11:02 PM

The day would be quite pleasant and peaceful were it not for the loud music playing and the roar of drunken beasts from inside the fort of the Corsair Confederation. Only a few guards patrol the wooden palisade, probably wishing they were down amidst the merriment. One guard mutters something to the other, who nods. They both climb off the palisade. "Hey! Wait a minute!" a sergeant shouts, then shakes his head and moves down too. There are only about forty guards spanned over the entire wallspace, and some are leaving inconspicuously.

Meanwhile, the relatively quiet force of the Long Patrol marches towards the fort, hidden as much as possible by the surrounding forestry. The catapults - which are somewhat more of a challenge to hide - are covered in branches and the like to help with camouflage, as are a couple of wagons, full of arrows. Every now and then, an officer can be heard amongst the ranks shout-whispering orders, but other than that, they are silent.

Suddenly, a guard points and shouts. "Look there!" all the other guards turn and look where he is pointing. "They've broken the rum out! I'm finished here, man!" About twenty of the guards move off the walls. "Have you no sense of duty?!" shouts a sergeant, before going off after them. Nineteen soldiers left.

Jarril moves along without saying a word, something that he hasn't done much since his last battle.  Moving through the undergrowth without so much of a sound.  Now and again he stops and looks about with one eye and continues on as the rest catch up to him, wanting to stay right up in front.

Taron moves closely along digging through his bag slowly, not too far away from Jarril, he pulls out a small flask from his bag and takes a sip, running up to his major, nodding holding the flask, out to him. slinging his bag back onto his shoulder.

Alone and staggering just a bit, a corsair wanders up to the top of the wall, furtively sipping from a purloined bottle. He hiccups slightly and grins, a red sheen apparent on his face from those near him, luckily for the corsair none of the other guards notice his sneakily stolen alcohol and he continues on his way. Suddenly stopping he peers out into the forest, "The treesh....the...the treesh are moving" he mutters quietly to himself, incredulous and not quite believing he's drunk that much. Turning on the spot he looks the other way, trying to see if everthing else is moving when it shouldn't be. Unfortunately for the corsair this is far too much for his already wonky sense of balance.....

One of the guards points at a bird flying over the woods. "Heh. Think I can hit that?" he asks, pointing at the bird with his bow. The other guard shakes his head. "I bet I can," the guard with the bow says. "Betcha five coppers you cain't," says the other. "Deal." Says the first. Stringing his bow, the guard nocks an arrow and fires. The arrow streaks past the bird and sinks down towards the forest the Long Patrollers are in....

Jarril takes the bottle with a nod and whispers back.  "Thanks."  Stopping again with one paw resting on the trunk of a tree, he takes a sip and hands back the bottle and moves onwards, ducking underneath a low branch and hopping up onto a overground root before jumping down on the other side.

Taron takes the flask back and nods with a smirk taking a some what longer sip before sliding his bag down his shoulder, depositing the flask, and again shouldering his bag. "yer welcome sar." he says equally quiet, following the same path his major takes.

For her own part, Colonel Zoe is marching along at a steady pace, alongside the catapults as they are slowly drug forward. However, ever the lucky one, the arrow-meant-for-the-bird lands with a thunk in the earth directly in front of her. "What in the..." Zoe peers up through the trees and towards the wall-top, but when no more are let fly, she simply shrugs and steps over it. "Righ', then... A'right, fightahs. We're goin' t' want t' drag everythin' up t' the edge o' the clearin'.. Element o' surprise as long as possible, doncha know? Sounds like they're havin' a party o' some sort, so all's in our favah.. Let's go!" And, they go, three catapults being drug forward and at least half a dozen wagons, and soon enough all supplies are in place at the edge of the clearing. Then: "A'right, ye lot! Load the catapults 'n' push 'em forard and int' position!"

The guard with the bow mumbles a curse. "Hah!" says the other one. "Gimme five coppers. Y' missed." He says with a snicker. The other guard looks infuriated. "Dammit! I'll shoot it this time!" The other guard smirks. "And if I miss that's ten coppers for you," the guard with the bow says sulkily. The other nods. The guard nocks another arrow and shoots. It flies off into the woods.

Jarril stops and stays behind some foilage and parts the leaves only slightly to look out.  With a frown, the major backs away slightly and takes his longbow from his shoulder.  Moving a paw through the soft smooth wood, he smiles.  "Lets see how many of them you take today, wot."  Looking back to where the others were approaching he gives a nod to the first arriving hares.

Excited, enthusiastic, basically thrilled to be alive is poor little Timmy, one of the Longpatrols newest recruits. True he had lied about his age in order to join up and true he had a limp from when he was young that he was doing his best not to show but pride lept off his face, Timmy almost glowed with the stuff. He stepped around a tree, beaming from ear to ear, watching the sky rather than where he was walking, not really even seeming to understand what was about to happen. He looks puzzled as a high pitched humming sound is heard, a black streak in the sky, heading towards his h...

Taron smirks "Time to pay em back fer all the trouble they be givin us sar." The healer looks back as well and pulls his bow off his shoulder, stretching the bow string to the ends and pulling an arrow out, as he comes up behind the Major.

Rahier marches along somewhere in the ranks, looking quite laden. Not eager to repeat the infirmary stay of the last battle, the healer has apparently raided the armory with gusto. He's hastily donned one or two of those thin chainmail jerkins, and a steel helmet that's a few sizes too big, judging by how he's constantly adjusting it. Also included is usual the sword at his waist, and doctoral bag. But we're not making noise! Clinkclinktrudgethump.

