It was cold tonight. A chilled, damp breeze blew across the army camp leaving every soldier wanting for a thicker cloak and a cot closer to a fire.

Lugaria sat and stared at the fort in the distance, with a tense expression. He could not make out any fine details from this distance in the dark, but he knew it was there.

The fighting on the hill had died out hours ago, as each side had decided to wait for morning before resuming their slaughter.

Sahn-Raidar had their hill, but Lugaria could not help but feel that they had gotten it too easily. He had of course mentioned his suspicions to Graiden, who had listened keenly. Though the dwarves seemed eager to celebrate a victory. Tomorrow their siege would begin, and though there was nervousness, he saw nothing of the kind in Graiden who acted with the confidence of a man who had something hidden deeply up his sleeve.

A part of him was curious what that was, and why he did not know it, and the other part was grateful for it.

If Graiden was confident that the siege would be a short affair, he would trust in that and be grateful for it. Now if only he could figure out why the orcs had given up this precious spot so easily. Likely, the orcs would attack in the night. But they had made no moves, so far.

Had they lost their confidence? Had an internal power struggle bubbled to the surface in the wake of the stresses of war?

A tap on his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts. Agrata stood beside him, offering him a steaming mug of coffee.

"You didn't hear me."

"I heard you," Lugaria said as he took the cup.

Agrata laughed quietly. "No, you didn't. I could have stuck a knife in your back."

"You could try," Lugaria said, finally tearing his eyes away from the stone fortress in the distance, with a breath. "What do you think they are hiding?"

"Weaponry, allies, it could be a trap." Agrata shrugged. "We won't know until we do. No reason to speculate."

"And you're not worried about it at all, are you?" There was a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"I have all I need," Agrata glanced toward his weapons. "And so do you. Nothing hunts you in the night, and if something should decide to try, it will not live to regret its mistake."

Lugaria sighed, and leaned back into the damp grass beneath him. His thoughts wandered back to when he met Agrata. Young and terrified, yet still somehow focused and deadly as soon as he was provoked. He had an odd view and acceptance of his place in life. He was sure of himself, and his own capabilities to carry him through whatever it was that he had to face. And, despite the similarity he saw, Lugaria envied him that. He had never had such luxuries of surety. But neither had he seen the same horrors. He had never wanted a life of blood and fighting, when he thought truly about it. But he had only ever excelled at one thing, and there was no way to change that now.

Four hours, until they would siege the orcish fort, and either win the war, or die trying. He envied that sense of surety, but he knew better than to hope for it. His only job now would be to focus himself, and live through the hellscape that would greet him at dawn.

Juen'tal felt invigorated as he breathed in all the scents of the predawn air. He could smell blood and sweat like salt and metal in the air, and he could smell the fear and tension like a drug. It made his skin prickle, and he forced himself to breathe deep and quell that exhilaration.

Every soldier had said the same things. That the orcs would fight like cornered wolves. But they were not wolves. They lacked a certain instinct and did not deserve the fear that the soldiers offered to them without a thought.

He paced silently throughout the camp, working away his restless energy and growing ever more annoyed with the soldiers around him, who had to tighten all their armor and shields, so that they could hide behind them when they faced their paltry excuses for wolves.

The smell of fear only grew stronger, until he walked so far that he came upon a man who sat alone at his fire, and whose face gave away his every thought, as he worked to sharpen his already gleaming blade. The smell of sweat diminished here, replaced the by smell of absence.

When Juen'tal stopped to watch him, his startled eyes moved to the imposing figure. "Would you care to join me? There's still food." He gestured to the bubbling pot.

Juen'tal glanced into the pot, and wrinkled his nose. "No." He stared at the man a moment longer, before he sat across from him. "Why do you let fear so surely grip you?"

The man stopped abruptly, as if surprised by the question. "Lost enough friends, already," he glanced at the fire before him with a haunted gaze.

Juen'tal shook his head. "This isn't about your friends. Why are you so terrified?"

The man coughed, his gaze narrowing. "I.. I don't want to die."

Juen'tal snorted, "You are afraid of the most exhilaration you will ever find in life?"

The man balked. "I would have to disagree."

Juen'tal laughed. "Why? Nothing compares to fighting, and winning. Not women, drink, or any other pleasure. And nothing still can meet the surety of death. Even your own. A long life is not the treasure you think it is." His words turned harsh at his last sentence, as bitter memories clawed at him.

"We don't know if we'll win. It's a suicide march!" The man said, his voice a harsh whisper, as if everyone around him did not echo the same thoughts.

"So you are scared of death, but you wish for it?" Juen'tal's head cocked to the side. "Why come and fight, if you do not have any reason besides fear to do so? You think our side the weaker?"

"Well, no." The man was sputtering now. "There is plenty more to live for."

"More to life than death? No. If you believe us weaker, then pick a different side, but you will die regardless. Does when truly matter?"

The man took a deep breath, and resumed his routine with a shake of his head.

Juen'tal stood, wearing a wry expression as he glanced toward the sky.

Three more hours until they would move once again. He knew they were stronger, that he was stronger, and soon the blood and corpses on the field would signal his victory.

Auglier awoke easily, though sweat coated him. His dreams had been violent and bloody, and though he could not see the moon he knew it was filling, and the anger would come again. He felt that hungry pull, and his hands still shook until Kura's snout bumped his shoulder.

The look in her eyes told him not to worry so much.

