Grey Onyx

As Grey stood in line, he noticed the spearman of the group speak to him. At his question, he felt his blood boil, though he kept a calm facade. "You wish to hear of the beastfolk don't you? Or perhaps Stugmarr? You care not for my people, my culture, or my ways, you simply wish for a convenient villain. So unless you actually wish to hear about my lands instead of being supplied a laundry list of things to hate, I suggest you drop it." While tense, his voice conveyed no hostility. What did these people know? To most southlanders Rak'thurr was just a group of murderous maniacs. Ignorant, but it wasn't exactly a good idea to prove them right by threatening anyone. Least of all in front of a prospective employer.

He noticed the other one's gaze boring into his shoulder, and seeing as how he wasn't Stugmarrian, he was likely beastfolk. He hated them, but he also knew that if left alone the would do the same. His father always ignored an enclave of the bird ones that lived in his lands, simply because there was no point going after them. Killing them gained nothing, and imprisoning them was hardly worth the effort. So an uneasy peace was formed. "Afraid of me? It takes a special kind of cowardice to fear a man by the mark on his shoulder. I have yet to kill, do you really perceive me as such a threat?" Grey said. He didn't care if he served with beastmen, so long as they let him be. The very idea that he would risk his life against a whole mercenary to kill a single beastfolk for no reason was ridiculous.

At least the third seemed a real warrior. though a bit talkative. Ah, here we are. The man(animal?) spoke at length of his weapon, and at least he had something in common with one of them. He retrieved his own weapon from his back, before taking a moment to admire it. "This is 'Invictus,' my family Axe. It's named in an ancient tongue, meaning 'unstoppable.' Fitting. See the hooked edge opposite the blade? If you strike correctly you can work it between the plates of the thickest armor or trip up horses... It is a design of an ancestor of mine, and I believe I am the only one alive trained in its use." He smiled at the axe, it was his most treasured possession, and he took an immeasurable amount of pride from the knowledge that he was worthy of wielding it. "I know not what it is constructed from, but it seems nearly indestructible. Though it's quite old, barely sharper than its cheap iron brethren. Nonetheless, I prefer not to use it if I do not have to."

He returned the weapon to his back, already feeling a bit more sociable.

Alika

Alika listened to the man. Apparently they were indeed on the run from the Vinsenians. He soon left, and directed her attention to the smaller man. He seemed... nervous, slightly. He gave his word that what they said was true, and Alika shook her head. "No, I jumped to conclusions, and I'm sorry. We have been on the run for a while now, forgive me if I get nervous around silent, hooded individuals." taking another sip of her drink, she continued. "You wish to assist the defense, you said? I'll probably be seeing more of you then. My lord has been... restless recently. It wouldn't surprise me much if he was searching for an employer among those mercenaries right this moment." He really was predictable sometimes.

"You said you were from caldegia, was it? It must be horrible to have lost your home. I've never really had anywhere I called a 'home' per se, but my Lord lost the only home he'd ever known when the assassins came..." She seemed saddened at that, partly because she blamed herself for Grey's current situation.

When joining the line of recruits, Arianna found that her nerves were finally getting to her. She shifted from foot to foot, nervously awaiting the beginning of... Well, something. She wasn't entirely sure of what the big boss man of the mercenary group had planned for the new recruits, but that only helped to push Arianna closer to a panic attack.

The men had surrounded her had all one thing in common: They were bigger than her. And they were men. More than once had she been cornered by drunken perverts in the streets of Charten, and each time she was barely able to escape the clutches of the delirious men. But these five? If they wanted to, they would rip her to shreds in a heartbeat.

Still though, Arianna was determined to star strong. She straightened her posture to a pole-like stature, puffing her chest out to make her seem bigger, if only a little bit. Suddenly, a voice drifted in to her ear. It was one of the recruits. The voice was quiet, and obviously meant for her. "I wouldn't worry, Lass. Unless you can't even swing one I doubt they'd turn you away."

His comment made Arianna cross her arm and puff her cheek out in distaste. "That's easy for you to say," she huffed. The man looked tough, but that sounded like an understatement in Arianna's head. By the Gods, the man was missing an eye! "I mean, look at you. You look like you can break a neck like a twig, and I don't even have a weapon."

Suddenly, the four other men started to jump in to the conversation. One of them was leery of the man who had just been conversing with Arianna, apparently cross over his apparent alliance with the Rak'thurrian empire, a country that Arianna had never heard of before. There was a sudden tension in the air as the Rak'thurrian fighter shot back his own remark.

