Rune King Swain's Meta Domain

The Fey Conquest, # 20— "A Year of Jubilee"

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"A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold."
—Proverbs 22:1

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In the following weeks since the fall of the coven of the Cait Sith, for the first time there were volunteer recruits who flocked to Swain in considerable numbers. It was all taking place in the name of Liberation.

Things had never changed so quickly for the people of Iceglass. The Three Tyrants from Ivalice had already devastated anyone who was in their reach, and now that Swain’s army was going out of its way to extinguish the dark espers and their covens, those who suffered at the hands of these forces began to see Swain as a Savior.

Swain and his men did not originally intend to liberate the Fey Folk, but were instead encumbered by besting the other three Rune Lords: Morris, Dunbar, and Weez. Meanwhile, conquering the Fey Realm was a breeze compared to the bitter wars of Ivalice, and thus was a preferable mode of living. However, of the Separatists, Swain’s men had a measure of righteousness, and so despised the dark espers and their servants, nigh being willing to fight them even from sheer dislike. They were quite unlike the stagnant Fey Folk, who had learned to be helpless against the cabals that infected their realm.

Much of the Fey Folk were divided in the regions surrounding Swain, many still hating him as an interloper in their lands. Those who had swallowed their misery under the control of the covens would divorce their wives, abandon their property, disavow their espers, and even abandon their children at the chance to better their lives under Swain.

Those who hated Swain outnumbered his supporters in these areas, and proclaiming intent to join him led a number of Fey Folk to be stoned, flogged, mocked, and even sacrificed to their espers.

Twice, when there were reports of this, Swain would take a detour to burn the villages who murdered his supporters and seize their treasure, the least of which were not their espers, who left behind precious magicite when slain.

Curiously, not all the villages who hated Swain served dark espers, meaning those who murdered the defectors housed valuable espers— dark magicite was nearly useless, as the pain of receiving them as runes on the body was excruciating. Espers of comparatively benign character were much easier to bear, and with the combinations of enthusiastic recruits, steady progress in arming and training the Fey auxiliaries, and an increasing proliferation of runes, no single township could resist Swain’s army.

In the span of weeks, an additional thirty-five of Swain’s men had taken Fey wives, a few of them more than one. Forty-seven of the auxiliaries did the same. These had been married on two separate days, when Swain’s army rested and enjoyed a feast, which was possible due to the fact the towns that resisted him left them with more supplies than they could carry, and proportionally they looted more provisions than they received in levies and other captives.

But what astonished the warriors from Ivalice and likewise rejuvenated the spirit of the auxiliaries were that the Fey Folk were now routinely singing and dancing during their times of rest, and also on the march.

The Separatist knew marching songs and drinking songs, and a number of hymns reserved to honor Zakarum. The Fey songs were light-hearted and gay, songs of joy and celebration.

“O never, O never, O never again!
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten!
We will never, go back to, the way that it was!
Because, of all the, heroic things that he does!

“We went to, the Village of, the Swine to get by,
They feed humans, to piggies, that live in a sty!
But now I’m, not hungry, and I’m dancing a jig!
Swain conquered, the filthy, ole’ Town of the Pig!”
“O never, O never, O never again!...”

With this, the hearts of the soldiers from Ivalice softened, and during those weeks began clapping along, a few even joining the gaiety. Dancing was not a practice of the warriors, and for once the Fey were jeering and laughing at their captors, but also encouraging them and welcoming them.

“They see the fire of our whole camp where Swain’s vast army stays,
Their wicked gods just can’t be found, and I suppose they ran away!
The wicked run, Huzzah!
Our Savior stays, we’re free!
Well it must be time for Liberation,
And a Year of Jubilee!
Why it must be time for Liberation,
And a Year of Jubileeeeeeee!”

Swain never heard such extolling, never in the land of Ivalice, much less regarding himself.

Their Savior? It was a lot to live up to. Liberation? He never really thought of it like that. Did they still believe he was a Liberator if he would become king? Did they even know he was planning to claim the power of their Sovereign Esper for himself?

