Tycondrius nodded solemnly.
Rosenhart was fighting to save people. It was a simple, yet powerful admission... and no lesser a reason than that of anyone else in the Alliance.
"Give me a
"Right. Most everyone's been recalled behind the walls. Our engineers have been fortifying the emplacements up top."
Rosenhart pointed up, "We have six bone-drakes perched, the most out of the other walls. The enemy's figured out they all have shite maneuverability, so we can't field them without artillery support. Anything we have that's low-mobility, heavies and troop formations-- they all get wasted by flyers as soon as they leave the perimeter."
He paused... but he looked like he still had more to say.
"Go ahead," Tycon urged. "Unsavory news does not get better with age."
"...We've been taking too many casualties," Rosenhart admitted.