Jarril nods his head at Taron.  "Aye, that we are."  Looking down at his own bow before peeking out from behind the bush again.  "And if there is a arrow for their bally leader, then so be it.  If not, then I don't care as long as someone takes him out, wot.  I just stick to killing whoever is in range of my arrows.  But yer right true enough.  It is about bally time they got what was coming ter them."

"TIMMMMMY!!!"

Little Lily, Timmy's childhood friend, stares in horror. "Timmmy!!" she shrieks again.

"Well, you owe me ten cop..." The guard stops talking as the scream of 'Timmy' echoes about. "Well, I'll be damned! I hit something!" the guard with a bow says ecstatically. The other guard, however (perhaps the more sober?) reaches into his tunic and produces a horn. Wiping off the mouthhole and murmuring "Ewww... How did -that- get there?", the guard blows it repeatedly. "Yow! What are you, crazy! Lay off!" The guard with a bow shouts, accidentally knocking his comrade off the wall.

"YEEEEEEEK---" Squish.

Infamous Old Bob, who knew everyones name as well as their fathers and their grandfathers mutterers sadly about Timmy and how much he reminded him of Timmy's uncle Ebenezer. He jumps forwards, rather quickly for a hare who's only one week away from retirement, and clamps a gnarled paw over Lily's mouth. "Damned it gal, yer'll get us all killed" he whispers harshly. However, the ever hysterical Lily flails madly, knocking Bob backwards, tripping over a root as he goes. THUD! Bob's body slowly slumps to the ground, a dark, thick trickle of blood oozing down from where he hit the tree...

Jarril curses under his breath and latches a arrow to his bow.  "Great, wonderful, some never caught onto the word of be silent.  Ah well, they know we're here now."  The major awaits any orders from the colonels, not wanting to make any movement until he does.

Ahh, the seriousness *cough-hack* of battle. Slowly and quietly, the archers line up just at the edge of the clearing - well, that is, until 'Timmy's' scream and the cry of the horn. At which point all heads turn with whip-like precision to Jarril, awaiting his order. And, at the sound of the horn, Zoe signals to the catapults, and.. the loaded boulders are let fly, hurtling towards the walls of the Corsair Fort.

"Whuzzat?" Rahier questions of his surroundings at the series of rather loud lamentations, one paw holding his helmet in place as he looks to the perforated Timmy, and the collapsed Bob. Oh, boy. The healer makes for the tragicomic duo, hefting his back o' stuffs. Kneeling next to the bleeding Bob. ;p Another headtilt, to watch the boulders fly. Woohoo!

The guard leans over the wall, staring down at the corpse of the other person, then snickers. "My coppers my coppers my cop--" the boulders hit the top of the palisade with a loud BOOM. The wood splinters, knocked clear off in most places; the palisade is still, however, taller than lots of beasts standing on eachother's heads. And the poor guard with the bow, whose name, incidentally, is Kenny, stands all alone on one of the uninjured spots. His eyes are wide and he looks like he just wet his pants. Then, he jumps up and screams, "ATTACK! MAN THE WALLS!" before he falls off in a faint and hits the ground with a splat. Sober guards rush to the walls, drunken guards waddle, and slightly tipsy Saltar screams expletives.

Taron sighs, taking his arrow and setting it on the bow. The healer looks around slowly, making sure he knows where all the other healers are, so he has an idea of where to be if the fighting gets too close, "Well sar, we are still more prepared then they are."

Jarril flicks a arrow into his bow and then pulls back.  "Alright ya archers.  Get ready!"  The major gets up and aims for the specks on top of the wall and adjusts aiming upwards until he's happy.  "On my mark.  Release the first batch."  Waiting until he can't he anymore arrows being fitted to their bows.  The major cries out.  "FIRE!"  Letting go of his arrow to fly into the sky as well as other archers who let go with their deadly cargo.

Taron draws his bow back and aims slowly at one of the corsair on the battlements, he takes a deep breath, sighting, "Make the furst shot count." he says quietly to himself awaiting the word. And then it comes he lets the arrow fly with out hessitation.

The first volley of the Long Patrol, however, flies towards the walls before even a sixteenth of the CC forces are on the walls. So, when all but one of the vermin on the walls is slain by arrows, it's not a great lost. Said vermin, however, is only left standing for a moment; apparently the volley is not over. The arrow of Taron protrudes gruesomely out of the corsair's throat, and then the vermin bends over and falls, landing on the opposite side of the palisade with a splat. A new wave of vermin come up onto the walls, arrows already nocked to their bows, and fire, before ducking down.

A rat on the battlements snarls, waiting until the line of arrows oges over his head. He pops up quickly, slinging some sharp rocks back at the direction where the arrows came. He growls as one arrow flies right trough his ear and he falls back to the ground, nursing it and howling with pain.

Meanwhile, a special patrol dumps the contents of one of the wagons - that being wood - onto the ground a short distance out into the clearing, and then proceed to pour alcohol - ahh, such a tragic waste - over the wood. And then, it is lit afire. Ahh, fire. Such a useful invention.

Jarril has already made his team reload and watches a few fall from the return fire.  "Second volley.  FIRE!"  He shouts before letting go of another arrow into the air.  Looking to Taron he give him a look.  "Tend to our wounded, if they're alive."  At the same time as fitting another arrow in and ordering.  "Okay.  Lets not get them time to fire back.  Get into three lines everyone."  The major waits until the word is passed down and he stands there for a moment and then orders.  "First line fire, duck and reload.  Second line fire, duck and reload, first line fire, duck and reload."  The major sending three quick succession of arrows in the fort's direction.