After acquiring new maps and with the help of his informants, he learned their path would be barred by the Fortress of the Golem, the first location with any serious defenses. For the first time, he felt what Numyst called the Heavenly Mandate, and though he worried about being pinned between the Rune Lord Dunbar and Golem Fortress, his spirit was lifted and he felt Zakarum was finally leading him to the future he hoped for. But being from Ivalice, he knew not what it was like. Whether it was the Fletcher or a Fortress, he would not be discouraged, and he began to have a paternal love for the grateful Fey that praised him.

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"...And it turns out I've never been to India, and I still don't wanna go."

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The Fey Conquest # 19— "Needless Strife"

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"A fool does not delight in understanding, but only airing his own opinions."
— Proverbs 18: 2

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It would be a number of days before Fenix would return from mustering militia northeast of Sovereign Valley, west of the Grain Region, which was west of Iceglass Fountain, which was west still of the Winter Region, which was under Morris the Boar’s reign of terror. This province was called the Mystic Region, where some of the most powerful espers dwelt, but also the most dreadful. Reportedly, Fenix had readied both gifts and livestock as sacrifices, and intended to entreaty anyone in the Mystic Region who would defend Iceglass against the invaders, which included dark espers.

He had done this outside either Maka or Doctor Karval’s behest. Maka, with Naori as her mentor, cringed at the notion they should employ dark espers, and Karval, though without ostensible emotion, was quite adamantly against it. Fenix, however, was convinced that he was Maka’s protector and advocate, and believed it was left to him to take initiative and orchestrate an epic confrontation with the invaders.

“Fenix may spell the ruin of our people, if we’re to account for the words of both Leonyde and Aestheyas,” said Emeriss Karval.
“Their words come from on high,” said Naori, “and our guilt is far from hidden.”

This made most of the entourage uncomfortable, as Naori was only concerned with being an oracle, while the rest of their number were more than a little invested in their own native soil.

“With that in mind,” said Doctor Karval, “Fenix is being reckless. Dark espers are often formidable, but enlisting their aid appears to be more of what has hemmed us in in the first place.”
Skerrit said, “Can you really believe the full strength of Iceglass is somehow less than a fraction of her power?”
“What does that mean?” said Japheth.
“The full power of Iceglass lies in utilizing every asset we have available,” said Skerrit, leaving the rest unsaid.

It turned out Maka’s disillusionment of Doctor Skerrit was far from complete. She had once been impressed by his propensity to think critically and examine the truth whenever it was possible to do so. Now, she was beginning to see what he enjoyed was argument, in and of itself, and much of it was kindled by jealousy that his student, Maka, was now far more invested in Doctor Emeriss than Wylos Skerrit. Though Karval did not get easily drawn in, Japheth, Grigwen, Warren, various delegates and even Naori certainly did. Warren appeared to be convinced, as Skerrit was, that “winning” conversations was an invaluable skill, even if it meant antagonizing people. Japheth preferred gracious harmony, but was also convinced people like Warren and Skerrit could be persuaded to see the error of their ways, and hence would get drawn into these fruitless debates. Grigwen venerated Skerrit for his steadfast faith in the ways of the Fey Realm, and Naori could only suffer so much spoken folly.

Skerrit enjoyed some kind of perverse glee for being the center of a debate, and at his age this attribute was impossible to dislodge. Moreover, he would often fail to maintain his own opinion, but would fault Karval for not considering every option, and even then seemed to find fault in choosing any option at all. Maka had a continual sensation, especially concerning Warren and Skerrit, that she was being skinned alive, as though her time and her consideration were simply a fact of life, and she could jump into Skerrit’s stomach, and after a while, he’d simply look for another expressive face to experiment with.

Japheth said, “But in the ancient poetry of our people, an enemy of your enemy is not your friend.”
Doctor Skerrit, for the purposes of seeming to be an objective outsider to his own nation, said, “The ancient stories,” he gestured dramatically, “volumes have been written since then. A mountain of literature.”
Naori said without hiding her anger, “Volumes of rubbish. Most of it analyzes an analysis of something that never should have had an impact to begin with!”

