his nephew’s hair, placed a reassuring hand upon the young champion’s shoulder before setting out to meet his troops.

“This is a good position; we have a good visual over the approach. First of all, pay attention to the white stone markers along the path, keep in mind that distance. When and if the enemy crosses the third threshold, they will be approaching our position and into our range. That is what the javelins are for, we are to cover the retreat of our allies as they move to their new positions and deploy the final trap. Just follow my lead and we should be fine.” Apollonius was close to Spurius and Paulus in age, the brothers becoming good friends with him during their daily training. Like the others within the convoy, he did not put on airs, treating the former slaves no different from anyone else and placing much trust and responsibility within them.

“Thank you for your trust within us my friend. We are all thankful for this opportunity, to turn the blade upon our oppressors… we shall not fail in this duty. FOR HONOR! FOR BLOOD! FOR DUTY!” Viriato led the rest of the former slaves in their chant, as one they banged their shields, stomped their feet, and cried out for vengeance. This custom was considered common amongst the mountain tribes of Northern Demacia, particularly among those who venerated Cocydus the god of the hunt, war, and family. As if to further channel his patron god, Viriato had fashioned a cloak from the pelt of a large stag, which he draped over his shoulders and fastened to his armor.

Channeling his patron god Viriato wielded a bronze spear, and a thick wooden oval shield. His armor was made of padded linen, layered with animal hide. A superior bronze cuirass was made available for his use, but the man was adamant that he go into battle just as his satyr god demands, layered in dressed in animal skins and war paints. None of the others were overtly religious, spreading their belief between numerous members of the pantheon, quickly taking up the offer of superior equipment.

Just as the defenders had begun their final preparations and begun moving to predesignated positions the enemy force could be seen forming into ranks. Hundreds of closely interlocked crimson shields, a golden serpent’s eye decorating its front. From such a distance the formation appeared imposing, tight squares of experienced troops; whether they would be able to maintain such a thing under continuous missile fire would soon be tested.

“Are we sure these are Myrmien citizens and not Ociri mercenaries? The corrupt and lazy citizens of Myrmien are one thing, battle hardened mercenaries will roll right over our lines. We simply do not possess enough heavy infantry to blunt their charge.” One of the men worriedly stated his fears. Unlike the former slaves and career Temrenosian soldiers, the man was a former prisoner rescued from the bandit stronghold. A former merchant escort, possessing some combat experience, however his bad posture and wavering eyes spoke of a deep-seated fear of battle.

“A question for you sir… Do you have family or loved ones within the camp? Or is there anyone waiting for you to return home?” Apollonius never turned his attention from the sight of the army at the bottom of the hill. His voice was soft, not the harsh bark of an officer commanding his soldiers, it was clear that he was sincerely questioning the terrified soldier. “I… I do sir. My wife and daughter were traveling with the merchant caravan I was hired to guard. My wife… she… she… it is only my daughter and I now.” Terrified and on the verge of tears the man was barely able to keep hold of his spear.

Apollonius gave the man some time to calm down before continuing, “Then you have little choice but to fight. If those men down there succeed in taking this camp, the tragedy that happened to your wife will occur again. This time there may be those who have a taste for children, in which case your daughter may suffer the same fate. Only our spears and shields stand between them… Will you flee and leave your daughter at the mercy of such beasts?” it was at this moment that Apollonius shifted his focus, turning from the army below to the man within his ranks.

The man did not need to respond with words, his reply was clear within his stance. Anger and understanding had overtaken the fear, these men were representatives of those responsible for the very bandit attacks that robbed him of his wife. It was understood that there was nowhere to flee, however only now did the truth of such a reality hit home, not just for this one soldier, but for those in the surrounding as well.

As Apollonius turned his attention back to the enemy, the ranks at his rear solidified, wavering soldiers straightened their spines. Within the camp those within the wagon circle tightened their holds upon their weapons, eyes focused and waiting for the enemy to make their attempt.

A single exchange of words had completely changed the atmosphere, a stout silent resolve permeated the camp. There was no excitement, no joy, just a steel like resolve to survive. All knew that blood would flow, who would stand victorious at the end of the day would be up to the gods.