Podmouth the poet, as he liked to be known when he was anywhere but the corsair camp, strolled disgustedly out of the tent full of panicking corsairs. "War, whats the point? If we just talked about it we could sort things out, I mean, admittedly we'd rob them afterwards but still. When will the violence end?" He glances as a wave of corsairs start shooting off from the palisade and ducks behind a tent as a sergeant walks past. "Oh I wandered lonely as a cloud, O'er hill and dale and all at once...ukk" Podmouth peers down at the arrow, "Ah bugger"...

Reloading as quickly as possible, lugging the heavy boulders up and into the cups of the catapults. And then, when all is prepared, Zoe yet again gives the signal to fire, and three more large boulders are sent hurtling for the fortress walls.

Saltar appears in front of you and hands you a paper, reading "My point is this: A) You're firing at a wall. This means the archer's would be firing upwards, and thus there's no chance of friendly fire damage. B) It is nearly impossible to load a longbow kneeling down. These things are six feet tall. C) You fire much more slowly like that." (to you)

The vermin on the walls rise and let fly another volley, then duck down again. Suddenly, unexpectantly, the gates of the Corsair Confederation slam open. A large phalanx of spearmen with quite large shields charges out the gates, lead by Saltar himself, he too carrying a shield and blending right in with his troops. The gates slam shut behind the group, and they charge towards the woods and, more importantly, the catapults. The next volley of catapults hits the palisade with a loud crack, sending splinters down upon the last rank of the phalanx.

Incomiiiing! Rahier glances upwards in Timmy-fashion at the whistling of the corsair's arrows, and proceeds to duck into a small ball next to poor old Bob, clamping his paws over his helmet. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Arrows all around! The healer peers out from under the steel, and quickly checks himself for any protruding shafts. Murmuring a small thanks to some nameless deity that he wasn't made into a pincushion, the buck quickly turns to the nearest wailing hare. Not everyone else can be so lucky. ;P

The rat, a fresh bleeding hole in his ear yelled out at the fire. "Ah! Fire! Get water up 'ere!" He shouts, grabbing a small weasel but the shoulder. The rat snarls in his face. "Git some wadder, or I'll put that fire out wid you!" The weasel whimpers and scuttles off. "Yes Ripfang! Right away, Sir!" Ripfang howls out orders and gets a line of corairs to fire back at the hares.

A rock suddenly flies over the top of the walls from the Confederate side and lands with a smash on the ground, pretty far away from the woods. "Dammit," someone yells. "I -hate- catapults."

Jarril backs away slightly and makes sure that the fire is being made for the archers.  Giving quick orders, several of them begin to light their achohol soaked arrows and with a new wave flies over with flames this time around.

"Fire arrows!" A fox yells, stating the obvious, before one smacks into his chest with a wet thud.

Ripfang scrambles around, getting beasts to put out the fires by bonking heads and kick tails. The rat swishes his tail with a crack and snarls out a laugh as the fox lands by him. "Harr! Look 'ere yeh scurvy beasts! Yeh'll all end up like this 'un if yeh don't git yer tails in gear! Yeh bunch 'o field mice! Thet only be 'ares!"

A second set of archers, lining up behind the now-roaring fire previously set, begin dipping their alcohol-soaked arrows in and firing them off at the walls, where they stick and begin to burn. Meanwhile, Zoe, spying the coming vermin, calls a large group of fighting hares to her to meet Saltar and his lot, whilst the catapulters continue reloading and then fire, again. "Chaaaaaaaarge!"

A particularly intelligent looking fox names Shike sights down his arrow, then fires. He whirls around, beats out a fire with his bushy tail, then whirls about again and launches another arrow.

On the left side a big stoat takes a fire arrow out of the wood and shoots it back at the hares, catching one on the ear. He growls a laugh before being hit in the chest, falling forward, dead.

Jarril comes back to the front while the next fire arrows are set.  Barking out orders.  "Fire this lot ovah their heads.  Lets set things on fire inside that fort."  He lifts up his arm and then shouts  "Fire!"  The arm dropping down as arrows once again fly through the air with a whistle, leaving firery tails behind them.

Taron lights his arrows as he fires them, taking aim at beasts and the wall itself (if its wood), Trying to be the most effective, looking around occasionally to see if any beast is hurt yet. Then turning to fire into the fort as Jarril commands it.

A younger hare hops up to shoot an arrow before falling back, arrow fixed between his eyes. He lets out one huge gasp, then shudders and dies.

Rahier works at pinning a thrashing runner to the ground so that the healer can properly remove the arrow protruding from the other hare's thigh. "Hold still, blast it!" And go still he does- though not in an exactly satisfactory fashion. One of those deadly corsair projectiles strikes the beleaguered runner in the chest, negating the healer's work before he even starts. Rahier throws the roll of bandages aside, with a venomous curse. Moving on...

The phalanx charges down, without breaking it's breakneck speed (hehe). The only difference between Saltar and the rest of his men is the fact that he is helmetless and he is waving a saber. Rapidly, the phalanx closes the distance between itself and the woods, and then is intercepted by the hares. "Attaaaack!" screams Saltar, whirling his saber.

Jarril turns his head to one hare that comes to the front but is felled immediately by a arrow himself.  Looking at the bow, the major looks about and picks it up.  Setting it to the side, the hare smiles that at least some had brought short bows with them.  Again the arrows are ready to fire and Jarril gives the order, his only eye gleaming as his arm falls down to the sound of whistling arrows.

Charging in the front along with the others, Zoe raises an arm over her head, calling out loudly to the troops, "Give 'em blood 'n' vinegar...!" And she reaches the first vermin, swinging her sword in an arc, efficiently removing him from his sword arm.

