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"Front rank, FIRE!"
"Second rank, FIRE!"
"Third rank, FIRE!"
"Reload!"
"Volley by section, FIRE!"
Three lines of black clothed and armoured Black Guard loosed their cross-bows in nine man sections into the target a hundred feet away. It was a length of wooden planking the width of a column of infantry and only five feet high. The fifty black guard fired into the target, the rolling volleys running up and down the line under the bellowed orders of their seargent-at-arms and the training marshal.
The high stone walls of the square shaped enclosure of the garrison quaters in the fortress of the exorcists rang to the sound of sword on shield and the bellowed orders of the marshals. Spell fire lit the day as clerics duelled and Templars swung burning blades through the intricate patterns of the church's martial arts. Miranda stood in her battle plate and war-coat in the middle of a circle of black guard, her staff held in both hands. Her old body thrummed with the thrill of the practise and she revelled in the sheer simplicity that goes with working your body to its limits. For all her days were spent in diplomacy and politics and in her soul she longed for the call of battle and the drums of war summoned her continually.
With a signal the six guardsmen moved as one and Miranda moved as well, faster than any of the novices looking on would of believed for a woman her age let alone one wearing a suit of full obsidion battle plate. Her staff flashed faster than the eye could follow seen only by the trail of blue sparkles it left in the air. Two guardsmen were flung from their feet and sent flying back with bones broken and chain armour smoking from the impact. Her staff was still in motion and caught the blow of a sword on the iron-wood haft inches from her head and she ducked low and spun on an armoured heel and drove the tip of her staff into a guardsmans breast sending him to the floor choking and gasping for breath.
She spun up and around to block one blow from high above and catch another on the other end of her staff before dodging from the last one. She turned quickly and held out a hand palm outwards and narrowed her eyes. The guardsman comming into attack again was sent sprawling away by an invivsible pulse of energy magiked into existence. She caught the next blow of a sword on the curve of her vambrace before slamming the last two guard into the ground with as many heavy blows of her staff.

Barely thirty seconds had passed when all was still again in the centre of the garrison training field, the nearbye novices who had never seen the severe and, to many of them, doddering old vice master fight before were suffering from a small case of shock.
Miranda deerly wished she could sit down and rest now, her lungs were begging her to bend forwards and pant in air. But her otherwise tired body was held aloft by a scafolding of pride and duty. When the day came she could no longer fight in the front line then would be the day she would retire to the chaplains. And secretly she was scared that day was comming closer than she wanted.
Early in the morning the Grand Master had brought her news of the visitor in the night and its warning. Troubling times were ahead of them and she would meet them as she always had done in her seventy three years of life; head on and with her staff blazing.

She bowed to her combatants as they stood before her in respect of her victory. They returned her bow and ran off to their unit to continue their formation training as a company of heavy infantry stood in coloumn, armoured shoulder to armoured shoulder.
She turned and headed back to the centre of the fortress and the offices and chambers at its heart, her shadow guard protectors falling in around her in faceless black enammelled armour. They came to a stop suddenly as she stopped in her tracks and turned abruptly. With long strides they now headed towards the infirmary in another of the partitioned segments of the fortress.

Still decked in her war harness Miranda entered the still calm of the informary, the air smelling of juniper berries, willow bark and thyruss all burned together with frankincense on the censors to either end of the altar that stood at the far end of the long ward. 50 beds lined each side of the long hall that constituted the main ward of the infirmary each with a canopy of red silk over it. Only a few of the beds were occupied, the majority of them being locals and those novices with training injuries. Some of the hospitaller brothers and sisters walked quietly in soft woolen slippers through the ward feeding those who could not feed themselves from silver platters and sweeping the floors. One of the ageing chaplians of the order knelt before the altar offering up noon-day prayers before adminisstering the sacrementals to those who were sick.
She moved through all of this in silence with her head held high and her eyes directed straight ahead. Her quartet of bodyguards stayed in formation around her as she did so, walking between the double line of beds. The sick looked up at her as she swept by, the metalic clanking of her armour in contrast to the complete silence of her bodyguards despite their heavier battle-plate. The elite shadow guard never made a sound unless they chose to.
She paused before the entrence to the office of the hospitaller general, her head tilted to one side briefly before turning and stalking back out again, her brows lowered. Her gaurds could just hear her mutterings
"I wish he would make his bloody mind up, holy champion he may be but he can be such an iritating tit sometimes."
If her guards understood what she was saying they made no sign of it behind their faceless helms.

Miranda sat behind her desk as the light of day began to fade away. She pressed her ring of office to the still molten red wax before passing the last of the orders to her aide. She sighed and rubbed tired eyes that had spent too long staring at paperwork. She stood and turned to the window to look out over the fortress-monastery. The normally tranquil setting was awash with activity, a gaggle or novices still uncomfortable in their newly issued armour followed behind an aging chaplain-priest, the blue sash over the black habbit of the order denoting his rank. Armoured BlackGuard marched in lockstep as bellowing Marshals brought order out of the chaos.
"My Lady" the voice at her shoulder was soft and held the experiences gained from long years of hard service.
"Yes Oswin"
"It is almost Vespers My lady, and you are leading them tonight"
"Oswin, how long have you known me?"
"Almost fifty years my lady"
"Then will you please in the name of the lady please just call me by my name"
"If you insist My lady" Miranda sighed deeply but smiled anyway. Oswin had once trained alongside her, and since then they had fought side by side for many years. The now aging Templar had taken it upon himself to be her bodyguard and not even the Master himself could of pried him from Miranda's side.
"Come on then Oswin" turning away she reached out and her staf of office flew to her hand from its resting place against the wall. Oswin fell into step next to her, the tap of his wooden leg against the stone floor sounding the cadence of their steps. Miranda turned her gaze inwards and upwards, the world was turning quickly. They must be ready.