Then, to her great relief, the second man quickly eased the tension between the feuding rivals. He had introduced himself as Helath, and was rambling on about his two axes, which he had affectionately named Knuckles and Palm. They were impressive axes, to say the least. After Helath had finished, the Rak'thurrian, started to explain his axe as well. It's name was 'Invictus,' which apparently translated to 'invinsible.' The tidbit about the serrated hunk of metal about being able to shred through armor made Arianna shudder.

After the man was done gloating about his weapon, an obvious truth dawned on her. Something that she had even said out loud, but failed to take in to consideration: Arianna had no weapon of her own. This made her even more nervous about the four men. She, who had no formal weapons training, besides chopping wood, was going against four, larger men, who were probably very well trained in their trades. "I'm-I'm Arianna!" She said pridefully. Her confidence began to shrink as she continued. "And, uhm, I don't really have a weapon. And to be honest, I've never really swung an axe at anybody..." She looked down at her feet, suddenly ashamed to be where she was amongst these men.

Grey Onyx

The woman (maybe girl was a better term, judging by her disposition) spoke up again. He couldn't help but smile. He had never actually participated in a real combat situation, he'd only trained. So, in a way he was just as green as she must be. "Hey, at least you've got both your eyes, that has to count for something." he said, still smiling. She seemed distressed at her lack of a weapon, and why wouldn't she? she was applying to a mercenary group for gods' sakes. When suddenly, he remembered something.

He took a moment to unhook his new Iron axe from its place, and offered it to the girl. "I got this thing. It's a bit plain but it'll serve its purpose."

"You're the scout, correct? Was there any pattern to the areas they went to attack? Certain towns, trade routes, animal habitats? Is this a military strike or just a rioting legion? " A soft, almost growl-like noise escaped his mouth softly. His brand prickled, for no reason besides mere coincidence, but it still disturbed Sammael's thought process for a moment.

Ashielle turned to the one who addressed her and let him get out his full statement and then waited a few* moments before responding. Perhaps she was just trolling him with an awkward silence or was collecting her thoughts. The mask made it rather hard to tell.

"I was scouting yes, but I cannot guarantee the veracity of my hunches, as I was trained for phalanx formation open warfare. This is merely my intuition as a wanderer." She let that hang for slight emphasis. Ashielle didn't use much. "As for all the rest of your questions, I have zero information, as I was scouting out our perimeter a few hours out and did not reach the enemy lines or behind them. If I had seen the enemy or any direct damage done by them, I would have been yelling my head off about how we should be grabbing weapons because they'd be close enough to strike."

*not guaranteed to be few by most people's standards.

Duraid's face darkened as he heard the report, glaring solemnly in the direction of the looming mountains of the Vale. "This is unfortunate. We may spend less time here than I thought."

His head snapped toward the masked Branded, barking out his next order with none of the scarce warmth he'd be using in his inquiries beforehand. "Go let the rest of the band know that we'll need to move at a moment's notice."

"Now then, you lot. I'm Duraid, leader of this here mercenary band. You can call me Captain, Boss, or whatever floats your boat." He gestured toward the line of potential hires, noting the exchange between the would-be baron and the apple thief. "As long as you can do something, I won't turn ya away. However, if ya help with the fightin', you'll get more gold."

The warrior stalked up to the collection of newly accquired assets, staring directly at each one's face in turn as he paced down the line. "A few ground rules if you're gonna work with my crew. One:-" His slowly burning eyes locked on Nialas'. "-the crew's lives are more important than the take. That means-" Duraid's head snapped around to look Helath up and down. "-we don't take jobs that end with us dead. Money's no good to corpses. Two:-" His glare shifted to Laisar. "-We don't get paid extra for heroics. You go try and rescue someone, and end getting some of your fellow mercs killed? I'll bring justice down myself. Three:-" Sammael was next, the archer's face being scrutinized for any sign of emotion. "-Running is acceptable, but you forfeit your take. Four:-" Onto the Rak'thurrian, Duraid's stare measuring what sort of man stood before him. "You can leave the group at any time, but if you desert to the enemy side, you become an enemy and will be treated as such. Finally:-" He reached the end of the line, staring down at Arianna. "-There'll be no infighting because of nationality or race. I'll make sure of that. We're all people here, let's act like it."

The man's posture finally relaxed as he turned away once more, moving to the edge of the arena as he called out behind him, his words returning to their carefully friendly state. "If you've still got questions, follow me. If not, go follow Faris and help out the dark mage with his shopping. Poor bastard needs to get some upper body strength."

