Infrastructure: Part Two Hundred and Thirteen

Even though they were designed to be seen miles away Valrin ti'Haloneth did not notice the signal flares which were sent up, there was too much to do as he and the surviving members of his platoon ran through the trenches. He did notice a couple more manaflares coming up from further down this network of ditches, which each gave him a small burst of satisfaction. It meant that more of his fellows had managed to get passed those infernal guns and were now cleaving and cutting their way through this collection of presumptuous Infrastructural vermin.

One thing that was clear to him was that they were just as capable at a range as the reports made them out to be and in any future engagements against this lot caution is going to be a necessity. But just as he expected the peasant levies manning these guns were pathetic close up. They had some basic steel plate armor which offered minimal resistance to his runic dirk and scimitar and were armed with guns serving as awkward spears and low quality chopping swords. Some of them stood their ground while others panicked and ran. As he charged at two of them. Both of them managed to get off a single shot from their rifles. He felt the impact of the bullets into his breastplate but it was clear that they did not get through and it was clear that they did not have time to reload. The first one made a desperate thrust with his bayonet, which he parried before driving his dagger through his neck. The second one backed up as he fired a couple of pistol shots at him, again failing to penetrate. He drove his scimitar right through this one's heart. The soldiers managed to make a half hearted swing  at him in his last moments which might have done some serious damage if he did not see it coming and adjusted his arm ever so slightly.

While he did not exult it loudly, he was enjoying himself immensely. These were the moments he lived for, the thrill of battle and of making lesser beings run from him in terror was one which was worth risking one's own skin. Not that he was incautious, he may have a taste for blood never the less he was still no crazed berzerker. If nothing else caution meant that he could savor the ends of more of his enemies and increased the chances of cutting down more foes another day. His armor, as good as it was, could not take an infinite amount of damage. He would need to restrain himself just a bit for the next while.

Even so soon have plenty of competition for kills. The purpose of his party was to cut make a gap, cut through the defending riflemen so that other forces (most of which were unfortunately Janissaries) would be able to poor in and carve through their ranks. He and his platoon had killed more than a hundred of them at least by his reckoning, including the crew of at least one of those never sufficiently cursed Automatic Weapons as well as turning the attentions of more of them inwards to repel them or flee. The slave soldiers were inferior fighters to an Elite Drow warrior like himself, but even they should not have much trouble against this lot in hand to hand. Soon after that, Daagsgrad would be theirs.

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