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The Accord Regulations, on the question of how to go about assaulting a motivated enemy in a fortified position possessing superior local advantage has the following somewhat laconic advice:
<span class="mu-i">Find a different path or a different war</span>.
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The Cohort moves, and all across the lines, <span class="mu-i">contact is made</span>. Dispatch couriers try to reach Command Posts to provide proper updates, but the thundering hooves of cavalry cut them off. Are we winning? We are succeeding?
Methodian stalls, blusters, talks terms, threats, boasts, the Sunlancers - cut from the same cavalry man's cloth - offer it in likewise terms. And each breath is joy to the lungs as the Steel Legio feel energy slowly flit back into their hands, legs, their hearts.
Somewhere, near Fireskellian's (presumed) Command Post, something goes cataclysmically wrong for someone, barrels spill, troops die, screams are cut off.
Down in the flood channels below, the officers try to make sense of it! But there are too many soldiers too tightly wound, pressing, pushing, too much dust, too much struggle.
Wait, is that . . . the sound of cavalry?
<span class="mu-s">Behind us</span>?
--
>Stand by for END OF PHASE REPORTS