---

Faris had taken the time to begin to sneak off toward the camp proper, stalking away from the large group of men and the single woman. Even Manus' constant blathering about things like 'angles' and 'theories' was better than listening to her father go on about the duties of a mercenary. She'd heard it before, and would no doubt hear it again.

Shrugging, she had nearly made it into the camp proper when some hooded figure accosted her for information about Barst's pegasus. The mercenary's proceeding look of disgust was only matched by her annoyed tone. "Ah, yeah, you're one of those creepy guys who like the idea of a cute pegasus? I don't think Barst'd be too into that, but I can get him for ya." Her eyes glimmered greedily. "If ya pay the right price, I mean."

"Oh, uhm..." Arianna stared in awe at the axe. It was indeed simple, but she was more surprised at the sudden act of kindness from the Rak'thurrian man. She gently took the axe from him and turned it over in her hand, testing it's weight. It felt just like the axe Mr. Goyle had let her use in town. She nodded and looked up at the man. "Thank you, mister," she said with a grateful smile.

Then, it was time for business. She swung the axe up on to her shoulder, bit pointed down, her free hand balled in to a fist on her hip. The leader of the group, who's name was Duraid, was listing off rules and regulations for the group. The bit about not turning away anyone made Arianna sigh in relief. Then came the ground rules: No heroics, the crew was more important than the pay, running was fine, no infighting. Simple rules, easy to remember. "If you've still got questions, follow me. If not, go follow Faris and help out the dark mage with his shopping. Poor bastard needs to get some upper body strength." That was apparently Arianna's first order. It looked like she was in! But she had no idea who this 'Faris' was. She looked around the training ground blankly. "So, uhm... What now?"

Kristoph

Kristoph just stared at the girl in silence. Finally, after a moment he slowly removed his hood so she could clearly see his equally annoyed expression, "Madame, could you please kindly get your head out of the gutter? Why would you even think that?" clearly he was not amused in the slightest. Then the brat had the gull to demand payment in exchange for showing him the pegasus' owner, who was apparently named Barst, "You insult me to my face and then expect me to pay you?" he said, becoming increasingly frustrated. He might have said more, but just decided to walk away, not interested in starting an altercation with this whelp of a girl, and mumbling under his breath "...wasting my time." being the only audible part of whatever he'd just said.

He did think about the name he'd just learned though. Barst...? Barst...? Was it a name he knew? It sounded vaguely familiar but Kristoph couldn't be sure. Perhaps if he saw the man's face he might remember something, but that was obviously not going to happen with how unhelpful these mercenary oafs were being. He even considered taking Simon and finding another town, but only just for a moment. If this Barst was really Caldegian as Kristoph expected, then he would be his best bet for attaining the ear of whomever was in charge.

---

Simon

"I see. In that case, I'll look forward to working with you then." said Simon with a polite smile. Her mention of Caldegia garnered a brief frown on his face, but he nodded in response and took a drink from his own cup, "Horrible is an... understatement, I'd say." he closed his eyes a moment, it wasn't hard to guess he was remembering the invasion. But then he opened them again, suddenly his face showing one of grit determination.

"But that's why my father and I have come," he said, clenching a fist, "by our honor we will reclaim our home, and avenge our fallen comrades." this of course made his and his father's motivation clear. They wanted justice for what happened. Or was it revenge? Perhaps it was even both...?

When Ashielle finished speaking Sammael simply nodded, his look glum, returning back to the line he waited to hear what Duraid had to say. When he was confronted with Duraid's strong glare he stared back. No flinch or movemnt. The talk was quick and to the point. Sammael had no difficulties with the law set down, and he assumed none of his brothers did either. They hadn't backed down before, so there was no reason to start now. With no questions to ask he turned towards the direction he saw Faris sneak off to last, but decided that wasn't what he was assigned to do. Finding the Dark mage nearby he went over and stood with his arms crossed. "We're getting more food now." he said, shifting his feet slightly. He wasn't known for superior muscles like Helath and Lasair, but he figured he could manage well enough. "I won't be carrying more than my body weight."

Lasair came up behind Sammael and gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Well, lets get some chow! I'm Lasair, by the by. My brooding brother is Sammael. If we need any fresh game, let him track it and we'll eat fairly well." he said with a grin before stretching his back muscles. "So what are we picking up next? Some quail? Maybe duck? Mmm, venison would hit the spot right now."

