Alika

The Knight Alika had aided seemed to have beaten back the mage, and while outnumbered she was confident he could deal with the rest of the barbarians on his own. Now to assist the others. She was wary of using her staves too much, both because they didn't have enough power to just cast willy-nilly and because the glowing light was bound to give away her position eventually. So she mostly took to healing defenders with her physic staff, to the surprise of several bandits who had hacked a man's limb halfway off only to have it knit itself back together.

She didn't have the greatest hearing in the world, but it soon became plain that they were taking hostages now. In particular, the largest bandit had taken a woman and her child. She'd been taken prisoner before, and she was not about to let it happen to anyone else. She quickly swapped to her rescue staff, and was grateful for the fact that the two were holding eachother so close. With a bright flash of light, the two were beamed to her rooftop. Obviously, the fact that they had been blinked to a different place did little to ease their fears. "Hey, hey. Calm down, you're safe here. I won't let the bandits get you." She reassured. They were still utterly terrified, but they weren't freaking out.

However, Alika knew that it wouldn't be safe for long, what with all the bright lights from her casting.

Barst watched the battle from above, looking for places he could swoop in and deliver a deadly blow, but still have room and time to escape. One such opportunity arose itself when a heavily-armored woman, with the colors of Vinsenia, attacked the bandits. Narrowing his eyes, he raised his bow and took aim. They say the enemy of my enemy, after all... Letting off an arrow into one of the bandits surrounding her, Barst brought himself overhead, calling out to the armored knight below him. "Got your back! Kill these bastards and don't let 'em touch another civilian!" Bringing himself over to a sturdy-looking rooftop, Barst jumped off of his pegasus and looked to the pair the knight had just saved. As they vanished in a burst of light, Barst could only smile. It's like I'm back in Caldegia all over again...

Again readying his bow, Barst narrowed his eyes as he took another shot, finishing off the bandit he'd shot already. There were plenty surrounding the armored knight, but at least now there was one fewer.

Ereshk hurried through the streets of Charten, little more than a ghostly shadow in the wind as he flitted between houses and through alleyways. Without metal armour to slow him down, or metal boots to clang against the cobblestone streets, the dark mage was remarkably quiet compared to the din of battle erupting all around him. Mister Carthul had ordered him to evacuate civilians, so that's exactly what he was going to do. Ereshk knocked on the door of any house he came across, yelling that the town was being raided and that everyone should head north and east away from the assault.

Ereshk himself was slowly fanning south, towards the broken gate. There were fewer occupied houses here. Most of the townsfolk had either already left, or... The smears of blood in the dark alleyways told him all he needed to know. He grimaced, cringing away from one such stain on the wall while clutching his grimoire tightly like a teddybear. Ereshk gasped as he heard a muffled scream from the alley in front of him. His dark brown eyes opened wide, and he could feel his head turn to stare into the darkness of the alley. Ereshk was screaming inside of his head, pleading with himself to turn and run, but his body wouldn't listen to him. The kid took a step towards the alley. Then another. And a third. There, up ahead, as the alley came to a dead-end, were the shadowy figures of a large man with someone much smaller and weaker than them. Ereshk's blood began to boil. The man had to be stopped. But how? He flipped open his grimoire. There was a spell. There was always a spell. Yes, Ereshk had the perfect spell. The perfect penetrating punishment for perpetrators of precocious and perverted ploys. He began to chant in the ancient language of elder magic.

"Eh? Whos're!?" The man threw his captive to the ground before fiddling around with his equipment. The captive cried out upon hitting the ground as the man hefted his axe over his shoulder. "Oi, another hero-type!" He laughed, charging at Ereshk with a gleeful, sadistic grin on his face.

