Asriel

I stand critically watching the battle amongst the non-combatant chieftains, a kind I didn't know existed within the Barbarian culture, non-combatant. But I've learnt that a village chief may be a noncombatant and still carry respect within some of the tribes.

I'm amongst the company of the nine Sidhe fae that seem to be making a permanent home in the growing wonder of a city, Paradisum. They watch the battle silently, sipping at their dainty cups with the blue vicious liquid they call Ambrosio.

Among the company of watchers are the dwarves that still remain largely none participative in this war even as hords of their ancestral cousins march to battle as we speak. Here I stand as we watch the battle. Very little talking taking place among us besides a few grunts or whispers in response to moves of the war chiefs or generals on the various battle fields.

During study at the Order I was never a good student of war but standing here and being actually able to see the ebb and flow of the battle. How each move and counter move affects the entirety of the battle is interesting to see, and watching it all from this perspective gives the illusion of watching one huge creature turn and fidgit struggling against itself. The audience is entranced as we watch this all important game of life and death.

This is almost the 50th hour of continuous battle as the night fills the world with it's light. With the Sandersonian mages at work and the Barbarian berserkers having fun, there is no such thing as 'stop' just because of a little thing like poor visibility or a need to rest.

The fighting is very protracted and draining to the combatants, but very beautiful to watch.

During the beginning of dusk 50 hours into the day the tribal drums started beating. The sound is deep loud and long. The rhythm vibrating within my chest, affecting the beating of my heart to it's tempo. I wish I could capture the ambience of joyful struggle and pride created at this moment in a picture, have a people like these Barbarians ever existed anywhere else?

I feel invested in these people's fate as though they were my own people. I feel responsible as I watch the fighting with all my senses. Listening to the loud beating of the drums permeate the night as though we were at a celebration or a bonfire. How are they so gleeful and proud as they watch their people struggle for their survival far in the distance below? Why am I so infected by the celebratory mood that fills all the space around me seeming to cause even the wind and the land to respond to its influence?

Somehow and naturally without any hiccups the rising and falling of the battle's tempo starts flowing in the rhythm of the drums. I am sure they are enhanced by magic somehow, I am sure!

We watch for hours more, the drumbeat keeping the tempo of my heart higher than it should be. Increasing awareness and adrenaline levels in the body. The excitment of the spetacular struggle doesn't fade even after all this time analysing every move I can from this distance.

As night becomes deeper the blood on the battlefield turns from red to black to the naked eye affected by the light of the six moons of Gaia showing themselves in an unusual display of unexpected appearance. Even the four rare moons that only show themselves sporadically if at all to the world are visible tonight as though acknowledging the struggle below, feeding it and being fed by it in turn.

Looking down and watching the fighting spirit and heroisms of all the combatants, both Sandersonians and tribesmen how could I not admire the human spirit?

The Sandersonians have changed their fighting lines 16 times throughout the course of the day. Sixteen times their generals gave them time to rest and replenish themselves before heading back into the fight to replace other tired fighters. The battle continuing even during such substitutions almost without a hitch, it almost seems choreographed!

The Sandersonians paying dearly for every change but losing less and less soldiers as they got better at the swapping throughout the day. Of the approximately 190 000 Sandersonians present on the battlefield 180 000 of them joined the fighting at one point or another at this point i'm sure. Maybe even all of them have taste battle today for what is a 10 000 reserve force that will not be able to stand even the Barbarian horde gets through the current soldiers? at least that's my thnking but again war on this scale and fighting for yourself in a battle are completely different beasts to tame.

It is infectious to see this level of determination, this dedication to a cause a task or a way of life. Infecting not just me but everyone watching the fighting, everyone involved. Some tribesmen that previously classified themselves as none combatants have been seen to rush to the fight weapon in hand on occasion. Even the chiefs watching the fighting with me have been itching to go into the fray at one point or another, I feel the same way sometimes as well as the beat directs not just my heartrate and mood but something deeper.

I watch as another group of young men and women rush forward towards the war chief's tent some with artifacts in hand as they go enquire were best they can make a difference. The people of the tribes are now calling all spiritually bound scalable weapons 'artifacts'. This, as a way to help distinguish them from none scalable spirit drinking weapons, or bound weapons that are none scalable.

