In the thick of the battle stood Julius Peirgarten who charged forward with his men at his side. Dead and dying littered the field that they stepped on. The Peirgarten sent a diagonal swing into the direction a Kathars side, his longsword cleaving right into its ribcage with ease. It was then that out of the corner of his eye he could see a Kathar headed straight for him.

 A thousand things raced through his mind as he saw the enemy charging at him. He hastily tried to pull the blade out from the Kathars side, to no avail. Julius was sure that he had met his maker. - Then, like a bat out of hell supporting fire that was so desperately needed finally came. An arrow met its mark, piercing the incoming grey-skins neck.  Julius kicked the fallen warriors torso, unlodging his longsword in bloody fashion, thick crimson fluid covering his blade and oozing out where it had made its mark. 

The Peirgarten shouted out at the top of his lungs in the direction of the marksman that had saved his life. "Cheers, Van Der Veer!" Before continuing on with the battle, stepping over carcasses of foe and friend alike. His sole focus remained on the men that he commanded and the enemies that were still breathing. The fighting was brutal and bloody but Julius did his job to the best of his ability. Shouting encouragement at the men beside him and insults at the enemy while slashing wildly, cleaving into and through Kathar that were in front of himself. 

When the battle was over, he counted his dead of those that he had at his command making sure to remember their faces so that he could mourn in private. To the living: He made it his duty to approach each and every living soldier that he had fought with and give them a firm hand shake along with his thanks. To show appreciation to those who fight with you is the greatest form of honor one soldier can show for one another. 

For the troubled, brash, and ruthless man found his place at home. On the field of battle with his brothers and sisters at arms.