The power of the human soul is immense. Humanity has within themselves the capacity for greatness, both great good and great evil. Love and hate, joy and pain, peace and war; the human soul is a two-headed coin with great potential on either side. But this was not what Ereshk was after. He could feel the buzzing radiance reverberating within his soul, and it was indeed powerful, but his goal was a power much stronger than that. His mind stretched out further, into the void beyond, and he cried out his prayer to the Darkness. This was a ritual Ereshk had done countless times before under his master's tutelage, but something felt different today. Something was off. The darkness of the void that Ereshk channeled through himself felt alive, more than it ever had before. It mingled with Ereshk's raging, boiling blood. It fed off the writhing and conflicted emotions that lashed out from both sides of Ereshk's soul like brilliant solar flares. The void's power engulfed him entirely, smothering the blazing light of his soul with its soothing darkness. Only one thought remained: obliteration.

Thin dendrites of darkness spread from the corners of Ereshk's eyes as he chanted the invocation from his grimoire. Strange energies began to flicker around him like pulsating lights. The ghostly after-image of some sort of runic circle began to flicker on the ground around the mage's feet. Ereshk finished his incantation and looked up impassively at the charging bandit. He felt no emotion. Emotion was a construct of the soul, and thus completely alien and incomprehensible to Ereshk while the powers of the void gripped him.

The bandit seemed to recognize that Ereshk was casting a spell. He looked like he was preparing to dodge a fireball as he charged towards the mage. Ereshk canted his head. Surely the bandit should know better? This was no fireball. Thick tendrils of shadow shot out down the walls and floor of the stone alleyway from Ereshk's feet, racing at breakneck speed towards the bandit. The bandit's bloodlust saw only Ereshk, and never saw the shadows of the alley turn against him. The racing tendrils lunged all at once, piercing the bandit from all angles, slicing through flesh and bone with ease. A fine pink mist spread out in all directions. For the briefest of moments there was the pitter-patter of rain splashing down on the cobblestone bricks of the alley. As Ereshk's spell dissipated, releasing the energies back into the void, several large chunks of meat slopped to the ground. The wet slapping noise they made as they hit the cobblestones caught Ereshk's attention and snapped him back to reality.

The sight. The smell! Oh gods, what have I done? That was- He was- Ereshk collapsed onto his hands and knees. He was trembling. He felt sick. Disgusting. Wretched. He did this. He called this forth. The smell was overwhelming. Ereshk vomited up what little he had eaten. Clutching his grimoire to his chest with a death-grip, the mage crawled over to the side of the alley with the last of his willpower. With no more strength left to hold himself upright, Ereshk slumped over, unconscious.

Arianna looked between the two men offering to train her. She definitely needed it, and she sort of wanted to avoid any food for now in an attempt to keep her hands away from it. She still felt awkwardly about it, even though the apple was long gone and the men had forgiven her. She sighed and pointed her iron axe at the training ground. "All right, show me what you got," she exclaimed, accepting the offered help.

---

Arianna collapsed against a tree on the outskirts of camp. Her head was hung, breath heavy after her training had ended. Fighting with an axe was nothing like chopping wood. She couldn't just rely on gravity to pull the axe down on to enemies all of the time, forcing her to use more muscle, tiring her out more quickly. She didn't let it show to Helath and the Rak'thurrian, though. She pushed through the quick axe tutorial as best she could. It was only now, after training, that she let her exhaustion show.

It seemed as soon as she sat down, however, she would have to get back up. She picked her head up to the sound of crackling fire, and just caught the last glimpse of the town gate before it collapsed in to a heap of burning wood. Her eyes widened at the sight. These bandits were going to destroy her town.

She grabbed her axe laying beside her, using it to push herself on to her feet. Suddenly, a huge explosion rocked the area, making Arianna flinch and cower against the tree. The explosion sent fear through her entire body. This is it, I'm going to die, she thought. All of this because I stole a stupid apple...

"You!"

A familiar voice shook the fear out of her. She opened her eyes to see Duraid glaring daggers at her. "Get your ass in the back lines with the mages, and help the townsfolk get to cover! Only fight if ya have too!" His heavy, angry voice paralyzed Arianna for a few seconds before a look of determination flashed on to her face. Come on, suck it up!

