[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 34 ----

They attacked out of the fortress with another motley band, and we swatted them down. Many of their slaves died, though many more ran and fled. We suffered no casualties, save only for one of the priests of Apollo, who fell to a regrettably well-aimed large rock. Actually, our numbers increased, since for the first time a few Mictlanians came to their senses and begged us to accept their services in the fight against their cruel former masters. Balachandra was most pleased at this, and said that he and the rest of his clan had been working on a way to "project inner calm" at the enemy and "release their inner chi" in order to "free their minds". I'm just going to put it down to a sudden and unlooked-for case of common sense breaking out.

There was a quarrel in the mystic camp after the battle, though I don't know what it was about. For the past several months, Amshula and Tushar have been in charge of marshaling the other mystics and directing their mystical incantations that (they claim) are the reason we have lost so few troops. Tushar's Blade Wind, in fact, has earned him a reputation far and wide as a powerful magician with lightning quick reflexes (the better to step out the way of stray blades), and he tends to accumulate a following of awestruck young lads and swooning maidens. (Except for Andromache; after battles I've noticed that though she tends diligently to the wounds of all the injured soldiers, she spends more time than is strictly necessary around Balachandra's tent, admiring his ever-more-impressive muscle tone.) But as I was walking past the camp in the early evening, I heard Amshula's voice raised passionately, and caught a few words.

"... not fair, who cares about fair? ... risk our lives just so someone else can play the hero... "

Several mystics spoke at once, drowning each other out. I heard elder sister Sadhana sharply rebuke Amshula for not being properly respectful, and several of Tushar's brothers arguing heatedly about something. The argument ended abruptly when Amshula shouted out, "You can all be seeyems for all I care, if you think I'm just in it for the glory." She then stormed out, which would have been more impressive if not for her limp. It seemed to be troubling her more than usual. As she hobbled past she caught my eye and said, furiously, "Their precious protocols and traditions are going to get us all killed, but do they care? It's just a big stupid game to them..." I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I let her walk past and went to inspect the defectors.

One of them, a bowman, claimed to be from an indigenous tribe in the province that had long been repressed, and whose members were forced to serve in the military because their skills with projectile weapons went beyond throwing rocks. He was more than willing to fight against the bloodfiends. The other defector, a common warrior, said that he had heard only the day before, from a cousin to the north, that the forces of "blue and butter" had liberated them, and that he had been confused about what to do with this information until, or so he claims, he saw me march out with the troops. As he was missing an arm and quite dazed from blood loss and hunger, I don't really know what to make of his claim, except that I have heard other rumors that the province to the north has revolted, in our favor.

At present, we are digging in and preparing for a long siege, though it is hard to say how long that could be. News from the south is not good -- the triplets continue under siege, and Vorgunmarsh was seized -- but it is far more important for us to continue here. If we can break their stronghold, then the rest of their forces will crumble and fall.

---