Zoe_Lang pages, "By the way. ;p He'll be less likely to make comments like that if people'd make sure and tell him that it's just a game instead of apologizing. There's no reason you should have apologized. You didn't do anything wrong. ;)" to you.

Taron sighs as the hare next to him is hit in the shoulder. The healer shoulders his bow and turns towards him, "well atleast ya got a healar besideja." Taron starts his work pushing the arrow a little farther in, it sticking out the other side of the injured hare, "hold yer self." he says before breaking the feathered end of the arrow and pulling it the rest of the way through.

Jarril mumbles at Taron as he fixes another arrow to the bow.  "Don't worry.  Don't plan on losing another eye, wot."  He gets up and fires a un-flamed bow to take out one of the guards on the wall before giving the order for the flame arrows to fly out again.  Turning his head back.  "How is he?"  Looking at the injured hare.

Said vermin screams and falls down, but is backed by his comrades. And a skilled bunch they seem; there spears are held forward in a deadly wall, and their shields protect them; also, when they get within melee range, they smash their shields against unfortunate hares. The front rank is pushed by the rank behind it, etcetra, to give them more force. Saltar charges, sword whirling into the free. He parries a thrust of a longsword, grabbing the hare's sword paw and slashing his legs out from under him. Letting him go, Saltar cooly kicks someone in the groin with a steelshod boot, driving his sword down into the body and then pulling it free. It is at this moment that, behind him, a -very- large hare picks him up by his sword paws and, freeing the saber, throws it away over the ranks of the spearmen. Saltar curses, about at the same time a massive fist nails him in the nose. The considerably smaller ferret falls to the ground, blood streaming from his nose. The hare's fist comes down again; once, twice, each time complemented by a gasp. A fox sticks a spear in the hare's side; the hare pulls it out and lifts it for the lethal strike against Saltar, ignoring the weaponless beast behind him.

Taron smirks and nods to the injured hare, "Fall back help with tha carts," he says looking towards Jarril, "Bettar then he feels." he says unshouldering his bow and shooting at the ramparts once before heading towards another of the injured.

A large vixen slashes out at the ranks with two long swords, wielding them in a deadly fashion. Her teeth glint and her eyes narrow with an evil stare. She howls out and charges forward, her baldes but a blur. Several hares go down before her and many arrows strike her, but she keeps twirling, slashing, stabbing, and swiping like a mad badger.

Jarril nods and goes back to what he does best and that's fire another arrow with a true shot again.  Seeing his intended target clutch the front of his chest and then fall down to the ground below, the major gives a sick smile and orders another volley of fire arrows to go into the air.

Saltar's footpaw lashes out and catches the hare in the groin. He bends down slightly, eyes widening in pain. Saltar bends forward, siezing the spear just behind it's head and pulling it free from the hare's grasp. The hare falls forward, then is pushed rapidly backward by a kick to his nose from Saltar. The latter leaps to his feet, bringing his axe down to stab the felled beast. He mutters the first part of an expletive, "***," he lifts the spear, then brings it down again, and murmurs the second part of the expletive, "****," he lifts the spear and stabs down one last time, yelling out the reason for, apparently, all his woes: "Splinter!" He drags his spear out of the hare's body, whirls, and smacks a hare in the chin with the butt of his spear, then throws it at an unlucky hare who collapses, dead. Bending down to retrieve a hare's longsword, he spits out his own blood and yells "To me!"

"To me!", eh? All right, then. Zoe can manage that, just fine. Charging forward, with a decent 'party' following her, Zoe growls out the infamous Long Patrol yell, "Eulaaaaaliaaaa!" And she heads directly for the corsair leader, felling whoever comes into her way. And, of course. Have to have the challenge. "Saltar! Yer mine!"

The vixen gurgles as she yanks an arrow out of her leg, she staggers to Salter and salutes, bashing a hare sneaking up behind him. She smiles before getting cut down by an arrow in the base of her skull.

... And the catapults fire another round. You know. In the background.

Meanwhile, the fort is in a dire position. The beasts on the walls, half-drunk as they are, cannot even begin to put out all the little fires inside the fort. The sun is beginning to set, and the rapidly darkened sky is lit by the burning fort. "Fire! Fire!" screams a ferret from the walls.

Jarril continues to get his hares to fire off their rounds of arrows, felling some on the wall, but many missing and setting fire to the wood instead.  Jarril once again gets another hit as he barks out new orders.  "More arrows!"

Meanwhile, on the ground, Saltar whirls to face his challenge, the hare Zoe_Lang. "That right?" he murmurs. A wedge is forming rapidly behind him. Grabbing a young ferret from behind him, the older ferret pushes the vermin in front of him. "Cummon, lad! Kill a hare for me! You're a corporal now!" He shoves the ferret forward again. The young beast is, obviously, terrified. His spear falls out of his paws, and then an arrow hits him in the groin. Poor sod.

Rahier has left a trail of bandaged, limping hares in his wake, given leave of their quite bloody arrows. ;p But, hell if he got all dressed up for nothing! The healer turns toward the large melee in the clearing, and makes for it at a waddling pace, sword shiiiinking from its sheath. Tossing himself at another of those nameless, nasty corsairs with abandon, adding his yell to the din. Hack, slash!

Taron sighs as the next fallen hare he finds has an arrow in his belly, "Bluddy..." he bends down and surveys the damage. A young hare maid, probably a new recruit, "Blast." he says unshouldering his bag, "Be still miss." he says gently, pulling a knife out of a pouch on his belt.

