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The 625 Chemhounds split open with some prodding and the 789th Light Mist Raincatchers accelerate to paced a march, swirling into a single line and pushing to the front.
A young aspirant, the only casualty so far, clutches at his side, trying to stem the ocean of red. Mutters a quiet prayer. At least he gets to die among friends.
This is no place for medical care or triage, there's too much noise, too many troops, too much shouting, a fight is still half winding down as the last Sparksworn standing surrender near the Grain Store. Panting 13th Wetmurks wavering on their feet as a Ferrat legio sees off the last hostile and corrals the surrendering ones. The 13th Wetmurks raise their collective hands in a shaking but rather stoic salute.
None of that will prevent Amelius from dying. The 789th formation leader, civic service marks on his armor, takes one look at the absolute churning morass of troops around the fallen and shoves one of Saccerdotessa's retinue, too busy giving an information lecture on pyrotherugic spark-speaking, out of the way. And then he raises his voice. One of the 21st, more paradeground perfect, less possessing of a aquifiers worth of sheer, undiluted disregard for the chaos, responds. What are they supposed to do? They can't just lock shields and form a square!
The formation leader of the 789ths glares.
The 21st lock shields, forms a square, and executes an oblique sideways two-shuffle formation shuffle. It's pretty impressive, though the Accords specify the maneveur itself has little practical combat utility unless one is facing down an advancing formation of Twinsouled Arbitant-Servitors, though no library can tell you what that is. The 21st fan out, kicking dust and dirt on the fire and dousing it. One of the 789ths grabs a chemicae scholastic and *lifts*.
A little shuffling later, Lutatius finds himself staring down at a dying man in dire need of stitches, cauterising and a friendly reminder that life, as a whole, is worth experiencing for a full score of fifty years at least. Scant sense in quitting at twenty. Alas, the chemicae's carry all the fine needles and -- a bemused looking 21st Legio deposits a chemicae in the little square. Alright, fair shine, but what about the chemicae adjutant, we need his steady hands so -- ah, there is he, thank you. Can you shuffle outwards a little, there may be call for wide arm movements.
The 21st shuffles outwards a little, expanding the square.
--
<span class="mu-s">Command Point Fort Forlorn</span> is likely to be established at the end of this phase, as the jam is clearing out. Alas, for now, there's too much uncertainity up there.
--
338th reports light enemy cavalry!
338th reports <span class="mu-i">incredibly rude gestures</span>
762nd Pyrewatchers have stopped their advance. There's a pyre here (they're watching it). They're investigating. Is that. . . a humanoid shape in there?
We recieve an intelligence update!
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>Phase Three starts . . . NOW