As his brothers went to help with food Nialas found himself facing Grey. Since he was willing to part with an axe so easily, he must be a fairly well natured man. With a tap of the back of his knuckle on the large man's shoulder the lancer spoke as he leaned against his spear. "I only want to clear things up so there isn't any trouble. None of my family have anything against your people. In the last town we heard a tale of a Berseker from the Empire who ate living Laguze. My brother, Lasair, the man with the large mouth" Nialas said, pointing over to him, "has a flair for dramatics and easy to play mind games with. I was simply teasing him because our tendency to prank one another. I apologize for any offense you may have gathered from earlier." Thumbing the tip of his spear Nialas looked thoughtfully at it. "I do enjoy learning of other cultures. If you ever do feel like speaking about it, please come find me. Until then... enjoy your day." Nialas gave a bow to the man before turning away and walking towards his brothers.

Helath looked Duraid up and down when he was scrutinzed, wondering exactly what was being observed. The speech finished quickly and his brothers left to help with food just as fast. Helath, on the other hand, turned to Arianna when she asked what to do now. "I'm gonna train you with an axe! That is, if I'm allowed to." he said, turning back when Duraid was. Helath took a couple steps toward the merc leader. "Durai- eh, I mean, Boss? One of the recruits needs to learn a bit about fighting. Do you mind if I spend part of today training her with an axe before I start any other work? Wouldn't want any fresh meat coloring the ground, right? I just want to teach her some basics that she can practice to help her... if that's alright with you, that is." The barbarian stumbled over his words a bit. He didn't want to push his luck already, but having a recruit who couldn't fight at all wouldn't work very well if a battle happened.

Hark finished up with his manual labor for the day, and had collected a few coins from his employer before heading home. His home was little more than a shed with a bed and cooking pot in it. Calling that lump of old cloth a bed was being generous. However, in the corner of the room was something one wouldn’t expect, a large metal reinforced chest. The chest was more steel than wood. It had a very expensive lock system on it, so that it would be nearly impossible to open without the key around Hark’s neck. Hark sat on the edge of his “bed” and looked down at the chest. Hark rubbed his hands together, feeling the specific pattern of calluses on his hands that came from swordfighting. Hark knew what was in that chest – his past, no. It was more than just his past, it was his purpose.

Ereshk stared up at Barst, listening to the archer's tale of the young recruit. He took Barst's hand and hauled himself up to his feet. The mage found himself chuckling softly as he got off of the stump; apparently Barst's smile was contagious. Ereshk glanced over at the nearby tent that held a fellow scholar like himself.
"I'm sorry," he apologized to the fellow mage, whose name had escaped him once again. "We'll be leaving in a moment." As if on cue, two of the men from earlier strolled up behind Barst and Ereshk, barking and howling something about hunting birds. Ereshk spun around and waved at the two in greeting, his cloak fluttering about behind him as he twirled.
"Oh good, more help!" The mage grinned in relief at the two brothers, Lasair and Sammael. "I'll be back in a tick, just gotta fetch some more coins." Ereshk hurried off after that to Mister Carthul's tent. He refilled his coin purse with a much more substantial amount of gold, now that he had a slightly better understanding of how much it took to properly feed a whole camp. Ereshk could carry money. Coins were light, and they were easy to squirrel away in pockets or stuff in bags tied to your belt, leaving your hands free. Oh, and he could do math! That was another thing he was good at. Manipulating numbers was easy compared to the mental strain of manipulating the façade called reality. Ereshk hurried back to the campfire, his spirits bolstered with the confidence that he was not completely useless after all.

Grey Onyx

Grey stood up straight and paid attention when the boss was talking, it wouldn't do to look so unprofessional. They were really very simple rules, but he got the feeling the man was adding that bit about infighting more for him than anything. I'm not exactly looking for a career in friendly fire here... he thought to himself. He wasn't violently against the lesser races they just... disgusted him. He didn't really feel any desire to inflict harm on them at least, he just didn't want them to bother him. "Understood." He said when Duraid had finished his speech.

After that, the smaller beastfolk approached him, and started talking at him. He did everything in his power to avoid listening to him, until it more or less became a buzzing noise. By the gods, he talks a lot... you can stop now... any time... eventually, he got sick of it and lifted his hand up. "E-enough! Just stop talking to me and leave me alone, and I'll do the same for you..." His tone was more exasperated than aggressive, he wouldn't want the boss to think he was considering teamkilling this early.

Then the larger one spoke up again about training Arianna. For whatever reason he felt like interjecting. "If I may? I don't think she would benefit much from such a wild fighting style as yours must be. I saw the boss sparring a bit ago and I think she'd have more to learn from him. Do not think this a dismissal of your skill, Its just my two coppers on the matter." He spoke plainly. "Besides, if mi'lady- err, Arianna wishes I'd like her to come with me to the market, I'd like to help with the food situation." He said. He mentally scolded himself when he slipped into his more 'noble' speech pattern. He was sure they weren't following him anymore but he would really like it if those assassins didn't catch wind of a young Rak'thurrian noble hanging around with some mercenaries.