There was astonishment among the entourage.

“Are you suggesting we go back to the days when our women were forbidden from the sacred duties of the males?” said Warren.
Japheth said, “We’re the ones who are losing a war to an army of harbitten men.”
“We appear to be losing,” said Skerrit, as if the rest was unsaid.
“Yes. Because we are,” said Naori.
Skerrit guffawed laughter, “Well, you miss the point. The whole point is, appearances are deceiving.”
“Our women have won intellectual battles,” said Japheth, and Warren, Skerrit, and a few of their attendants balked, “—B-but the invaders know how to actually fight.”
“The quill is mightier than the sword,” said Skerrit.
“Yes,” said Doctor Karval, “and we have used it against ourselves. If not for the quill, our people would have not lost their sense.”
Skerrit was simultaneously angry and had to relieve himself, so great was his outrage. He sputtered, “I am a master of the writings of our people, and have made many contributions. You’re trying to take us back to the dark ages, when—”
“—No one’s going to the dark ages!” said Japheth, “If they were dark—”
“— ‘if they were dark’!?” mocked Warren.

At this, the company descended into quarreling, most of it shouting at Japheth and Japheth trying to be heard. He was attempting to make the case that feeding children to the dark espers was clearly no brighter than an age when women were forbidden roles of prestige. At this he was mocked and derided, much of Maka’s procession believing the liberation of women to entail some heavenly mandate.

Later, Maka conferred in private with Doctor Karval.

“Good Doctor,” said Maka, “Does our procession even believe in what we’re doing?”
Emeriss cleared his throat. “We drew them together in haste, I’m afraid. It would have been an arduous process to ensure everyone believed we needed to make peace with the one called Swain.”
“So we all believe we’re going to win in an actual battle?”
“Not we. Them. You are not to appease them. You are our Chosen.”
“But those idiots—” hissed Maka.
“I am not one to overturn the words of Leonyde,” said Karval, “but the hearts of our people are elsewhere.”
“Well what do they think this wedding is for?”
“They think it’s a gambit. Some don’t believe it should happen at all.”
“How many?”
“I am only a professor. I am not Aestheyas. But if the elders and the clergy remain obstinate, they have a way of persuading our people to believe in lies.”
“Then why are they part of this procession!?” she hissed again.
“Well. Keep your friends close,” said Doctor Karval.

And Maka understood the rest.

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"...And it turns out I've never been to India, and I still don't wanna go."

*----------------------------*

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The Fey Conquest, # 18— “A New Contingency”

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"If a king with 10,000 men goes to war with a king with 20,000 men, won't he sit down and see if he could win, first? And if he can't win, he will go out and offer terms of peace."
—Yeshua

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Maka re-convened with Japheth and Naori after they already returned to Looking Glass Monastery, and they commiserated about what Maka had learned from Leonyde, the Sovereign Esper. Naori had been generally unsurprised by what Leonyde had related, and to Maka’s surprise, Japheth was also unsurprised.

“You know how I feel about children, Maka. I appreciate them, love to make them laugh.”
“That’s right, you do,” said Naori.
“So you’re in agreement with Leonyde’s judgment?” said Maka.
“Are you?” said Japheth.
“I— I loved being a scribe and reading the histories, and studying the espers. Everyone praised me. I knew the dark espers were malignant, but I suppose I never considered— those children that were offered…”
“... Were just as human as me and you,” he finished.

There was some quiet, then:

“But the Net Region!” exclaimed Maka.
“The Nets had their own cabals,” said Japheth, “The Esper of the Crab Village was fed humans. Who knows if they were guilty?”

Maka shuddered.

