“Fire has been both the best friend and the greatest foe of civilization from time immemorial.” - Old folk saying.
Avila Two-Feathers was both excited and nervous as she took flight from her perch atop a particularly tall tree in the jungle that night. It wasn’t the darkness that bothered her, despite it being well into the morning by then. Her eyes were capable of seeing well enough in the dark to make things out even from a great height.
Instead the excitement and nervousness came from the fact that it would be Avila’s first time being an active combatant for the company. She, like most of the other youngsters in her platoon, had been attracted by the stories Hannah – an older cousin of theirs who had fled from home and roamed the world – told them and chose to follow in her footsteps. Hannah had led them to join the Free Lances, the mercenary company she worked for.
There, their role was primarily reconnaissance, as their ability to fly at great heights while still noticing things below them with a reasonable measure of clarity was priceless in the field. They made good money and the job was safe as very, very few archers would even be able to reach the height they flew at, much less actually hit them.
Even so, some part of her wished that she could participate more actively in the actual fighting. The Captain had strictly prohibited the platoon Avila was part of from joining the fight, citing that they were far too valuable an asset to risk like that. As such, they were mostly consigned to watch the fight happen from safety, far above the battlefield.
But desperate times called for desperate measures, it seemed.
Lars had tasked Avila and the rest of her platoon – technically Hannah was the platoon leader, but she was with Reinhardt and since Avila was her second in command, the leadership defaulted to her in this case – with delivering certain items to the enemy encampment from the skies. It was still a relatively safe task thanks to the darkness of the very early morning hours, but they would have to fly a good bit lower to guarantee that they would drop their payloads accurately.
Inside the backpack-sized storage artifact carried by each member of the platoon were four clay urns, each roughly the size of an adult human’s head. The urns were rather fragile, the sort that would shatter even from a low drop, and they were each packed full of oil mixed with goblin kindling, while a fuse was tied to their lid.
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The fuse was the stubborn, slow-burning sort, the kind that wouldn’t go out even if one were to stomp on it with their feet. It was perfect for dropping from a high altitude like what they planned to do with the urns. The goblin kindling mixed within the oil would make it burn hot and bright if touched by even the slightest spark, which was guaranteed to happen when the urn shatters against the ground.
Of course, the kindling also made the oil burn faster, so the damage would be more limited unless they happened to drop it directly on some flammable material the fire could use as more fuel. It was a worthwhile tradeoff though, as the bigger, brighter flames would cause more panic to erupt compared to normal flames.
Avila and her platoon would create the distraction for the rest of the mercenaries – along with the Levainian volunteers – to abuse.
As her wings carried her over the snaking enemy encampment below, Avila brought one of the urns out from the storage artifact, holding to it firmly with the talons of one foot while she grabbed a firestarter tool with her other leg. Only one of her fellow platoon members was of the fire affinity and thus could light the fuse without needing tools, and it wasn’t her.
She carefully lit the fuse using the tool, while keeping the fire shielded with her wings as much as she could. In the distance, her sharp eyes caught sight of her fellow platoon members doing the same, all while flying a couple hundred meters above the enemy encampment. Avila waited until everyone had lit the fuse on their urns before she gave a light screech.
Her voice carried through the air, but none of the soldiers below stirred, as most of the sound was too shrill for them to even hear. Avila’s platoon members were perfectly capable of hearing the signal, however, and almost as one, they hurled the urns with lit fuses down towards the enemy encampment.
Then they brought out another urn and repeated the process over and over again until they ran out.
By the time Avila and her fellow mercenaries had lit the third urn’s fuse, the first urn crashed against the ground below, splattering its volatile contents all over the vicinity. A split second later, the still-lit fuse fell atop the oil and lit it afire, causing a truly impressive blaze to flare up into the night. The sight sent many Anduillean soldiers nearby into a panic.
It also made Avila and her platoon far more visible, but they had not tarried overlong and immediately flew away once they hurled the last urns. By the time the Anduillean archers could even react, Avila's platoon was well outside of arrow range already.
Meanwhile the fires blazed and kept the attention of most of the enemy soldiers. Some unfortunate enemy soldiers were even directly splashed by the volatile oil and were instantly turned into living torches once the lit fuse dropped down. The sight of screaming men and women on fire did quite a number on the morale and mentality of the Anduillean soldiers and likely delayed their reaction by some measure.
At the same time, the rest of the mercenaries under Lars and Elfriede’s command made use of the opportunity and distraction that Avila had given them to launch an all-out assault against a different section of the enemy’s camp, relying on the fire to delay any response and to prevent any reinforcement from bothering them until it was all too late.