As night fell over Charten, a savage cry could be heard growing closer to the town walls. The two watchmen at the gates strained their eyes, trying to piece out what was approaching them under the cover of darkness, but only noticed the few dozen bandits rushing towards the town gates too late, as arrows pierced their bodies, the torches they held making them easy targets for what few archers the bandits possessed.

"Alright, boys, listen up!" The bandit captain, a Berserker, stepped out in front of his group, planting his axe into the ground with a grin. "Do the same thing we always do. Break in, kill everyone that tries to stop us, and loot everything that's not nailed down! And take all you want! That general actually let us loot the village this time! Now, mages, burn that fucking gate down!" He bellowed, stepping aside to let the two mages in his force pelt the wooden gate with fireballs until it finally fell. The blaze began to spread to the outermost buildings in the town, and the bandits charged in, hacking at anyone that didn't flee out of their way.

Kristoph

Kristoph's thoughts were halted when he heard the familiar sound of arrows flying, and the sickening thunk of them hitting their marks. As he thought, two guards were felled by arrows, and suddenly he could hear someone barking orders on the other side of the gate. It seemed the invasion was starting now, and that meant Kristoph would be given no time to persuade the mercenary leader to accept his aid. This meant he couldn't perform to his full potential, as he doubted many of the mercenaries would follow any orders he would have to give. So instead he was just going to, as was the saying, lead by example.

Ignoring the impending threat of mages burning the gate open, Kristoph instead hastily looked around for anything useful. He spotted a nearby barrel, a quick investigation revealing it to be full of black powder used for making mines. An almost sadistic smirk lit up Kristoph's face as he replaced the barrel's lid, only to tip it over and give a good roll with his boot, sending it tumbling across the ground and resting against the wall... right next to the gate. If those bastards wanted to burn their way in, then they would find that doing so would have rather... explosive consequences. Offering no explanation to anyone who might have been watching him, Kristoph readied his own Fire tome, already making his decision to fight fire with fire. As soon as the gates began to fall, Kristoph thew his fire spell, the ball of flame flying to it's target and colliding with the barrel a mere split second after the gates were down and the first of the bandits had stepped through. Time for a rude awakening, Vinsenian scum!

The first sound of battle was that of a powder keg explosion. The initial blast almost certainly dealing a swift death to the idiots who volunteered to charge through first. But that wasn't the only damage Kristoph's attack had done. The keg was positioned by the wall, and as such a small chunk of it was destroyed in the blast, acting as rather big pieces of shrapnel with only one direction for the blast to direct them: outward toward whoever was standing on the other side of that section of the wall. In other words, the first half dozen or so bandits who breached the town wall were effectively dead men walking. All from a single fire spell. Not bad for what amounted to the first attack of the battle.

---

Simon

As he spoke with his new acquaintance, Simon's cheerful expression was immediately melted away by the sound of an explosion from outside, "They must be attacking!" he exclaimed, hurriedly getting out of his chair and making a rush for the door. Once outside, he easily found the source of the explosion. The gate had been felled and a chunk of the wall was blown to bits, but he immediately saw bandit corpses as opposed to the mercenary ones he had feared there would be. This was actually a reassurance for him, for he knew that this could only be work of this father. Of course, that didn't stop the invasion as more bandits simply rushed through in place of their unfortunate comrades. It was time to return to battle, and so Simon threw off his cloak, revealing himself for the handsome myrmidon he was, and clutched the hilt of his iron sword as he slowly, but gracefully unsheathed it.

Duraid had been fairly happy with how the day was turning out. The sun had been shining, the mercenary band had gained more new recruits than any of the previous days combined, and his daughter had fallen to a simple feint rather than the thirty-minute blade dance that he'd come to expect from his estranged kin. It was a good day, all in all.

Then, just as the cool night breeze came with the darkness of nightfall, the first scream and thud of battle began.

Of course it did. Why wouldn't it?

Duraid's bitter thoughts continued as he confirmed what he could hear and smell, relying on his years of battle to look for familiar signs that would certainly tell of the attacking party, if only in passing.

The first thing that came to his attention was the lack of coherent war-cries, only the bellows of battle-lust and the screams of the felled.

His face darkened, already assuming the worst.

The next warning came in the swiftly rising heat and the crackling sound of burning wood, along with the now brightly burning line in the town proper.

With the lack of standards and the crunch of marching feet, that could only leave one perpatrator.

The scum of the mountains. Bandits.

