[ WP ] Our cause is righteous and just . We will not falter

*'' Our cause is righteous and just. We will not falter. `` * The words still rang in his ears as the dwarf Aldemedes trudged along the winding road from Rothdell. It had been a long time since he had heard that phrase, it had seemed so important once. Well, he wryly considered, lifting his head up to look further ahead down the road, once he had n't questioned its truth. 
 
 Oh how times had changed. 
 
 Casting a look around Aldemedes quickly surveyed the column of his kind. Ranks were n't being held, weapons were held at every odd angle, few had their heads up enough to look ahead. Shaking his head, Aldemedes was sad to find that his own mud-splattered uniform was among the cleanest that he could see. 
 
 Another fight, another retreat. Lather, rinse, repeat. 
 
 Aldemedes readjusted his own rifle, straightening it over his shoulder. He took a moment to tighten the anachronistic sword at his belt too. Resting a hand on the pommel of the blade, the warrior took a moment to gather his strength, to feel the power in it. Most thought that the Swords were only for show, but only their bearers knew the reality. It was perhaps the most deadly weapon that Aldemedes had. 
 
 From behind, a loud boom echoed, followed by a series of smaller detonations. He did n't even bother to look. Either the lainir had launched another artillery barrage onto Rothdell, or he remaining defenders were destroying whatever remained of the city to buy time. 
 
 Aldemedes recalled back to the day he had first been given the sword. How proud he had been. How honored he had felt. How he had first heard the words, and believed them with no reservations. Idly, he wondered how many others still carried their swords through the war, and of those who had fallen, how many swords were returned to be passed on? How many others then, decorated some lainiri officer's mantelpiece, or were destroyed at the Imperium's command for being `` heretical''. 
 
 `` Commander Aldemedes!'' A voice cut through the air, dragging him out of his bitter contemplations. 
 
 It took Aldemedes a few moments to place the voice, then connect it with the face approaching him from an open-top jeep driving along the side of the road through the grass. `` General Dentran.'' He replied, surprised as the general pulled up along side him and got out. 
 
 `` I'm glad to see you made it out of Rothdell commander.'' The general said. 
 
 `` Many did n't have the same luck.'' He responded, taking the general's hand. 
 
 Dentran shook his head, `` Damn shame.'' He looked across the column, squinting, `` Where's General Corellens?'' 
 
 `` Back in Rothdell.'' Aldemedes gestured over his shoulder, `` He said he would n't abandon the city.'' 
 
 `` He was given explicit orders to leave.'' To which Aldemedes only shrugged, `` Stubborn bastard to the end.'' The general sighed. After a moment he began again. `` Regardless, I need these dwarves to move to Harrensvale. The enemy is moving on Val Gren and we need resources directed their as soon as possible.'' 
 
 Aldemedes gave another look back to his column. They had been fighting the Imperium's armies in the north for the better part of two years, the last three months had been spent in near constant fighting at Rothdell. He could only imagine the situation if high command was desperate enough to throw them back into the fray a thousand miles to the south. 
 
 Taking a step closer to the general, Aldemedes leaned in, `` How bad is it?'' 
 
 `` Worse than anything yet. The third air fleet is moving up to support the enemy's assault, and they've committed the Black Legion.'' 
 
 The naming of the enemy's most vicious military force caused a rush of emotions in the veteran commander. He, like many in the war, had crossed paths the twisted sorcerers and sorceresses that made up what the lainir clinically called the `` Arcanist Divisions''. As with hundreds of others he still had nightmares about the monstrosities they rose from the dead and unleashed on the battlefield, the foul magics that they wrought to curse the ground and plague the skies, the almost perverse sense of joy the got from ruining people. However, more than most Aldemedes had reason to fight the Black Legion. 
 
 They would stop at nothing to find and kill him, and those like him, for the swords at their sides. 
 
 `` I'll get these soldiers to Val Gren general.'' Aldemedes said nodding in understanding. 
 
 `` Very good, I'm counting on you commander.'' With that Detran saluted and got back in his jeep, turning back the way he came. 
 
 Aldemedes looked over his despondent command. They were an army of lost souls, he considered, but an army still, and they needed to be reminded of that. 
 
 `` Spread word! We march for Harrensvale!'' He shouted, straining to be heard as far as possible, `` The enemy is moving in the south and we're needed to defend the capital! This is our duty, and dwarves do their duty!'' It was the kind of line that sounded trite to veteran ears, but now was the time for inspiration, Aldemedes knew. Critical thinking was second when it came to making troops move. 
 
 Seeing his words spread, he noted the slight change in his dwarves. Some began straightening their rifles, some began picking up their heads, but it was n't enough, he knew. They needed something more. `` Our cause is righteous and just!'' Aldemedes began, recalling that sermon when he was first knighted, the sense of importance he felt, `` We will not falter!'' He raised the sword over his head, letting it glint off the dimming sunlight. 
 
 That got attention. The gesture seemed to work a kind of magic on the column in the way mere words could n't. The sword, the knight, it gave events a kind of religious influence. The pace picked up somewhat and Aldemedes stayed to the side of the road, keeping the sword visible for the rest of the column as it passed. 
 
 He looked into the eyes of his command as they passed, drawing strength from them as they drew strength from the symbols. *We may falter. * He thought, *But we will not go down without a fight. * Thinking further ahead to Val Gren, Aldemedes began girding himself for the next hurdle, the next act in this seemingly never-ending tragedy.