Then said, “The Crab Esper was like that, was he!?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a friendly animal,” said Japheth.
Naori said, “The land of Iceglass is blighted by covens everywhere but Sovereign Valley. The Order of the Spear believed their duties to be relegated to rooting out stray Will’o Darks.”
“Not much of a job, really,” said Maka.
“If you actually read the proper text,” said Naori, “it says they’re responsible for everything West of Iceglass Fountain!”
“That’s impossible,” said Japheth.
“Even I know that,” said Maka, “How could they shoulder such a task?”
Naori said, “It was never supposed to be this epidemic. As the years went on, it became more and more impossible to root out the dark ones. And then people just accepted it, even reveled in it.”
“But why are we responsible?” asked Maka.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” said Naori, “If you were alive at the time this started, you would have had your nose in the books that suited your fancy, while the rest of the world kept turning.”
“Yeowch, Naori,” said Maka.

Meanwhile, Looking Glass Monastery would be a morass of pontification, indecision, and squabbling if not for Doctor Karval.

Doctor Emeriss Karval, a doctor of military history and a devotee of Gwinik, an Esper of Wisdom, gave Maka some disquieting news.

“The Badger’s behavior has changed in the Net region,” Said Doctor Karval.
“Can that really be a bad thing?” said Japheth.
“Normally, yes. But it’s out of his character. Whatever he’s planning, it can’t be good.”
“Well, what is it?” said Maka.

Surely anything would be better than sacking every town, slaying the espers, enslaving the survivors, and wanton cruelty to those who resisted.

“He has forestalled in the Village of the Bread Esper. If we’re not mistaken, he is well aware of all manner of refugees along with their espers making their way to Stonehall.”
“The Bread Village?” said Maka, “What could interest him there? He seems to like his meat on the rare side.”
“He’s been breaking in his conscripts. Few of them are happy to join the Tyrant, but unfortunately, our people don’t have the backs to resist someone like Weez.”
“Understandable,” said Japheth, “But why is he ignoring the refugees? Surely baked goods have little to do with it.”
“The Village of the Bread Esper, unsurprisingly, is the breadbasket of the entire region,” said Karval, “The conscripts are being disciplined with merciless efficiency. Weez is able to carefully measure their will to resist with how much bread they will receive.”
“But still, though,” said Maka, “Surely espers are of greater interest.”
Dr. Karval said, “My estimation is he’s solidifying his control over his troops and their readiness for battle, while living off the abundance of the Bread Village. He has as much time as he needs.”
“Is Stonehall secure?” said Japheth.
“It’s very defensible,” said Karval, “No one has ever penetrated the outer wall, much less the bastion it protects.”

That soothed Maka, for the nonce.

“What of Leonyde?” said the doctor, “You survived your encounter with him. That says much as it is.”
“—Well…” said Maka, anxious, “...He and Aestheyas are of the same mind.”

Even though Doctor Karval’s gaze hardly seemed to change, something about it made her feel that she had dishonored her father.

“You must tell me everything.”

When Maka at length had related everything to Doctor Karval, he commended her honesty, and set about prosecuting a different contingency. He would accompany her in a regal procession of followers, serving the needs of Maka and her attendants. Naori would join her entourage, along with Skerrit, Japheth, Warren, two of her chosen Lancers, a brigade of Fey Militia, and a slew of other clergy, mages, artisans, doctors, scribes, and anyone who could assist her in preparation for what she must do. Karval arranged for a preparation of gifts as a peace offering for the invader, along with the trappings that feasibly could be used to erect a wedding celebration. There would be ample provisions to what Karval judged would be enough to furnish a wedding feast.

“Fenix will never agree to this,” said Maka.
“Fenix is more of a peacock, and he was not Chosen. You were,” said Karval.
“There are none braver,” said Skerrit, who apparently trusted in Fenix’s magnificent attire.
“Leonyde and Aestheyas both testified we would lose the war,” said Japheth, “and there’s plenty of evidence of us losing.”
“Once the Weasel assails Stonehall, he will be cast down,” said Skerrit.
“Stonehall is impregnable,” said Warren expertly.

And yet the Net Region proper was being laid waste, Maka didn’t say.

