Clearfield
"The skalds proudly proclaim that not a single man was lost in the Battle of Breaking Iron. Like all boasts, there is truth to it, and there are omissions.
"It's true that no-one of Marukani blood died from sunup to sundown on the day of the battle. Many were injured, but fewer than one might expect; The great Storm of Amber walked among the wounded, his own right arm wrapped in a sling, bearing the Third Arm Glaive in his left hand. The mighty weapon's sash flared out and caressed the cheeks of the maimed and the dying, honoring the warrior's spirits of those who nearly gave their lives that day. And whenever the sash proclaimed a grievous wound, there did the Sweet Voice of Brass and Glory appear, and call the honored fallen back to the threshold of life. Thus it was that the First Marukani Legion was blooded in the field, and yet ended the day with little to mourn.
"The Legion's first true losses came two days later when Clearfield's patrol stumbled upon a pocket of surviving barbarians in the hills about ten miles east of the Plum Blossom Retreat. Four riders were killed; Clearfield himself harried the ambushers with arrows, and then escaped and returned to bring reinforcements from the garrison.
"You see, a third of the Legion stayed behind to guard the Retreat, and the second third went home on leave, to spread the word of the victory far and wide across the Alliance. To the final third fell the task of dealing with the scattered pockets of barbarians and beastmen who had fled from the battle. For the young riders who had been blooded at Breaking Iron, this was something completely new; no Exalted heroes at our side, no armies at our backs, no gods of war urging us on, no fiery beings harnessed to crush our enemies. Just a handful of squadrons facing off against a hidden and desperate foe that sought refuge in the darkest corners of our homeland.
"It was all about attrition. There weren't any crushing losses in these skirmishes, just... attrition. Solitary outriders were ambushed, lax sentries died before they could raise the alarm, or glory-addled youngsters charged headlong into a beastman's claws. Eventually, everyone wised up and remembered their training; everyone from the file leaders to the field-officers. Scouts travelled in pairs, everyone remembered their night discipline, and the young glory-dogs matured into lethal, coordinated Tiger-pack.
"By the time the lessons were learned, the First, Second, and Third centuries had lost fifty-nine men in total, with the highest casualties coming from the Second. The funerals were held in the evenings, and they were terrible to behold; these were, all of them, men who bore the brand of Breaking Iron. Even the hardest warriors wept when Song of the Silver Wind brought the holy fires of the dying day to bear, sending the souls of their comrades to forever ride at Hiparkes' side. We gave the ashes of our cremated brothers to the Circuit Riders to scatter across the plains of our homeland, and we embroidered their names on our banners to honor their memory.
"The new recruits, barely initiated into the ways of the Tiger Warrior Training, look up at these names in wonder and fear. Standing behind them are the old veterans, determined that no more names will be added before their time. "
-- Blacksaddle, Tiger Warrior, Officer of the First Marukani Legion