Something between a growl and a snicker escapes Zoe's lips, and she watches as the groin-injured hare slithers to the ground. "C'mon, now, Salty-love.. can't ya fight yer own battles? Hmm? Got t' have yer underlings fight 'em for ya?" Her eyes alight in the blazing fire before her, and she cocks a brow. "C'mon, ya bloody chicken! Fight me. I've got a score're three t' settle with ya..."

A young hare brings more arrows to the major who nods and sends him off to re-arm the other archers.  Placing a arrow into his bow, Jarril looks down the shaft at the blurry image before his eye adjusts until the image is clear.  Keeping the tip of the arrow firmly in the center of his vision, the hare keeps the target well and truly sighted.  Letting go, he watches as suddenly another rat falls over the wall, dead.  Satisfised, the major leans to get another arrow as his archers continue to fire their arsenal.

Saltar chuckles. "Just doing my Evil Deed of the day, miss Hare," the ferret says, tipping a nonexistant hat. His shield slides down his arm, and then he wips it of, throwing the wooden square at Zoe_Lang, shifting the longsword into a two-pawed grip, and charges forward, swinging.

Taron does his best to try and free the arrow from the young lass's belly, shakeing his head as the blood is very dark, he looks at her face, watching the life slip away, furrowing his brow he continues his hopeless work, shaking his head as she stops moving, allowed by his curse under his breath. Taron stand up still in a crouch but able to move to the next beast.

In a glorious display of red fire, the sun sinks below some far-off mountain range, leaving only a slightly reddened sky in its wake which, in turn, vanishes. Yet the night is far from dark; the great fire that was once the Corsair Confederation lights the path of every beast eerily, shining on the pale faces of dead beasts at the blood-covered, determined faces of living ones.

Ducking the shield as it is thrown, Zoe then charges forward to meet Saltar's swing, and their blades clash with a metalic clang. Snarl-snarl. "Ya won't be leavin' this field alive, scum..." And, she kicks out, boxer-hare-style, at his stomach. Sniff. That one's for dear ole Oxeye.

Jarril doesn't relent.  Not until that whole fort falls down into black ash.  "FIRE!"  He shouts.  Sending another arrow into the air to take out another dark form moving about with the bright orange glow of the fire, not even the dark night can be their saviour for the arrows this time around.  After firing, Jarril watches another fire boulder fly into the air heading towards another section of the front wall.

Saltar whirls away from the kick; still, it catches him in the ribs, and he grunts. "Meh, you fight dirtier'n me," the ferret mutters. He ducks down, slashing upwards and at the same time twirling and allowing himself to be beaten back in the direction of the catapults where, incidentally, a certain saber sticks out of the ground.

Taron keeps getting closer to more dangerous areas as he runs along helping who ever needs it. The healer stops at another bad but savable hare, was one of the original chargers who made his way back to the catapults. The hare sits slashes on his arms and an arrow in his shoulder. Taron kneels down over him again going through the procedures o healing.

Jarril pulls one of the hares nearest to him and speaks to him.  "Pass this along.  Any vermin dare leave that burning fort are ta be shot down instantly.  I ain't taking any prisoners t'night.  But continue firing on that fort until the bally thing falls down on their heads."  Seeing the hare nod and make his way slowly through to the other officers to relay the majors order.  With that done, Jarril goes back to taking down another vermin with a arrow.

'Allowing'. Tch. Zoe's -forcing- him back. Against his -will-, I tell you... Pout. But, nevertheless, she continues to fight gallantly, baring her teeth in a viscious looking smirk. "Nevah claimed t' fight with sugar 'n' spice, did I?" And with that, she charges forward, slashing with her sword down low and a right hook at his jaw. Because. She's a dirty fighter.

A gigantic shower of sparks rises up as the burned-out Corsair Confederation fort falls. All that is left now is parts of the palisade, which are burning.  A sudden scream erupts, and a bunch of woodlanders, some of them burning, rush through one of the large cracks in the palisades, broken chains hanging from their wrists. A fire arrow misses and thunks into one of them, a mouse no older then a season, who falls to the ground. His clothing starts to smoke.

Saltar blocks the sword, but there is nothing he can do about the uppercut. It slams into his jaw, sending his head backwards and dragging his body along behind. The ferret lands with a thump, then rolls. He is backed by a catapult, loaded with flaming wood but not yet firing. Saltar gasps with the heat; more a moment, his left paw is completely undefended, almost crying to be cut off.

Jarril looks and immediately drops his bow.  "Right.  Archers.  Backup fire.  The rest, come with me.  Protect those slaves at all cost."  Without saying another word, the major takes out his sword and marches out into the open with other hares, the arrows flying overhead to land on other vermin or near them.

Despite this, the group of woodlanders is still suffering massive casulties from each volley from both sides. Bodies of children burst into flames, and grown ups run doggedly on, arrows sticking out of their bodies at various places. The rapidly shrinking group is led by a tough-looking squirrel, an arrow sticking out of his arm and blood streaming down his cheek. A Long Patrol arrow thunks into his chest; he grunts, and walks on.

Taron looks up as he hears Jarril call out another order, he stands grabbing his bow and moves to fallow, He makes it all of about ten feet before an arrow hits his chest, far enough to the side to miss anything vital. He falls to a knees and stands up quickly, continuing after Jarril until he reaches his side, Drawing his sword as he does, the arrow still in his chest.

Jarril runs quickly, spotting some ferret or such after a slave.  With renewed speed, the major slams hard into the side of the ferret with a shoulder barge, knocking it right over head and tail twice before landing.  Twirling the sword about, Jarril beheads just as the ferret gets back up.  Turning around, he and his hares begin to go to the slaves aid.  "Ovah that way.  Come on.  No time ta dally, wot."