Another Lancer from the Order of the Spear, Grigwen, was tasked with leading, drilling, and marshaling the Fey Militia attending Maka’s entourage. But it was intended to be for security, not as an opposing force to the conqueror. He was loud and authoritative enough to impress the militia, and his armor and other finery impressed them all the more. From what she could tell, Grigwen knew how to do his job well enough that the Fey grew confident, strengthened, and familiar with their weaponry, but she couldn’t help but notice their movements were exaggerated, stiff, unnatural, with none of the grace she saw in her scrying of Swain’s war-band. It was like they were acting out a ceremony.

Perhaps it was best after all that their people made peace with Swain, the lesser of four evils that had invaded Iceglass.

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"...And it turns out I've never been to India, and I still don't wanna go."

*----------------------------*

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The Fey Conquest, # 17— “Blooding the Recruits, Part Two”

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“I will not fear the tens of thousands
Drawn up against me o every side.
Arise, O LORD! Deliver me,
O my God!
Strike all my enemies on the jaw!
Break the teeth of the wicked.”
—Psalm 3: 6-7

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Numyst and Wyatt ensured that all the Fey auxiliaries were dug in and at the ready for Krest to cast his spell.

“Bear in mind that this spell is a two-edged sword,” said Krest, “they’ll come, but they’ll fight like— well, demons.”
“They are demons,” said Numyst, the war-priest.
“Well— angry demons,” said Krest. “I’m about to start the incantation. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“No time like the present,” said Numyst.
“Very well, then. I’ll begin.”

Krest was a wizard from Ivalice, whose powers differed from Numyst’s, as well as the powers granted to their growing army by means of slain ‘espers’. When the deserters from Ivalice had attacked and killed the espers that lived among the people of Iceglass about half a year ago, they discovered that their bodies left behind a mineral Krest had dubbed ‘magicite’. If you made a spiritual pact with the soul of the esper residing in the mineral, it became merged with the flesh in the form of a rune. It could thereby be activated to gain a measure of the esper’s power.

Training with runes and using them required effort, pushing your spirit and taxing your mind and even your body, causing exhaustion almost as certainly as physical exertion. Krest, and to a lesser extent Numyst, were experienced in ethereal matters and manipulation, and therefore had more talent with using runes, along with the few other company wizards from Ivalice. Once Krest had augmented his power with magicite, he became quite formidable.

However, the spell he was muttering was from the school of wizardry he attended in Ivalice, called Red Provocation. It was not accomplished with runes. Of the entirety of Swain’s army, he alone could perform this task.

Wyatt, the appointed officer of the Fey auxiliaries, said to Numyst, “Our people have not confronted Dark Espers for many decades.”
“It is abject cowardice,” said Numyst.
“It is, but for those who don’t want it, they’re the first to be targeted.”
“That is why Zakarum has sent us. To punish the wicked. I have never felt more anointed, along with our Liege. He is ordained to conquer.”
“Some of us are going to die, today.”
“Why do you fear uncertain death when your people give your children to certain death? To feed heathen gods?”
“...what was that word you used? ‘Abject’?”
“Cowardice.”
“Yes, abject cowardice. Whatever that means.”
“It means, well..” Numyst paused, “...something tells me you already know.”

Wyatt gave the merest of laughs.

Krest finally struck the ground with his staff, and shouted the last part of the incantation: “ENDURAS NAUGHT EXPITATION.”

These would be nonsense words to both Fey and the Separatists, but this was the nature of the arcane.

There was an eerie quiet.

Then crows began descending on the auxiliaries, along with songbirds.
“KILL THEM WITHOUT AMMUNITION,” boomed Numyst with thaumaturgy. It was easier said than done, and before they were driven off, one of the auxiliaries nearly lost an eye, her face gashed across her eyelid.

Then they heard the screams of the Cait Sith, from not too far away. Along with the demon cat seductresses, their thralls that served them also cried out, the combined din sending a chill throughout their position.

The Fey recruits steeled themselves, knowing they only needed to fight until Swain took them in the flank.

