"M-me?" Muiri stuttered, gripping the weapon close to her chest. She glanced from left to right but was unable to deny the definite eye contact she and the Captain had made. He had already marched off in the direction of the North Eastern Tower, meaning he would hear nothing of Muiri's qualms. A tall, dark skinned man clothed in rather colourful robes seemed to have no such queries and Muiri recognised him as the one to initiate the rain of arrows that apparently did [i]not [/i]help their cause.

Muiri had almost jumped in delight when the volley of arrows unleashed into the sky, raining down onto the earth within a stone's throw of the barbarians. But as the Captain released a series of scoldings to the archers that participated, Muiri thanked the Heavens she didn't. She probably would've contributed to the volley if she had held a bow and arrow in her hands. It seemed like a wise move to her, firing almost a wall of arrows to perhaps frighten the enemy or even pierce their armour but then again, Muiri was far from a military strategist. The magnitude of the battle finally dawned upon her and suddenly she felt more afraid and apprehensive than before, if that was even possible.

The Battle-born looked to the exotic giant of a man before hefting the polearm off the ground and trudging after the Captain, almost tripping over her own feet. She craned her neck to see the commotion on the eastern wall, and realised that the Captain was leading them to deal with the savage that was brutally slaughtering man after man on the battlement. Oddly enough, Muiri found her feet still moving towards the tower although her mind was almost screaming, telling her to turn around and pretend like she had never heard in the first place. She squeezed through the mass of soldiers on the parapet, muttering "excuse me" and "sorry" as she did so. Unfortunately, she was no where near as assertive as the Captain who was simply pushing and shoving bodies out of his way. Muiri could do nothing but silently pray to the a Gods that she would not end up the same way as the poor, misfortunate sentries that dangled from the edge of the parapet.