The behemoth of a man's teeth ground against one another, a despicable sound to show Duraid's hatred for the sudden termination of his rather peaceful day. Anger flicked in his pale green eyes, sunken with age and years of stress. He hauled himself around, stomping toward the training ground proper as he bellowed his first orders to the newest recruits.

"All right then! Looks like you all get to earn your keep rather soon!" His head snapped toward Arianna, eyes gleaming as if daring the inexperienced fighter to disobey. "You! Get your ass in the back lines with the mages, and help the townsfolk get to cover! Only fight if ya have too!" Turning again, he spat out his next orders to the rest of the men, not bothering to look at each in turn. "The rest of you! Get your weapons, get your armor, and then go kill some bandits! I want every single one of them killed! They will not return to the dirty holes that they crawled from!"

His next order was yelled, a mighty shout to the camp at large. "Mercenaries! Come and earn your keep! Slaughter the enemy at the gate, and make sure they don't return! Take! No! Prisoners!"

---

For Faris, who'd just had the pleasure of dealing with the one man who could take a joke less than even Manus, giggled with manic delight at Kristoph's sudden and abrupt retreat. It was, for better or worse, exactly what she needed after dealing with the so-called 'heroics' of the crazy potato-man, and his ensuing, self-insulting reaction. She hadn't even the pleasure of taking him down a peg herself.

After making a mental note to talk to Barst about the strange pegasi lover, the mercenary set off into the camp proper, making for the campfire and the more social hub of the encampment. She'd made it within speaking range of the strangely affectionate and encouraging archer and the rather wimpy dark mage before the sounds of battle and the resulting explosions reached her ears.

Faris' face froze in a glassy expression that was halfway between joy and surprise, almost as if the promise of bloodshed and battle was a delightful gift she'd received for her rather unexpected birthday. She turned on her heel, throwing her weight around in a stride that took her halfway back toward the rack of weapons that held her actual blade and simple armor.

The mercenary's speed was rewarded as she bounded back toward the campfire, sliding to a halt in front of Barst and Ereshk no less than fifteen seconds after she had left. Her green eyes were bright as she began to chide the two for being slower than her.

"Come on, you two, let's go already! The bandit's aren't gonna kill themselves!"

---

For her father, the only similarity in preparation for the upcoming battle was the swiftness in which he was ready.

Duraid had gone very quiet after he issued his last order, instead glowering angrily as he stomped into his own tent.

His armor was already arrayed on a wooden stand in the dead center of the cloth home, a dark metal that only reflected the light along the numerous scratches that adorned the heavy collar and brutally shaped gauntlets. Even the helmet was of a rough make, a sphere of what seemed to be only three pieces in total. The face-plate was adorned with a flurry of holes, seemingly punched at random.

With practiced ease, Duraid hauled on his protection, grasping his trusted steel axe before finally lowering the helmet onto his bald head.

The sudden change was disturbing in its execution.

The only expression on the full-facial visor was one of alien horror, the multitude of holes seemingly radiating an impenetrable blackness. Only the flickering flash of the firelight on teeth or the rare glint of hardened eyes gave any hint that the hulking warrior was even human, and not some horrible creature that dragged itself out of a children's nightmare. Even the hissing intakes of breath were muted, causing the once loud man to be unnaturally silent in even his most basic action.

In a flurry of movement that should have been acompanied by a clanking of steel or the heavy thud of boots, the iron encased giant slid forward out of the training grounds, moving with terrifying purpose toward the sounds of fighting. Only the slick whistling of the now heat-riddled wind against the impeccably sharp edge of the warrior's great axe drew notice above the sounds of crackling flame and clashing steel, drawing ever closer toward the heart of the battle that was brought suddenly and swiftly to the seemingly undefended town of Charten.

As the battle started and the sounds of chaos began to sound throughout the town, Barst took a deep breath and flipped the commander's switch in his head. While Duraid was in charge, Barst wasn't afraid to give a few orders to the mercenaries who worked with him. All they were given, after all, were general directions. Barst tended to take care of individual situations that arose during battle. Making his way away from Faris and Ereshk to his tent, Barst grabbed his armor, attaching the individual pieces to his body, and took his bow in his hands. It was time to kill some bandits.

Bursting out of his tent while whistling with his fingers, Barst made his way to his pegasus, jumping on and giving his mount a quick tap on the side. Assured that its rider was secure, the pegasus leaped up into the air, powerful wings taking them above the other mercenaries. "Take care of their archers as soon as ya see them! I'm not keen on getting shot out of the air!"

