The first rays of the morning sun painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, Captain Arlet stood atop the weathered battlements of Sintra. Watching over the city from the palisades that had withstood centuries of barge-fights, bar-fights, and disorderly nut-chasing squirrels. One such creature scurried down the exterior palisades, leaving its hole in the wall. Wooden walls were always a temporary construction, and even Sintra''s culture of mercenaries could not rebuild them before rot set in. He''d warned that Sintra needed more stone construction, but earth magi were simply too expensive for Baron Green, despite the taxes coming in from mercenary contracts. He shook his head, squeezing the nearby logs. Wood crumbled under his gauntlet, weaker than a glorified picket fence.


    For reasons unbeknownst to him, monsters did not attack Greenwood Keep, refusing to come within several miles of the obsidian fortress. Two of his knights had tested the limits of this enigmatic ward by dragging a captured hellhound towards Greenhaven. A product of breeding attempts which were thus far unsuccessful, as they seemed to have internal bits preventing any from telling which were males and which were females unless you found a way to arouse literal fire. Arlet shook his head, recalling how three miles away from the city the beast had strangled itself into unconsciousness, absolutely refusing to approach. When the experiment was repeated several times all monsters refused to approach the keep itself, and avoided Rhendal''s tower. After those confirmed results, Arlet restructured the militia and scattered conscripts across Greenwood, arriving in Sintra himself with a score and a half of warriors to search for Baron Green.


    Since Lord Green’s disappearance, all communication between cities ceased. An unsurprising development given the roving packs of hellhounds. Those particular beasties were quickly becoming the greatest threat. A single bear, no matter how large, could be tripped and savaged by a dozen hounds who seemed just as eager to hunt monsters as they were to devour men. Any life became their prey, dominating the woods. Either you sallied forth in numbers, with armed soldiers, or you died alone.


    Thankfully Mont St Michel was an obsidian fortress similar to Greenwood Keep, there were no farmers that needed rescuing and the city guard was a standing force maintained by the church and city. Of all Greenwood, Mont St Michel should have been safest. Arlet prayed they could hold, for he had left them unaided, opting to protect farms over cities.


    Logic ruled over Arlet’s mind, his strategically earned levels as a tactician had won him many duels. Thus he entrusted Greenwood’s survival to his proven talents. Sintra was the lynchpin of his strategy. Firstly, it had a port –fishable even in January– a crucial link to the kingdom at large. Barges traveled faster and carried more supplies than any wagon, and the river flowed all the way to the capital itself, providing a lifeline. Or a highway for soldiers… If a noble could plead their case to King Aldric.


    That duty would fall onto his unworthy shoulders soon. As Champion of Baron Green, and named Steward of Greenwood, Arlet''s last duty would be to report Green''s death to the king. It troubled his mind, almost as much as Sintra''s treatment. Upon his arrival the champion was chagrined by the people, who immediately elected him as their own mayor. Arlet had thought it was a joke, accepting as a good natured joke to humor the Sintran soldiers.


    It wasn’t a joke. Now he was stuck here with over a thousand souls counting on him! When he should be out searching for Green. However, Arlet endeared himself into the position, making withdrawal a strategic impossibility. Sintra’s military commander should’ve been selected by the town’s mayor, but in these troubled days both the mayor and watch captain were slain. Because of this dearth or leadership Arlet stepped in, carrying the full weight of the city’s defense on his shoulders, accepting the mantle with unwavering resolve. Until he could dump it on the first Sintran who showed initiative.


    A faint breeze carried the stench of rotten flesh and the ash of fallen comrades, reminiscent of the endless hordes beyond the palisades. Fear and ecstasy gripped his heart in equal manner. Terror at the thought of losing men, ecstasy at the idea of overcoming new creatures of legend.


    Baron Green had little use for a two hand champion like him, parading Arlet around the other nobles as a status symbol. Boldly declaring Arlet’s level and deeds at the royal academy of war, or his victories over personal bodyguards of other houses. A comfortable life for a level ten champion, enough coin to keep his family safe, with enough combat to satiate the worst of his battlelust. Yet, t’was a life he had grown weary of. His soul cried out for a challenge, something to hone his martial prowess against, be it man or monster. A Pardanite or Werewolf would be excellent training partners, but few in the Kingdom were free, and slavery dulled a champion''s edge. Besides, he couldn''t stomach the thought of being a slaver not after what Blackwood had done at the academy.