A group of vermin bursts out through the crack the woodlanders exited through. Waving cutlasses, the angry-looking group charges the back of the woodlanders, slashing and killing as they go. The squirrel turns and, ignoring the 'rescuers', leaps at a ferret. The ferret falls backwards, head smashing into the ground. The squirrel continues pummelling the fallen ferret's head, until the skull collapses. Covered in the blood of the ferret, the squirrel whirls, picks up the ferret's cutlasse, and lops off a fox's head.

Zoe_Lang says, "This is for Oxeye, you disgusting sack of steamin' s-" We-ell, everyone knows what comes after that, and Zoe closes the remaining, short distance between herself and Saltar and, gripping sword with both paws, she raises it above her head and brings it down, whistling, and when it makes contact, there is barely a hesitation as it slices through fur, skin, tissue, and bone, severing the paw as nicely and cleanly as you like. And then she kicks out at his chest."

Jarril moves into the full flow of the battle now, his anger at bay, the training since his foolhardy business in the last battle gone.  With a cool head, the major jabs, kicks, headbutts.  Anything to get a advantage over the foe that he is attacking at the time.  Clashing with a fox's sword, Jarril swings his sword around and with a flick, dis-arms his foe and quickly jabs into the belly.  Not waiting to see his foe drop, the hare is onto another weasel who is punching a dibbun.  "Hey, come mess with someone ya own size."  Giving the weasel a smart kick up the rear to send it flying over the small mouse.

Saltar's eyes widen in horror for a moment. Blood jets from his severed limb. Weakly, he moves his arm to try and block the blow, but to no avail; he is knocked backwards into the fire in the catapult's basket-thingy. A shower of sparks rises up. Ironically, it is at this moment a hare launches the catapult; it seems to hang there a moment, and then the catapult whirls up. The blood-dripping, burning bundle that was once Saltar flies high, high over the heads of the ferrets. Soon, he is but a streak of fire in the night sky, blotting out stars as he goes, it seems. It is like some shooting star; except a howl erupts from the throat of this particular shooting star, a howl that can be heard quite clearly from the beasts below. And then the shooting star is gone.

The squirrel stops for a moment, lifting his blood-drifting cutlasse to the burning streak; then, he turns, and coldly lops the head of a ferret off. The squirrel bends down with a smile, and picks up the blood dripping head by the headfur. "You know what I wished?" he says softly. "To cut off your head. And it worked. My wish came true. Isn't that wonderful?" he falls over, unconscious.

Jarril sidesteps the weasel's enraged drunken charge and lops it's head off.  "Well, that saves ya having a bally hangovah t'morrow."  Handing the small mouse to one of his officers who moves off throughout the battle to get it back to safety.  In a instinct, the major looks for someone else.

Taron engages the the vermin one on one as he fallows Jarril into battle, his sword clashing with a beast who decides to yank out his arrow, "Arghh." that hurt. The healer kicks out at the Rat who he now has locked eyes with, watching the rotten toothy grin, "Aye that was funny." he says fighting back at the rat.

With the loss of their leader (no matter how doggon cool that loss was), the phalanx of spearmen in the midst of the hares drifts apart. Most rout, fleeing in the direction of the sea and the ships of the Corsair Confederation, which are beginning to burn; there is only one group of organized vermin left, a tight knot of spears and shields, whirling about, cutting down any hare that dare comes near.

Jarril comes to a stoat who has a old female squirrel by the throat with a blade pressed against it.  "Let me go or she dies."  Lowering his sword, the major just smiles.  "Hey, what y' smiling at."  Giving a chuckle.  "You.  Ya do know that ya should have something protecting your back, right?"  Blinking the stoat starts to turn around but is clobbered by a slingshot stone at the back of the neck.  The female squirrel moves away as the stoat falls to the ground.  Shaking his head, the major mutters.  "Terrible, just terrible.  No brains whatsoever...."

The blood-covered squirrel, bloodied cutlasse clenched tightly in one hand, twitches.

Blink. Blink-blink. Zoe stares rather stupidly at the... lack-of-Saltar. Because. He's gone. In the catapult. The sky. Um. What? Zoe slowly lowers her swordtip to the ground, and wipes a paw across her brow and basically, for a moment, just stands there, now staring at the severed paw. But, well, there -is- a battle going on, so after a moment she squats down, picks up the severed paw, and turns 'round to charge at the remaining ranks of vermin. At which point she throws the paw at them... Um. Because.

A ferret, apparently the leader of the knot of remaining vermin, catches the severed paw. The ferret looks at it for a moment, shifting it in his hand, then laughs. Turning, he pitches the paw off in the direction of the blazing fort, then turns around. "You shoulda taken that as a trophy, hare!" he yells.

Rahier is now the same fashionable shade of red as everyone else around, and somehow, the errant helmet has managed to remain perched in its perilous position atop the healer's skull. But he's still able to notice the routed corsairs through the falling steel, and he raises his sword, with a loud whoop. Deciding that he's pressed his luck sufficiently thus far- he turns from the bristling knot of spearbeasts, and looks to...the twitching squirrel. Well, he's as good a patient as any. So Rahier hoofs the short distance, skidding to a viscera-slickened stop on his knees next to the fallen rodent. Good thing he managed to hang on to his healer bag.

Jarril looks about and is away from any small group of alive fighting vermin now.  All around him are alive slaves and many, many dead vermin.  Giving a smile, he looks about and faces the burning remains of the fort.  "My, how the mighty have fallen."  Bending down, the major wipes the blood off his sword on the stoats chest, blood oozing out at the back of the skull from where the pebble hit home a few moments ago.