He would not let the pull of the moon carry him away, again. He would maintain his calm and his reason. It had been many years since the pull had taken his mind from him, but it would be many more before that worry faded.

Especially now, as fighting and strife was never out of eye-shot. He had thought more than once that he should stay outside this conflict, but he knew his brother loved this place, and so in his stead he would fight for Ge'henna, and keep his memory dear.

Auglier stretched and stood, gazing out around him to the spanning tents. Juen'tal was gone again, surely walking off his restless nature. He felt sympathy for him, and he knew the struggle he faced within his blood. A different fight, but so similar to his own.

Yet Juen'tal for all his many years was much like a child. Juen'tal had spoken many times of finding peace, but Auglier knew he questioned whether or not he would ever find it. He fought against the fury, but when it took him he rejoiced and shied away from his practices of keeping a calm mind. He had improved, but he had miles yet to travel through his own mind. And he could only travel them if he truly knew what he sought.

Something in his spirit simply yearned for conflict, and Auglier was unsure if such a yearning could ever be dissuaded. He could see great strength, perseverance, and focus in Juen'tal, and he could see many more unsettling things. His calamitous blood and cynical mind were ever at odds, and Auglier knew he might never know which ones won their battle for that fighter's spirit.

Auglier poked at his fire and heated the water for his tea, embracing the silence and leaving one arm draped over the shoulders of his bear. He did not waste a gaze upon the fortress standing in the distance, for he knew he would face it soon enough. Life was surely about those small moments where he could enjoy his morning in peace.

As he sipped his tea, he felt a presence approach. Ancient, powerful and calm. "Avris," he said, without looking up.

She chuckled. "Hello, my friends," she nodded to Kura, and sat across from him. "How do you fair, under the touch of the goddess?"

Auglier smiled. "I will not lose task. My will is the stronger. And you?"

"I simply wanted to offer my greetings. We near a very bittersweet time."

Auglier grunted in agreement, and looked at her with a small sense of worry. "I know what you will do. And you should not be alone."

"I am never alone here," she said. She glanced at the tents around them with a strange mixture of relief and diastase, in her eyes. "Your friend?"

"Walking off his excitement."

"For one of so many years, he is..."

"Learning," Auglier grunted, "Slowly."

Avris chuckled. "At least he still yearns for things to learn."

Auglier huffed out a breath, not sure if he could truly agree.

Avris laid a hand on his shoulder. "Meetings call me, and I must prepare. Fight well, and I hope to see you on the other side of this."

He nodded as she left and sat watching the skies until his companion might return. He smiled, when no fears rose up to greet him. He could feel the anticipation around him, but it did not sink in to sour him.

Two hours, until their fates were decided. Two more hours until the end.

Graiden paced in his tent as the sunrise grew nearer. His deep breaths calmed the nerves that tried to shake him. He was supposed to be retired to a desk, or so they told him. But that would never be the only place he worked. Byron never would have sat back and watched from safety, as his men died. Or at least, the version of the man Graiden chose to remember, would not. He would always choose to remember the man who had offered him a chance all those years ago with his stolen spoils on the floor of a room with a single table, chair and window.

He would always remember the man who woke early to walk his front lines, and who fought without fear. Now that Byron was gone, it was his place to carry that tradition forward, to not let the actions of one man spoil the future and the name of the many souls under this banner of teal and black. So he would go out and fight, and work to remain as steadfast as his friend once had.

Sahn-Raidar excelled at fighting orcs, but they had fought against wooden palisades, never stone walls. They had fought against roving bands, never a united front. This was their best chance to end the war. If they got pushed back, they would die before they made it back to Aughk'tor. If Aughk'tor was taken so too would the tunnels be lost, and beyond that O'siaris was by no means able to counter the size of the enemy. Its defenses had improved, but he counted on the mountains to keep them safe.

And if the orcs seized the port, they would effectively have control of his small, budding nation. He would not let them take it from him, now, when it was finally within his grasp to bring that vision to life.

Graiden had a good plan. A risky plan, but a good one. One he hoped his enemy would not see until they were ruined. Lugaria and Agrata had already agreed, as they always did. They had found an old tunnel, a sewer from what they could tell, that led to a grate in the center of the courtyard. Lugaria and Agrata would take the small tunnel up, and slip inside thanks to Donovar's inventions, with a small group of fighters. Lugaria would run toward the western side of the keep, and facilitate a distraction so Agrata could take an eastern section of the wall, to aid the main force as they used re-purposed siege machinery to open the gates.

The main force would be easily vulnerable during this, but that was where Avris could come in. She would fly above and guard the men as they fought near the gate, Once the gates were open, they would disperse with the forces on the walls, using smoke bombs and collect Lugaria's group from the western side. Then they would take the keep.

On paper it sounded simple, but each step relied on the one before it. Graiden would be at the front of his men. Not only to fight, but to keep an eye on Avris. She was too much of an advantage to lose now. She was too much of a friend.

He would keep and eye and do his best to keep her healed, in this fight. He gathered up his spear, the sound of the three rings as they chimed a comforting reminder that he was prepared, and that he was never alone. He stepped from his tent to watch the milling men and women, and he could feel the anxiety in the air. So he kept his chin high and his shoulders straight, as he moved to the front of where his army would form. He passed the tents and was saluted and acknowledged at every one with smiles, cheers, and salutes.

One more hour until the plan began, and this war was ended.