Since it was wilderness, they did not see their enemies until the dreaded Cait Sith came bursting through the foliage. They screamed like a combination of an angry woman and a hungry mountain cat.

“FIRE,” roared Wyatt, the Fey officer, and a combination of arrows and offensive rune magic decimated the first wave, though the dark espers leapt like wildcats; in any case, a few managed to reach the conscripts’ line of defense, yet their training had been thorough, and they used their spears together as a bristling wall of defense, though most did not have shields. A single cait sith smashed into a fey male, and would have tore him to shreds unless his countrymen had not closed in and filled her with their sharp, biting metal. Nevertheless, she had nearly inflicted a mortal wound on his throat with her claws.

As the next wave attack rapidly closed in, what they did not expect was a bear to come barreling out of the woods on their right flank, as well as angry deer, which plowed through the surprised auxiliaries. The deer weren’t especially deadly, causing some broken teeth and bruises, but the bear went straight for the throat of one unlucky Fey male, who was put to death before Numyst himself unleashed his own runic magic, channeled through his mace and empowered by Zakarum: an ethereal hammer was hurled like a harpoon and smashed the bear with a concussive blow to its head, and after it fell, it didn’t move.

The Cabal of the Cait Sith now surged forward in full force. The auxiliaries outnumbered them by at least threefold, yet because of Krest’s spell, they hurled themselves headlong at their defensive position. The ill-favored looking men and women of the cabal were animated by the demonic energy of their patrons, and the dark espers themselves were able to overcome some of the walls of spears and missiles of Swain’s men, using blades to cut down a number of the Fey recruits.

With the din of battle, It felt much longer than it was when Swain arrived with his cavalry, taking the Cabal in the rear. This textbook maneuver was enough to crush the dark espers and their thralls, as the nature of their cult was a descent into a cycle of cruelty and lust, having little to do with pitched battles.

The Cabal had gained control of the villages through enslaving the townspeople by lust, combined with dark magic. Their ways were the ways of stealth, seduction, trickery, sorcery, intrigue, skulduggery. But thanks to Krest’s spell, they were drawn into pitched conflict, and there even the Fey Folk could manage the resistance.

With enough spears and drilling, that is.

The Fey Folk took up a cry of jubilation when their foes were routed.

At last, the recruits had gotten a taste of battle, and they tasted the fruit of both victory and loss. Twenty-seven of the fey folk had been killed, but the triumphant victors were animated by the success of confronting a cabal, and such insidious organizations had gone unchallenged in their lands for decades, even centuries. The townspeople of the Cat Esper were liberated and had begun rehabilitation, and would eventually do more than replace their countrymen slain in battle.

Every single Cat Esper welcomed rebirth as runes, and the soldiery was invigorated that their cause now had the mandate of Liberation, Swain alone having the power and will to root out the covens and cabals. The majority of the Fey levies now embraced Swain’s rule, as their eyes were opened to the evil that had been allowed to metastasize in their lands, with the conqueror bent on cutting out the rot.

*----------------------------*

"...And it turns out I've never been to India, and I still don't wanna go."

*----------------------------*

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The Fey Conquest, # 16— “Blooding the Recruits”

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"Steel is not made into a sword unless it passes through the fire and endures many blows."

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Swain’s war-band, as it has already been related, was now large enough to be called an army, the Fey Folk Auxiliaries swelling in number, with two out of every five military-aged males now trained to fight in battles. The remainder trained with their makeshift weapons, most awaiting martial equipment. Three out of every five were too green to serve, and even the ones who were deemed ready had not been blooded. The remainder of the males were unfit for battle or useful as artisans, joining the women and other miscellaneous males in dull but necessary labor.

It was Swain’s desire to test the mettle of the Fey auxiliaries, and over the course of a week, he saw his opportunity. The Village of the Cat Esper, the name alone seizing their curiosity, was discovered by their informants to be held in thrall by The Cult of the Cait Sith, their espers appearing as seductive women merged with felines. The various incarnations of the Cat Esper could do little against the cabal, the males of the village had mostly been seduced into ‘demonic slavery’ (as Numyst called it), and their children were tormented among a helpless citizenry, feeding the beauty of the Cait Siths and the women who joined hands with them.