Taron comes up next to his major giving him a nod holding the side of his chest where he was hit, "Aye sar, the confederation is all but over now." he says looking around the slaves, "shall I check for wounded slaves Sar?" he asks looking back towards Jarril slowly.

There is still a mouse, only a season old and depressingly cute, lying on the ground with an arrow, with the fletching of the Long Patrol, sticking out of his chest. His clothing, smoking only a bit ago, is now starting to burn, making the blood around the arrowwound hiss. The mouse's tunic bursts into flames; slowly, the oh-so-cute face of the mouse catches fire as well, burning, burning.

Jarril gives a look to Taron.  "Aye, but."  The hare gives a look to the wounded side of his lieutenant.  "But get y'self sorted out first, yes?"

Geraldine, one of the members of the Salamandastron resident's maidens brigade who came along to help run the catapults and equipment while the actual Longpatrollers did all the fighting and stuff, is a bit traumatised by all this killing stuff. She stops in horror, staring at the just plain horrid ruffian of a beast in front of her. He must've been out of the fort when the whole thing started and sneaked around out of the violence.... he starts grinning as he takes a step towards her, cutlass lowered. "Looky 'ere, we've got a fatty girl" he says, chuckling to himself. Geraldine, as only she good, starts idignantly, "I am /NOT/ fat thankyouverymuch! I'm pregnant you oaf." To emphasise this point she throws the torch she was using to help light arrows down at the ground. The puddle of alcohol lights quickly, engulfing the surrounding ground and the "ruffian" as well. Unfortunately it also lit the barrel of alcohol...the full barrel of alcohol. I believe the word is "Kerblam"

This appears to be the fate of many bodies lying strewn about the battle-field, burning or burnt, covering the land for what seems like miles. The grass is red from the battle, and glistens in the light of the burning fort. The knot of vermin grows smaller, either slaughtered by the enemy or from friendly fire; yet, doggedly, the handful of vermin fight bravely on, killing many for each of them that dies. Finally, there is only five beasts left, two of them sporting arrow-wounds. Then there is three, and then two, fighting back to back. "Do you think we ought to surrender, then?" says a ferret to another ferret. An arrow lands with a thunk in the shoulder of the other. The other slices a bowstring and an ear, considering this. "Nah. What's the point?" A longsword cleaves off his head, and he crumples to his knee. Only one vermin remains living on the battlefield, it seems, yet he fights off many a hare.

Hearing the ferret's retort and watching the paw fly, Zoe charges forward and, at the last minute, sheaths her sword, and tilts her head, with a strange little smile as the 'witty' vermin steps towards her. And then, just then, when he is within range, with a quick flick of her wrists, two oddly white knives shoot into her paws, and just as quickly are slashed into the vermin's innards. And, as he falls forward and onto the bone knives, she lowers her head, whispering into the dying vermin's ears, "Ahh, well, ya see... I prefer the longah bones, don't I, then?"

The ferret cleaves off a hare's knee and takes a step back, wiping his forehead. The din of battle is much quieted now; the only fighting seems to be around the area where this last ferret is. "Would you burn me alive if I shouted 'Eulalia?'" he shouts. "Because we Confederates don't really have a warcry, y'know, and I want to go out with a bang. Oh, I know. How about: screeeeeeeewwwww yooooooooouuuuuuuu!" The ferret charges forward, sword flying this way and that, cleaving off various limbs from hares. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't appear to die. An arrow appears in his chest; he coughs hoarsely. "To me, oh ye dead ones!" he shouts gleefully, killing another hare. "Sing about me!" he adds, stabbing a hare in the stomach.

Taron shrugs and says "I will be fine thar are beasts worse off them my self sar." he looks at his side, "I got a little help from a rat on getting tha arra out." he looks around again and looks to the burned slaves, lets out a soft sigh, trotting to help the wounded slaves.

Jarril nods and makes his way through the battlefield, sword in paw as he looks about.  "Well, Saltar.  Whoever got ya doesn't matter.  Ya dead, ya lost and we won."  A bigger smile grew on the hare's face."  Moving over to a otter, the major lifts up the injured woodlander and begins to make his way back towards the forest and where the archers are.  A slight explosion happens from inside the fort, probably from a barrel or two from whatever vermin had been drinking at the time.  Turning his head to the otter.  "Ya be fine, lad.  You're free now.  Let's get you away from this mess, shall we?"  He smiles as the otter nods and continues on, moving around the dead forms in the field.

Rahier ducks reflexively at the alcoholic explosion, looking over to the catapults. Tsk... poor immolated Geraldine. Blinking, the healer turns back to the squirrelly task at hand, pulling a small knife from his belt. Because, well.. that arrow just won't do. Like so many of the projectile's grisly, burrowed companions, the arrow is dug around, and removed in a timely fashion. Replaced by a swath of bandages, and some hastily applied herbs.

A halberd thunks into the chest of the last vermin on the battlefield. "Ow." He says to the owner of the halberd, then nods approvingly. "Nice halberd, lad. Well polished 'n all." He grabs the shaft of the halberd and pushes it, so the butt of the halberd will strike the hare in the chin, Theoden-style. "All of the one's in -that- fort were rusty," the ferret adds, choking on the blood welling up in his throat. "It really isn't fair," he says suddenly. "I never got promoted. My mum said I'd get promoted, 'cuz I was a good boy. Damn." With that, the ferret falls over and dies.