As the pair made their way towards the battle, Barst took aim at a group of bandits. Squeezing his pegasus with both legs to order him to stay where he was in the air, the archer took careful aim and-FTWAANG!-a bandit stumbled to the ground, an arrow in its chest. It wouldn't be a fatal blow, but for now it was enough. Two quick jabs with the foot brought the aerial pair to the side before the enemy could get a good read on their position. Hit-and-run tactics were Barst's favorite.

Hark was preparing to go out for a few drinks when he heard the familiar sound of an explosion. Hark stepped out of his hovel to see flaming wood splinters flying through the air, and a short distance away the wall breached. Hark ducked as a large piece of burning wood flew through the air - landing on the roof of his hovel. It was mere seconds before the hovel began to take to the fire. Hark quickly made his way in, heading straight for the chest in the corner. He pulled the key off his neck and quickly removed the lock from the chest. The room was already beginning to fill with smoke. He threw open the chest and hesitated for a moment. Tarnished silver. A large silver kite shield, a silver broadsword and a fuil suit of regal silver dragon armor.
By the time Hark managed to don his armor his hovel was completely alight, pieces of crumbling wood and ash falling from the ceiling, and the room cast in a harsh orange light. Even the door was on fire. The heat was oppressive, although, strangely, it didn't hurt. The heavy shield in his left hand had a stlyized scale on it, to symbolize balance and justice. In his right hand he held a tarnished silver broadsword.
The frame around the door had begun to warp, and the best option to open the door was a swift kick from his armored boot. The wooden door simply crumbled under the weight of a silver clad foot bursting through the door. Hark walked out through the embers, his faded crimson cape catching the air movement from the fire. Hark took a few more steps forward only to hear his hovel collapse behind him, nothing left but a few nails and ash.
Hark looked to his right, the bandits already beginning to pour through the breached wall. Hark began sprinting towards the opening. This is what he was trained for in the Silver Dragon Knights, fighting in tight spaces as shock troops or as defenders of a breach.
"Gods Dammit" Hark muttered, this was the second time he'd lost everything he had come to call familiar. Am I destined to wander forever? Hark thought before colliding full speed with one of the first bandits through the wall, bringing the shield up and smashing him in the chin. There was a sickening crunch as the bandit lost several teeth and received a shattered jaw. As he recovered, his axe in his hand, Hark brought the sword through the bandit's sternum, quickly withdrawing it as the bandit crumbled forward.
Hark brought his shield over his chest and quickly brought the butt of his broadsword into the shield, a loud metallic clang would have been heard from quite a distance.

Grey Onyx

As Grey awaited for Arianna to respond, he heard... something. The sound of... hooligans in the distance. Saw what you will about his eyesight, but Grey's hearing was pretty good. Now, those were either bandits or idiots at the tavern... He listened a bit more when he heard a loud explosion at the gates. Bandits it is. He listened to the boss man talk a bit, before giving a set of ridiculously vague orders. Well, looks like it was time to get armored up. He was already wearing his, but he took a moment to drop his pack and retrieve his lucky cape. He affixed it to his shoulders and strapped his shield to his arm. One order caught his attention; "TAKE! NO! PRISONERS!" That appealed to his Rak'thurrian heart greatly.

However, there was a problem. He wasn't sure if he could fight alone. He was trained in the manner of Rak'thurr's kill teams, which utilized pairs of fighters in formation. Without a 'wingman' to help him ferret out openings in the foes' defenses he wasn't sure he could fight as efficiently as he would like, and Alika was nowhere to be seen. To say nothing of the beastfolk he hardly trusted. As soon as the boss man was away, he turned to Arianna. "Screw that, I gave you that thing for a reason." Grey said. "You don't look like much but I get the feeling that once you get rolling you'll be a great fighter." He took another look to the gate, the fires were spreading. "Look, I know the boss has probably been doing this for a long time, but I get the feeling this is as easy as it's gonna get. If we bench you now you'll never get any better and then you'll be a glorified errand girl. I want you to follow me and help with the defense, is what I'm saying." Grey finally finished. But he did know the boss told her to stay back because he didn't want her to get killed.

"But if you get hurt, or if I tell you to, I need you to run back while I cover you, alright?"

Alika

As Alika listened to the young man's story, she couldn't help but sympathise. She never really felt any attachment to a place and likely never would but she had lost plenty and that she understood. However, soon an explosion rocked the building. It seemed the attack had begun. Simon had dashed out, but Alika had almost silently jumped into the rafters, before getting to the roof through an open window.

