"The day you can't trust a fellow comrade in arms is the day the war will lose its purpose."

-Unknown

"The reason I prefer besieging over any other sort of battle is the melodious tune it harbors. The arrows loosed by the dozens, the beat. The ladders slamming upon the walls, the accompaniment. The siege equipment, being the percussion, and the soldiers the main melody."

-War General Hustagg of the former kingdom of Retvic

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The heavy metal clanked rough against the broken stone floor. The two brothers-in-arms sighed heavily as they slowly slunk to the floor, tired from the endless siege they defended against.

"This is madness" A man with a crossbow held lazily in his lap removed his helm and wiped his forehead.

"Aye, tis war Rikael. Did ye 'cpect it be like the stories yer mum told ya at bedtime?"

"No." Rikael spoke between slightly labored breaths "I expected war to be like a bloody nobles tea-party, with handshaking and flaunting galore. What the golderus was I supposed to think war was like you lazy oaf."

A hearty laugh erupted from the other man. "I suppose yer right in a sense."

"Of course I'm right, for Hastias sake, I'm the brains between us two fools."

The other man snorted "No denial 'ere." The other man shifted awkwardly upon the uneven stone, his armor gaining light scratches upon its dull metal. "Ya think we'll live through this?"

"I dunno Marxus."

"If we do, I think I might propose to that fair lass at the tavern o'er the hill in Radinsburg."

"Mevius? You fancy her? Of all the girls in that town, the barmaid?" It was Rikael's turn to erupt in raucous laughter. "She looks like two bulls raped some old hag mixed with rotten cabbage. What the bloody strieik caused her to catch such fancy with you?"

"Well, after a few pints, and sweet words, one may learn one's skills of the night Rikael." The rougher man gained a large red blush, remembering his intimacy with the even rougher woman.

Rikael stared agape upon such confession, unsure what he expected. What he expected was definitely not his sworn blood brother having ridden a cow through the late hour, much less admit he sought to ride such rear again.

"Oi ya cannot judge me after ye rolled in they hay with that orc-like farmer's daughter o'er back in Gluden."

Rikael gained a disgusted twisted look, moving the crossbow from his lap to the side "Had you ever seen me drink as much as I had that day?"

Marxus merely waved his hand, as if to wipe away Rikael's excuses. "Be as it 'tis. I will forever be marred by such a horrid sight upon my eyes. Felt like I needed ta start praying to the gods for a quick merciful death." Rikael removed a gauntlet, chucking it at Marxus, fuming.

"You right bastard, let me teach you a lesson." He stood up, hands raised into fists

"Oi, ya really want ta fight me? We both know I'll win again, there's a reason yer the archer, and I be the warrior guarding ya back."

"Fight me, or are you just going to sit there like a bloody Feorun, laying in the sun's rays?"

Now Marxus was the one to turn red in the face with malice. He quickly lifted himself up, and too posed for unarmed combat. The two brothers locked eyes, neither making a move. The only sound was a slight drip in the ceiling from the torrential downpour, the cause of their respite from combat.

Rikael, knowing his sole advantage was nimbleness prepared to leap forward, however, suddenly the castle shook hard. Halting these two blood sworn's current vendetta. The siege was back on, in this never ending war they lived in.

Rikael looked at Marxus, and he looked back. They nodded once, grabbed what gear they had either set down or taken off and wordlessly prepared once more to defend the keep, unknowing it'd be the last thing the two do.

The siege of Corpitus Castle happened in the middle of the 3,000-year war. Not much is known save the attackers were victorious, and took no prisoners. However, it was written in documents by the attacking general, that the one thing he had to respect of his opponents, was their bonds forged in war, unbreakable to the end.