A discovery by accident of using meteoric ore and a small amount of celestial ore shavings or powder to make bindable but none scalable items. These new weapons can be bound to the user by infusing them with spirit energy but they don't seem to scale up in power regardless of the level of spiritual energy used to infuse them. A much cheaper way to create powerful weapons as the smiths are loathed to experiment with large countitiues of the precious celestial ingots.

Artifacts are quickly becoming family heirlooms within the tribal culture. Passed from fallen warrior to family instead of claimed as loot as it used to be done when there was war between the tribes.

Nowadays artifacts are being given as rewards to warriors that prove themselves in battle, tribesmen that achieve Awakening, or even as gifts to exalted allies or foes.

These celestial scalable spiritually bound artifacts are permeating the tribal culture and affecting how they see weapons and how they see themselves. A people that has always loved martial prowess and the strength of a good weapon, now they are learning to value weapon craft in a completely different way and are finding ways to honour not just the falled dead but the weapons they weilded in life.

It's interesting to watch an entire people change before my eyes, shaped by the arrival of something new. As the Hito culture was shaped by the arrival of the katana. Or more specifically, the zanpakutō I see parallels here.

This is history being made and a historian will someday write, 'This is the point at which the tribes became known as the keepers of the artifact,.' or some such nonsense and they will be referring to this moment right now.

"The fight is about to end." Miran says. The Sidhe is very peculiar but I can't seem to pinpoint how exactly.

And just as he just predicted the horn to retreat is sounded and the Sandersonians are more than happy to pull back, a breath releases from the huge creature called battle at Southerner's relief at not being persued by the Tribesmen. From what I have just witnessed I truly understand how the Sandersorian territory stretches as far as it does across a lot this continent but it definitely seems they may have met their match. The Sandersonians are leaving quickly, many collapsing where they stand and being spared by the also backtracking Barbarians.

The many injured are helped out of the field, some having been bleeding out for hours. Even accumulating more injuries from being trampled upon or enduring dehydration. The entirety of the battle lines shiver like a living organism as everyone back tracks. Even barbarians in the Rage back track as everyone is completely tired of fighting, the drum beats are celebratory as everyone who can leaves the field does.

The fallen are pulled out by fellow tribesmen leaving the battlefield and by the healers and their many helpers that have rushed in from the sidelines. The healers being mostly the fae and the dwarves with a few highlanders amongst them with a seer here and there. All their helpers consisting of young tribesmen and women.

"How bad would you estimate the loses to be?" I ask Seiji standing besides me. The vampires having shown up as soon as night fell.

A building is already under construction that accommodates to nocturnal creatures and peoples. An oversight in the meticulous city design the fae costruction overseer is said to be very displeased with himself over. His design team consisting of dwarves, a few humans and other fae already working overtime to think of other kinds of sapient creatures that may need special accommodations in the city at some futher point.

"From the little I've seen, something close to 75 thousand tribesmen for over 100 000 Sandersonians." He says, getting a few nods from the others.

One of the Sidhe snorts with amusement. A quiet, short woman with pink hair, long sharp canine teeth and slightly slitted irises. Making them more oval than round. The only sidhe amongst the 9 without large horns.

"Am I that far off the mark?" Seiji asks politely looking at the sidhe fae. Everyone knows to be polite to the Sidhe.

She doesn't respond and continues to watch the disengagement. Her face back to trying to feign boredom and indifference something the I've noticed Sidhe fail miserably at doing with all the excitement taking place among the humans.

Another responds in her place. The tall flamboyant sparkly one with black hair and white horns. Namid I think his name is.

"What she means is that less than half of your estimate of tribesmen will be lost this day,'' he says with casual wave of his hand. "You failed to take into account their soul curse and it's unintended effect of preserving their lives. Allowing them to survive devastating wounds much longer than a human should be able."

"I see..." Seiji says seriously.

"Likely first intended to make their suffering in death greater during times when humans had no healing magic or ability to spea of. A slow death is considered an undignified death by the tribal humans and their enemy must have wanted to shame them even in defeat." The pink haired sharp toothed beautiful creature says in the most beautiful sing song voice I have ever heard. Silence reigns after her statement as we all both enjoy the effects her voice has on us and the actual words she spoke.

No wonder she keeps quiet all the time. The dwarf warleader Abram grunts and nods knowingly.

"She's right. I've seen them come back from a battle missing half their faces. Or after losing both arms in battle continue fighting with their teeth. Barbarians don't die easy." He says to nods of acknowledgement from those that have seen it.

I nod, remembering the fight with the fae intimately.