Indeed, it was a parasitic relationship in danger of killing the host, and those in the village who were not members of the cabal were kept as chattel, being milked of their blood and their will to live. There was always just enough pleasure in the village to keep them as food for their demonic cult.

“Zakarum seethes with fury, Lord Swain,” said Numyst.
“Undoubtedly,” said Swain. The Rune Lord was an ardent believer in Zakarum, but he only devoted about half his brain to His consideration. The other half obsessed with his military campaign and the activities of his rival Rune Lords: Morris the Pig, Dunbar the Fletcher, and Weez the Badger. The Three Tyrants.

Although Swain was considered the Fourth, by many ignorant Fey people.

“My hands yearn to slay them,” said his war-priest.
“We have yet to test the auxiliaries,” said Swain, “But since you mentioned it, I want you to join Wyatt and the other Fey officers in meeting their settlement head on. I, the two Garyfs, Lomar, Wilf, and Torek will lead the cavalry and take them in the flank.”
“I understand. Leave it to me.”

The conquerors slew a few dark espers wandering the Cat Village proper, followed by more than two scores of thralls of the Cait Siths. Their victims were so oppressed that they did not comprehend they were being liberated until an entire day had passed. Their spirits were so broken that they were afraid to believe that their relief was real. But after some coaxing by Krest, Numyst, Wyatt, and a number of other Fey recruits, they learned the location of the Cabal’s settlement.

The Feys who were deemed fully prepared were anxious for fear, excitement, or just the fact that they were kept waiting to join in battle. They brandished their spears at unseen enemies as they marched, without the protection of the mighty warriors from Ivalice. Only about a third carried shields, all of them carried spears, and another third carried bows. Of those that carried bows, only half were proficient in calmly swapping between the two weapons. Half of the auxiliaries wore leather armor, and only half of that was of considerable durability.

However, they were joined by Fey auxiliaries that had taken runes from harvested magicite, and were just as proficient in it as the warriors from Ivalice. This brigade was approximately one tenth of the size of Swain’s own battalion that was left to him after he led his men into desertion.

Wyatt, under Numyst’s supervision, led the auxiliaries to a defensible location, which their intelligence suggested was near the Cait Sith settlement.

“We can’t just march blindly,” said Wyatt, “what do we do from here?”
“We must draw them out,” said Numyst.
“How will we do that?”
“Good grief. Where’s Krest?”

Wyatt summoned the one of a total of five company wizards. Swain trusted and relied on Krest more than the others, and Numyst knew him well.

“A goad?” Said the wizard, “yes, I know one of those. A spell of provocation.”
“What are the risks?”
“Well, for one thing, they’ll be very angry.”
“And?”
“…and it will provoke everything in a radius of about 250 yards. Including birds.”
“Are they close?” Said Wyatt.
“I’ll find out for you. Let me send my familiar.”

Krest summoned his Grey Raven, Kokkles, by burning ether as he held out his hand and muttering something. Within one minute, Kokkles swooped from a copse nearby, landing on Krest’s robed arm.
He uttered some kind of incantation, and the raven took flight again.

“Kokkles hasn’t earned his barley corn, lately,” said Krest.

Krest’s eyes glazed over, at this point seeing through his familiar’s eyes. It was a tedious half an hour before the raven came back.

Krest’s ordinary vision was restored.

“They’re nearly 200 yards away.”
“So it will work?” Said Wyatt.
“I don’t necessarily hope so,” said Krest.

Wyatt ordered his troops to dig in and make use of the terrain.

“Don’t give an inch of ground. Lord Swain will ensure that we’ll win, but we must prove our mettle. Show the conqueror that the people of Iceglass have a right to hold our heads high!”

With that, the auxiliaries made ready for the confrontation.

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"...And it turns out I've never been to India, and I still don't wanna go."

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