"Bloody 'ell -- I've missed th'fight, haven't Ah?" Breaking the numb serenity of the war-torn battlescene, the long-absent voice, albeit certainly gruffer and more neutral, drifts down towards the long ears of those left breathing. Should a weary eye be cast towards the west, one would spy a tall buck on the far dunes, standing tall against the slight chilling wind. The hare was well-built, though his coat was more than a little shaggy. In his bound paws, the 'stranger' gripped a well-worn javelin. The only signs of former civilization were his plain sea-stained trousers and a simple arrowhead hanging around his neck. The grizzled buck's ears twitched, dark eyes searching the gathering without a visible reaction...

Jarril arrives back to the point where the other hares are.  "Alright.  I want teams."  He pauses.  "Oh some healer take this otter from me as well."  A hare comes up and takes the otter before helping him off to be treated.  Straightening up.  "Alright, what was I just saying?  Ah yes.  I want teams ta go find our fellow fighters.  Another team ta collect the vermin armoury.  They won't need it now, doncha know."  Looking about he sighs at the cleaning task in hand.  "As for the vermin.  I don't care.  Burn them or leave them for the birds in the morning.  Burial's ta bally good for 'em."

But what about the poor, honorable and durn brave ferret? Burn him? Let birds peck at him? Mean Long Patrollers! BAD! This poor boy never got drunk, never did naughty things with females, and only cursed once in his life! The ferret twitches. Still alive? "Damn. That was the best last word in existance, and I ain't DEAD YET?"

Wiping off her knives on the nearest dead!thing, Zoe returns them to their usual place up her sleaves. Then, with a quick glance around at the fires now spreading beyond the burning mess of a fort, she calls out, loudly, "A'right, ye lot! Need t' put out all o' these bloody fires out 'n' get headin' ho-" Pausing mid-word as the voice registers, Zoe turns slowly 'round, squinting through the smoke, to look up towards the owner of the voice...

Poor Old Bob still lies there, Lily, who ran off into the woods after accidentaly causing Bob's death and still hysterical after the death of her childhood sweetheart lil' Timmy is yet to be seen again, possibly heading back towards Salamandastron, possibly to a cave containing some nasties that will beat her and generally be unpleasant types, "ruffians" as Geraldine would have called them, bless her.

The buck on the dune narrows his eyes... His javelin whistles through the air, skewering one still moaning hob through the middle. And still, the hare shows no emotion. No triumph. Slowly, painfully, the hare sweeps the field again with his depthless gaze... pausing upon the ragged and wild figure of a certain Colonel.

The rapidly dying ferret lifts a paw. "Hallo, miss? 'Llo? Could you promote me? I suppose you don't have much of a reason to, me killing everybody 'n all, but I all killed them in one hit. They all died immediately. I didn't hurt nobody. Not badly, anyway. The next rank up is corporal, but I don't wanna be a corporal. I wanna be a sergeant. My best friend was a sergeant. He got shot. He looked kinda funny, but then he died, and that wasn't fun--" he gets skewered and dies.

Rahier is a good deal closer to the gates of the former fortress, and so, rather more blanketed by smoke. But he still labors over the grouping of fallen slaves and hares, the squirrel having been tended to and since passed over for a more loudly injured beast. ;p That certain familiar voice is given no more than a moment of pause and a bleary squint through the smoke, before the clanking of his helm directs his attention back to bandaging. Random battle-din, it was. Certainly. :P

Jarril moves about slowly, glad to be alive after another battle, wondering on how many more chances like this will he use up before another battle has his name.  Bending down to pry a sword from a fox, the hare moves on.

The healer Taron comes up beside Jarril again, his side now semi wrapped, "I put a few other hares on the slaves, they are being led back to the main group."

Jarril nods his head back at Taron.  "Good, as soon as we dealt with our own dead, collected the weapons here.  We can start getting back home.  Send a runner back ta the mountain.  Inform them that we have wounded and free woodlanders as well.  Get some ta arrange bedding and rooms for them."

Staring unbelievingly up into those eyes, those -eyes-, Zoe merely shrugs off a lieutenant when he rushes up to her, awaiting orders, and takes a few lead-like steps forward and then pauses, again, glancing down to the moaning of a dying vermin at her feet. Blankly, absently, she draws her sword and deftly finishes him off before looking up again. To Oxeye. But it's not really Oxeye, it's a ghost, so why is she doing this?

Meanwhile, back at the LP HQ known as Salamanastron... Earblade lifts the top from the brandy decanter, sloshing another helping into his glass and replacing the top. He looks around dejectedly from his leather armchair, glancing to Neville in the chair opposite. "Nev' m'lad, I've got a nagging feelin' we're meant t'be somewhere. Summit important an all that..." He takes a sip of the brandy, circling the glass slowly afterwards. Neville shrugs, "I do'no Ear', but business has been darned quiet today. Hardly a soul in sight 'part from the regular" he grins cheekily at the retired Colonel-come-Gentlehare of Lesiure. Earblade shrugs, "M'sure Zoe would've reminded my if it was important eh?".... now back to the action....

Taron nods to the major and turns moving towards one of the runners talking to him, relaying the orders, "quickly now." he finishes turning to complete the second half of his task.

Jarril patrol finally get things in order as the major makes preperations to get his lot back home.  "Alright.  Lets get our comrades home.  All of them, mind."  Looking about he makes sure that anyone who can walk, does and that their dead are taken back home as well.  Making a approving nod, the major smiles at their courageous fight.  The dead comrades deserve a hero's welcome as well.  "Alright, let's get going."  Jarril's patrol begin to make their way slowly back to the mountain.