Jara is watching everyone scramble to grab everything they can. A few men have headed in the direction of the dirt cloud to judge how much time they really have and the numbers that are coming.

Even though he is not a warrior like his brother, Jara understands the history and how warfare impacted it. Even with his large, robust frame and tremendous strength, Jara preferred to be inside reading and learning, everything he could get his hands on.

While his brother, Martell, had the perfect athletic frame, unlike his very stocky brother. He mixed agility with strength and could master most sports or fighting styles after only a few sessions of doing the activity.

Martell returned from the advance scouts, breathing heavily. Jara holds up his hands and points to the water bucket. "Brother, drink and collect your words."

Jara grabs a ladle from a nearby water bucket. Allowing Martell to catch his breath. After drinking two scoops and pouring another three over his head and back, Martell's breathing had calmed. This shocked Jara. He has never seen his brother so out of breath; even after winning a running competition, he had merely a sheen of sweat and a smile.

"Jara, this is no band of rogues. It is an army. Many thousands strong, all with a symbol that I do not recognise…."

Jara holds his hand to stop his brother's report. This symbol has intrigued him. This could explain Timothy and this massive army. "Martell, what did this mark look like?"

Martell always respected his brother and knew that this was critical to the answers that they desperately need. Martell draws his knife and squats down., Jara joins him and watches as his brother starts to draw a long stick with a weird shape on top that looked like a gem.

"This is what the banner looked like, a red rod with a ruby on the top. There is no noble that we have had contact with that has this as his coat of arms."

Jara stands and starts to pace back and forth. His brother knows this state. While his brother thinks, he turns to the rest of the camp. He knows that there is no way they could pack up and travel to the city before the army in upon them.

Before Martell voices a decision that would shape the rest of his life, Jara speaks up. "Martell, you swear upon our community that it was a red rod with a ruby on top."

Martell nods slowly. At the same time, Jara's face loses all colour, and he sways on his feet. Just before he falls, Martell grabs his brother's arm. "Jara, what is important about this coat of arms?"

With fear in his eyes, Jara says. "That is no coat of arms. That is the unholy symbol of Amordous."

At that moment, Martell knew his decision would be the one that he had to make.

The scrambling camp is a mixture of panic and chaos. Martell and Jara are doing everything they can to make the panic as efficient as possible. Still, with this news of an army of devil worshippers, the need to flee is the only thing on everyone's mind.

With only half of the children loaded, the rest crying and scared due to feeling the fear of their parents. Martell has been arming some menfolk with shovels and other tools for the chance of holding off the army. This is foolish as whoever stays behind will be a dead man. This is causing more fear of rising in the group. Some are whispering to long-forgotten gods for their salvation, but nothing answers the call.

Jara's looks around his mind are filled with confusion, not knowing what the best solution for this situation is. He has been surprised by the reveal of the army's motives, but why here and why now? He ponders to himself. If it weren't for his brother, this camp would be a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off.

Martell comes over to his brother just standing there. "Brother, it is the time that you leave."

Jara blinks owlishly at his brother. "What, what? No, my job is to make sure everyone leaves and, if needs be, block that army!"

Looking at his brother, understanding that he would do that exactly. Jara's desire to protect and care for his people is one reason why Martell would follow his brother to the ends of Amsul.

He laughs at his brother. "To the forgotten, you are a stubborn person. Your purpose, Jara, is to heal, not to fight. If you leave now, this information, you can prepare the city for the siege to come."

"What do you mean siege?"

"You don't bring these many men for such a small group. You bring these many men to make sure that city falls and us with it."

Jara looks at Martell, about to argue the points. Martell knows his brother too well, a simple 'Yes, brother, you are right! I will leave now.' It just wouldn't happen, so Martell made it happen by smashing his fist into Jara's temple.

He staggers a little; being a large man, Jara can take a hit, but this one was a bit of a shock. First, he throws a slow punch back at Martell. Then, deftly, he dodges and strikes again to the side of his brother's head and follows up with a punch to the gut.

Bending over, gasping for breath, Martell comes over to his brother to deliver the finishing blow. But, knowing that he might not be the fighter his brother, Martell, is, Jara can still fake his status and take advantage.

As Martell comes closer, he raises his fist and says. "You will thank me later."

Leaving himself open, Jara springs and tackles Martell bearing him to the ground. This is where Jara has the advantage as he weighs much more and is physically stronger than his brother. Jara headbutts Martell, but his brother shifts his body and slams Jara face into the dirt.

With practice viciousness, he slams his head twice more into the hard-packed ground, knocking his brother unconscious.

The group standing around watching this violent spectacle, Martell holds and dust himself off and calls out to two elders. "Take him back to Mother Mela, and when he wakes, say I am sorry."

The two elders understand that this isn't just an apology but a goodbye. Then, with the help of three older children, Jara's slumped body is pushed onto a cart.

Martell watches the cart leave, knowing that he will never see a nephew or niece or even his brother and beautiful wife again. He made this decision for the group, for the community, for the ideals that he follows.

He calls out. "Men, gather up, and we will delay the enemy so our children, wives and other loved ones can make it to the city of Omri. We only have our lives to give, as they can never have our souls. Pray to the long-forgotten gods of our ancestors, our faith in their ancient practices and each other will see us through!"

With the only sword in the camp in his hand, Martell gestures to the group. Then, on his command, they start to march towards the army, knowing their fate.