The Reclamation Army, a motley crew of seasoned veterans from the Daemon War and green recruits with only basic training, found themselves thrust into the crumbling expanse of the Southern Empire. Their fortune lay in the disarray of the lands they first sought invaded. Yet, even the fragmented and warring tribes, each vying to carve out their own dominions, managed to exact a toll far heavier than anticipated. The ominous signs were there, but the leaders of the Reclamation Army chose to ignore them, attributing the losses to the inexperience of their sword fodder. Some generals even went so far as to claim that the bloodshed was a necessary evil, a means to separate the wheat from the chaff. In a grim twist of fate, they were not entirely wrong. The brutal lessons learned in the Southlands’ skirmishes were the very crucible that tempered the Reclamation Army. Without these harsh experiences, they would have faced annihilation when the disciplined legions of the Mareian Republic and the formidable knights of the Northern Kingdom emerged from the steppe. – Bens Kir, Foreward to “The Reclamation Army – A History”

KURT

Kurt cracked a Purist’s head with an offhand blow while deflecting another’s sword with his shield. Kurt grunted at the impact. Mad God, he just barely managed to get his shield up in time. He was getting too old to be in the thick of combat.

“Except Marteen has to be in the center of the fighting, and for some stupid reason, I have to go with him,” Kurt muttered as the Purist tried to skewer him again. Kurt slammed his heavy blade down on the elf’s sword and snapped it at the hilt. The Purist just stopped and stared at his broken weapon. The dwarf broke the Purist’s collarbone and his right knee with a pair of fast blows. Kurt stepped over the screaming Purist. He wasn’t getting up anytime soon. No sense wasting any more energy.

The plan was simple. Poke the Purists around the trebuchets enough to get them to chase the volunteers and the constables back into narrower streets where the veterans among the volunteers and constables would have an easier time defeating the Purists in detail. The plan worked at first. The Purists’ discipline dissolved when the veterans ambushed them in the tight confines of Lisandra’s outer city.

Kurt held a glimmer of hope Marteen’s mad scheme would work. That lasted right up until that bitch Edess Kul sent in heavy reinforcements from the trebuchet camp. The volunteers would have routed, but Marteen personally led the defense. The Scythe appearing in the middle of the fighting somehow kept the line from completely breaking. Kurt heard the stories from the Reclamation War, but he never really believed them until Marteen anchored a line that held off nearly three times its own number. Shortly after that, Kurt got split off with a small group of volunteers into a street melee with some Purists. That melee was done with both sides taking heavy casualties.

“Here you are Kurt,” Marteen said, emerging from the melee. Blood coated the elf’s crystal armor. A small puddle formed at Marteen’s feet. “I thought maybe you were off taking a nap.” Kurt grimaced as he saw the look in the elf’s eyes.

“Damn it Marteen, this is not a time for your madness,” Kurt snarled. “The volunteers are getting slaughtered by those Purist reinforcements. The constables are barely holding their own. I sent what was left to root out the last of the first rabble to open up an avenue of retreat.”

“What are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine,” Marteen said as he casually sidestepped a Purist lunging at him. In one fluid motion, Marteen turned and decapitated the soldier.

Kurt’s retort was cut off as a fresh platoon of halberd-armed Purists marched into the melee. Marteen, with a predatory smile on his face, danced into the new arrivals. Kurt and the volunteers around him were transfixed by Marteen’s dance. None could look away as the Purist platoon melted under his attack. As Kurt watched Marteen’s movements, he realized what was bothering him. There was a manic edge to Marteen’s dance. It was something Kurt hadn’t seen before – not even in the most desperate fights against Cull’s Red and Black. The Purist soldiers tried to flee, but Marteen continued to hack them down with his whirlwind.

“Marteen, stop!” Kurt shouted, wading into the melee. Kurt shouted again as he slipped on blood and spilled innards. Marteen spun on him. The blade stopped less than an inch from Kurt’s face. The predatory grin was now a rictus smile.

“Enough Marteen,” Kurt said, “We can’t make it to the trebuchets, and I’m not going to sacrifice our people just to indulge your sudden desire to kill every Purist around us.”

“Why not? It’s not like they deserve mercy,” Marteen said, bitterly. Kurt saw the pain behind the elf’s rage. Gripping the elf’s armor, Kurt dragged Marteen back down the street.

“You’ve never killed just to kill, Marteen,” Kurt said.

“I’m killing those Purists to protect Lisandra,” Marteen said, nearly shouting at Kurt.

“No, you’re not,” Kurt said, “You’re just trying to kill as many of them as you can.”

“What does it matter, so long as the Purists are beaten?”

“Because of what it will do to you!” Kurt answered, punching Marteen in the chest. Marteen rocked back from the blow and fell to the cobblestones. The elf stared dumbfounded at Kurt.

“It took years of Rin, Ela, and me working with you to marginally heal your wounds from the Reclamation War. You tell everyone that it’s because of what you saw and felt in the Badlands, but we both know it was more than that. It was fighting in a war where you did things you still regret. I do not want to see you go back down that dark hole again!”

“I’m not going to regret killing Purists!”

“Did you think at the time you would regret sacking those human towns?” Marteen stopped as if Kurt punched him in the nose. The two old friends stared at each other. The volunteers around them didn’t dare interrupt the stand-off. Loud explosions thundered down the street. Kurt whipped his head around trying to find who was attacking. More explosions roared. Kurt finally located the explosions’ origin and saw the trebuchets collapsing. Smoke and fire rose into the sky. Marteen chuckled and then erupted in manic laughter. Kurt looked between Marteen and the rising smoke. Marteen stood up and punched Kurt’s shoulder.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Marteen said, still laughing. “I listened when my sister was teaching Rin and Pallus. What did she always tell the boys if they hunted big prey?”

“Make it focus on what you want it to see, so the first time it notices your knife is when it’s in its ribs,” Kurt said. “What did you do, Marteen?”

“Well, while we were busy here killing Purists, the Knifehand’s assassins were busy setting that up,” Marteen answered, pointing to where the trebuchets were collapsing. “That black powder the humans use makes a lot more noise than I thought.”

“So, we wasted all of these lives on a distraction?” Kurt bellowed.

“If you want to look at it that way,” Marteen answered, shrugging his shoulders. “We also put down a good payment of what I owe these bastards for murdering Ela.”