    Arlet ground his teeth, ripping out the throat of that memory. Now wasn''t the time. He needed to find Baron Green. Where Baron Green had squandered Arlet''s talent, this new Lord Liam seemed to ignore them entirely, leveraging Arlet’s meager skills as a level two strategist instead.


    What manner of lord orders their champion to leave their side when they are wounded? Lord Green has been acting abnormally since the lightning strike. His magic is the most notable change. I wonder if he will ever regain his memories. He speaks and acts strangely, even making peace with Rhendal on a whim, and for duty’s sake!


    He is brave in the face of monsters, wise in his orders, and refrains from alcohol. The only wine he drinks is watered down and received with food. What in Taloc’s name is going on? Has he been possessed by a demon?


    Arlet considered that possibility for a few moments then shook his head.


    No, lightning is God''s own element. Only a scion of Therun Taloc could inhabit a Lightning Lord’s body, no demon could withstand his righteous affinity. Baron Green must still be in there, and he sent me away, risking my life for his people instead of himself.


    Arlet pumped his fist in celebration. Pleased beyond words at his lord’s startling evolution. The looming threat of monsters seemed to have been the required catalyst for Lord Green’s metamorphosis. Movement below the wall caught Arlet’s eye. A squad of ten men stopped at the bottom of the palisade, their sergeant calling up to Arlet in Sintra fashion.


    “Ahoy! Sergeant eighth company reporting as ordered! We’ve finished our rounds and can say with certainty that no orphans remain alive.” Called their commander.


    Oh great… It’s Jenkins… Irreverent master of bollocks. Arlet sighed through his teeth. Is it too much to hope a monster scares him straight one of these days? His jokes never seem to stop. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    “Excellent news Sergeant Jenkins! Have your men get some rest between the waves. There are some matters of Sintra that I require your input on.” Shouted Arlet.


    “Alright you scallywags, you heard the Captain find a pretty pussy and start swimming til you’re called for!” Shouted Jenkins.


    Arlet rolled his eyes at the exuberant officer. Not approving of the man’s casual leadership style. Five of the ten men in his “company” were veterans, who sauntered into the tavern adjacent to Sintra’s gatehouse. The other five men in the eighth company were fresh recruits, on the job less than a year, aka rookies. A typical arrangement for Sintran “companies”.


    All ten men of Eighth company disappeared into the tavern that served as guardhouse. A fact that annoyed Arlet every time he was reminded of it.


    A tavern as a guardhouse, completely unacceptable. Any vagrant or buffoon could walk right in and eavesdrop. People should fear the guards enough to stay out of trouble, not buy them an ale and laugh while they are on duty.


    Arlet pinched his forehead, knowing the tavern guardhouse was here to stay as were the monsters, activating his strategist skill [clarity of mind] he began working through the problems he could change.


    Spears, archers, and numbers counter hellhounds. We have shields in case the snake woman archers attack again, nets at the port in case of flabby fish women, but what the hell can we do if those burning giants attack again?


    Damn, if only we had some of Duke Hamilton’s engineers. The ballistae he demonstrated last year would’ve been perfect for giants… If we had anywhere to mount them. Arg! This city is a complete defensive disaster! We need twice the manpower and half as many buildings. If we abandon the wall then the monsters will break through it. If we stop patrolling the town then we can’t surround the portals that appear there, and if we abandon the ships then the whole reason we are fighting here burns down.


    “Thank you for the break captain. Last week got so bad we started sleeping vertically, can’t say how much longer we would’ve held without you and your knights.” Said Jenkins, arriving at his side.


    The two officers stood at the top of Sintra’s largest tower. A wooden palisade constructed to house a dozen archers within range of the main gate. It was a simple structure, only three stories tall, and with an unrepentantly direct nature that Arlet’s spartan sensibilities would have called cozy.


    The first floor was little more than a staircase closet, filled with small round rocks that could be used as munitions in case of siege. Carried there as punishment for disobedient recruits. The second floor was little better, full of old arms the Sintran ‘companies’ retired, spears with split shafts and crooked arrows. Weapons that were unsuitable for the regular soldiers but secreted away in case of unforeseeable dangers or because the quartermaster would make you polish the armory for each broken arrow you returned; leading to cunning recruits exchanging their broken darts for cached ones. Monsters appearing out of the aether fit the bill and many civilians took up these irregular weapons.


