[ IP ] The Knight with no name

The acrid desert air stung Owen di la Martyn's lungs as he breathed. The dun colored bandanna wrapped round his face obscured his sun burnt skin from view as did the tinted goggles for his flint grey eyes. His battered tricorne was pulled low over his face, the blessed shadows shielding him from the vengeful sun. 
 
 He stood on the tall mesa overlooking the dry wadi, his attention at the ribbon of warriors and beasts that marched below. 
 
 They were a fearsome sight, clad in armor the color of dried blood and gold, spikes and wicked hooks decorating their pauldrons and helmets. Although too distant to see, Martyn knew what these creatures looked like. They were sinisterly pale, their cheekbones high and chins narrow with thin pointed ears. The teeth within their mouths were needle sharp, their noses small and sunken. They worshiped no gods, and had no afterlife like other races. Each was born damned to oblivion upon death, their lives knowing only hardship and pain. Only in glorious war could they find a semblance of immortality and so threw themselves headlong into certain death, each dreaming that they might be chosen to have their souls saved from annihilation. They were Skorne. 
 
 Among them marched beasts that radiated agony and hatred, driven to rage by their handlers who whipped them forward. Martyn could make out two Cyclops in the formation, one carrying a dual handed sword the length of a man whilst its partner cradled a heavy weapon capable of throwing dozens of deadly needles at its foes. The Llaelese warcaster frowned but not too greatly; he had expected heavier warbeast support. This was plenty manageable. 
 
 Making sure he had n't been spotted, he pulled back and ran to the opposite side the of the mesa, sliding down the steep slope. Waiting for him were a half dozen soldiers in blue wearing the golden swan of Cygnar. 
 
 `` Well, there you have it, Major Bingley. We have about three hundred Skorne with two light warbeasts that I can see, both cyclops. They do n't seem to be aware of us, but that does n't mean they do n't. Those one eyed beasts of theirs, they say can see the future.'' Martyn said. 
 
 `` Right.'' The Major said in his aristocratic Cygnaran. `` Captains Buford and MacDermond see to it that your men are prepared. I want your Long Gunners and Sword Knights ready. MacDermond, that means your men should be in that gully there.'' He said pointing on a canvas backed map. `` Buford, up in those rocks I'd think. It'd take some effort for the Skorne to get up there, and they'd be at your mercy. Lieutenant Gardener,'' Nodding at the armored woman in the insulated armor of the Stormknights. `` Have your Storm Lances ready to act as the hammer to MacDermond's anvil.'' 
 
 `` And I sir?'' The last Cygnaran officer asked. 
 
 `` You, Colton, I want you and your rangers to make sure our rear is kept safe. These bastard have a nasty habit of finding a way around to flank us. Lord Owen,'' The Major said in deference to Martyn's noble title. `` Your assignment is to remove those two warbeasts. Understood?'' 
 
 Martyn nodded, hand gripping the hilt of his dual magelock pistol in anxiousness. 
 
 `` Of course, Major.'' He said in his Llaelese accented Cygnaran. `` They wo n't be an issue.'' 
 
 The officer smiled thinly, looking once more over the map of the terrain, at the ridges and valleys depicted on its printed paper. 
 
 `` Right then, you all know your jobs. Get to it.'' The junior officers and mercenary evaporated from the scene, rushing to their units and machines. It was to be a red morning, one of blood and hatred and death. It was war.