Indeed, the city was under attack, by bandits by the looks of things. Her first priority was to find Grey, from her vantage point she easily found him in the camp, that Stone grey and purple cape was hard to miss. He would be fine for now, but what of the defenders? She surveyed further, opening her pack. Inside were several baton-sized sticks. What many didn't know was that the only really necessary part of a (non-unique) healing staff was the head. So, what she had done was sawn most of the haft off of her staves, and made a 'Dummy' staff she could affix the magicky heads to. This cut down on backpack space considerably, but didn't offer much in the way of an actual combat situation advantage.

"These ones should do..." She grabbed the Physic, Rescue, and Ward heads out of her pack before resuming her search. From this point, she could see almost the entire battle, and with her collection of staves little was beyond her reach. She did notice one large figure clad in silver armor, who was taking on several bandits on his own. She also saw a mage about to join them. She knew for a fact that that armor wouldn't help much against a fireball, so she quickly attached Ward and raised it to the sky. A bright light issued for a moment, and the knight would soon find himself surrounded by a shimmering barrier that would block some of the magical hurt he was going to feel soon.

It wasn't long before more bandits poured through the breach. Hark soon found himself drastically outnumbered, four bandits squaring off against Hark. They moved in together, a flurry of blows forcing Hark onto the back foot. Soon Hark felt the familiar tingle of a ward being thrown on him. Then a cry came from a few steps behind, and the bandits all parted, quickly stepping away, making a path for a streaking fireball to be thrown through the air. A mage raising his tome into the air. The fireball hit Hark directly, and the shimmering barrier around Hark seemed to ripple before the fireball exploded. A large column of flame left the air heavy with smoke and fumes. The mage paused for a moment trying to make out any shape within the thick barrier of smoke.
Then Hark charged through the smoke, parting it like a ship through the waves. The terrified mage brought his unarmored hand up to attempt to block the brutal downward swing from the knight. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough to stop Hark's blow. The mage's hand hit the ground before his body did. The sword cut through bone and flesh alike as it cut straight from his shoulder through all but his last rib.
Hark held there for a moment, steam rising from his flesh and armor as he looked back at the four bandits from before. Hark didn't break eye contact as he slowly and deliberately brought the blade out of the mage's flesh. Hark knew that the bandits would be able to hear the sword grinding against bone and cutting flesh as it was removed. As soon as the blade was out Hark stood up, and seemed to stand a little taller than he had just a day before.

The sudden counterattack had brought the pillaging bandits to a halt, some breaking and dashing back toward their own, while others instead darted away, choosing easier pickings than the suddenly violent mercenaries and local heroes.

The berserker, however, had other ideas. He was a brutal man, one renowned for his savage actions and bloodthirsty nature, often termed as a mad beast instead of human. He was most definitely not a smart man.

But even then, he'd attracted the king's favor, and the king's favor meant at least something.

With a roar, he charged into the fray, bellowing his orders to the hulking men that circled around him. His voice boomed over the din of battle, cutting through the hot air like a mighty horn. "All right, you scum! Go get some hostages, we can't have killed 'em all yet! That'll make sure these fiesty assholes don't come and fight back, yeah? Kill 'em, break 'em, mash 'em, boys! Everything is gonna BURN!"

About half of the attacking bandits diverted off, dashing away from the dangerous people with blade and tome as if their lives depended on it. Each of them hunted for a hapless villager, the bandit captain himself taking a young woman and her daughter, laughing maniacally at their tear-stained faces.

Alice watched from the rear of the bandit force, her lance in hand. She was out of sight and out of mind as far as the bandits cared. However she was ready to strike when she had her chance. She watched the bandits begin to take control until people began fighting back. its was a fairrly close fight, with both sides gaining little control.

"All right, you scum! Go get some hostages, we can't have killed 'em all yet! That'll make sure these fiesty assholes don't come and fight back, yeah? Kill 'em, break 'em, mash 'em, boys! Everything is gonna BURN!"

Alice's eyes snapped to the bandit leader, doing her best to stay back and out of the way until the opportunity presented itself. But as soon as he took a young woman and her daughter, laughing maniacally at their tear-stained faces, she lost it. Seemingly from nowhere Alice appeared running at full speed, slamming into the beserker and knocking him down and away from the woman and her child.

"Oi! your s'posed ta-" one of the bandits started before being silenced with a spear to the throat.

Alice stood still, breathing heavily. the tackle had taken a good bit of her strength and she could already tell she cracked at least one rib. "Your a beefy bastard aren't ya?" she called out to the beserker. She hopped he was going to be down for a least some time. She had the eyes of all of the other bandits on her, and she was right in the middle of them. Hefting her shield and readying herself, she waited for the fight to come to her.