    Upon arrival, Arlet transformed the top floor into his command post. Two of his knights and four of Sintra’s regulars were stationed here at all times, acting as his lookouts and couriers. As well as a quick reaction force should the need arise. Tables lined the walls of the tower, covered with documents, weaponry, and the occasional vittle meant to aid Arlet’s command.


    “I’m scared to ask for your casualty report Jenkins.”


    “Ah, captain! Don’t be scared. We’ve only lost half our regular soldiers and a third of the militia, nothing to be concerned about.”


    Arlet sighed.


    “I mean from today. How many ships did we lose? How many men drowned.” Snapped Arlet. He respected Jenkin’s skills as warrior and strategist, but the man had a way of jesting that grated his nerves. Immediately explaining why the otherwise talented man had been overlooked for promotions.


    “Ships? Drowned? Bwahahaha! This is Sintra! We teach our children how to swim before they can walk.” Roared Jenkins, bravado dying in his throat as he saw Arlet’s soulless eyes.


    “Ahem, we have more ships than we can crew. Third company mentioned they drowned one of those fire giants. Ah, I recall now, they lured the hothead onto a barge and scuttled it. Some burns and bruises but nothing worth the parchment to write down.” Reported Jenkins.


    Arlet breathed easy knowing the docks and at least one of the companies were safe.


    “There was another giant your company fought, how did you fare?”


    “Like a whore in church, sweating our way to new clients. Ah, I mean, we took him down by ourselves.” Bragged Jenkins, correcting himself for clarity and not decency.


    “What?! How could you kill it? That giant was taller than this tower!” Demanded Arlet.


    “Captain, t’was nothing really. The little guy walked right into Jeremy’s Anchors! Davvy and I tripped him with an anchor chain.” Said Jenkins retrieving an apple from one of the provision barrels stored under the tables.


    “Chains? Don’t tell me you clapped a fire giant in irons?”


    “Haha! HA! Even I’m not that kinky! Burning bastard fell right on his face. Knocked himself out, all yours-truly had to do was stab him in the neck. Hottest thrust of my life!” Said Jenkins, raising one arm and pantomiming the lethal jab.


    The burns on Jenkin’s hands told a very different story, one that made Arlet thank Taloc for his [clarity of mind] skill. Which kept him focused on their common defense and would not allow him to contemplate the prospect of punching some sense into the mouthy officer.


    “Sharp thinking Jenkins.” Complimented Arlet, adding a single tally to one of his slates.


    As parchment was refined animal skins, all work was done on slates with chalk then tallied up and checked twice before being commited to a ledger or paper.


    “First, second, and third companies have been absorbed into the fifth and seventh companies. That leaves the fourth, and sixth companies at half strength. I need a runner to order those units combined.” He added.


    “Double officers in every company, are you sure that is wise captain? Fourth company is led by Yarrick and sixth company is headed by Malachi. Best not combine those lads.” Said Jenkins.


    “They seem to get on well enough, and Malachi himself told me they were cousins!” Said Arlet, confused by Jenkin’s advice.


    Sintra had taken full advantage of Lord Green’s laissez faire approach to governance, and had stopped sending reports to him many years ago. A fact that blighted them even now, leaving Arlet completely blind to the city’s affairs.


    “Those corporals earned their ranks just the same as me, gettin combined with another company is bound to cause strife. Especially between Yarrick and Malachi. Aye those two are cousins, grew up brawling like alley cats every day of their lives. Leveled ‘em up nicely, but they’ll fall right back into their squabbles if you combine the companies they command. Prolly take em a half hour and a few pints to get started.” Counseled Jenkins.


    Arlet glanced out the window, looking at the nearby tavern where the two cousins were. He had already informed them of the change, roughly a half hour ago…


    The tavern’s wooden door slammed open as a figure in Sintran colors flew through it, tumbling across the cobblestone street into the far wall. Malachi, all six and a half feet of him, bounced then rolled, rising to his feet. Yarrick hurtled from the tavern, aiming a flying kick at Malachi’s face only for him to sidestep and catch Yarrick’s trailing leg, slamming him into the cobblestones.


    “Ya know Jenkins… I really hate it when your cum-filled head is the most sensible one in town.” Said Arlet, heading for the stairs.