She looked up at another voice. This one was the Rak'thurrian fighter. After the training mission, Arianna had hinted at him being some sort of royalty, with him calling her 'm'lady' with a formality that was surprising from someone like him. "Screw that," he said, "I gave you that thing for a reason. You don't look like much, but once you get rolling you'll be a great fighter." He continued by offering some protection if harm were to come with her. Arianna nodded at him. "I'll be fine. But I think you can handle my share of bandits, big guy." She walked in front of him and slapped him on the shoulder. "The citizens of Charten would much rather me save them than avenge their deaths." With that, she sped off in to town, looking for people who were still clinging to their homes.

Everyone had mostly abandoned the town, but a few select people Arianna had to convince to leave. She was a smooth talker, so it only took a few minutes of their time to change their minds. While patrolling the city, she heard a screech. She rushed to the panicked noise. As she did, who she thought was the source of the sound ran past her with a haunted expression. She turned in to an alleyway and found a truly horrifying site. A man was passed out on the ground, gore and blood splattered all over the place, and- wait... Was that the scrawny fella who she stole an apple from? It definitely wasn't Barst, the bigger one... Gods, what was his name? Erksh? That sounded right.

As she was lost in thought, the smell of whatever- or whoever- coated the walls and floor of the alleyway got to her, making her stomach somersault. She gripped her waist and made a pained noise. Ick, it was the most horrid thing to ever grace her nostrils! "Erksh! Hey, buddy, now is definitely not the time for a nap!" After a few seconds without a response, Arianna moved closer to examine his resting body. "Oh jeez, you're out cold," she thought out loud. She didn't blame him. Whatever he did, Arianna probably would have passed out, as well. She sighed and kneeled down beside the unconscious mage, easily hoisting his light frame up on to her shoulder. The book he was holding slid out of his hand and hit the cobblestone alleyway with a thud. She decided to leave it there, since her hands were full and the book was probably replaceable. She had seen plenty of tomes at the marketplace.

Arianna carried the knocked out mage to an empty house, a good distance away from the battle. She kicked down the door to enter, setting the mage down on a chair gently. She then hovered over him, trying various ways to wake him up: Shaking him lightly by the shoulders, then a little harder, then a little harder. Plugging his nose for and few seconds. She even tried tickling the boy's sides. If all of that hadn't worked, Arianna planted a swift slap across his cheek, partly trying to wake the mage up, mostly out of frustration.

The first sensation Ereshk could recall after passing out was that of weightless floating. It felt like the Void. There was power in the air, and it was the same power Ereshk channeled to form his spells. He looked around, though he could not recall ever actually opening his eyes. A dozen shadowy figures, hidden by hooded cloaks identical to his own, stared down at him from tiered pews. If they were his jury, then the single cloaked figure directly in front of him was his judge.

"Congratulations on your first kill, Ereshk." The single figure in front of him seemed to speak directly into the mage's mind. It was unmistakably the voice of his master. "As you have broken Blood for the first time, allow me to officially welcome you into our order, Brother." The Master raised a sleeve of their robe out from beneath their cloak in order to shake Ereshk's hand, though there was no physical arm within the sleeve to do so. As Ereshk stared curiously at the hollow sleeve, flecks of bone flew in from all over to assemble the skeletal digits of a hand. Tendrils of muscle and vasculature slithered out from within the sleeve, grasping the bones tightly. Rolls of skin and fat soon followed, paving over the musculature. Ereshk watched the fascinating display, completely enthralled as his master's hand assembled itself from nothing. Still rather in shock from the whole affair, Ereshk shook his master's hand without saying a word.

"A toast, then, to our new Brother! May he continue our work in the mortal coil!" His master held up a clear glass wine goblet. The dozen cloaked figures behind the master all held up goblets of their own. Ereshk found that he too had a goblet, and he held it up like the others. A bubbly pink-red fluid flowed into the goblets from the void that surrounded the group. Though it smelled sweet and succulent, Ereshk couldn't help but think of the pink mist that had come out of the bandit. He drank along with the others, and the fluid was more intoxicating than anything he had ever had before. He chugged the ambrosia as fast he he could get it down, licking his lips greedily as he finished. He wanted more.

---

A swift slap to Ereshk's cheek finally managed to dislodge his silver-frame glasses. They sputtered down his nose before hanging, lopsided, off of the very tip. Ereshk's eyes fluttered open groggily. He inhaled deeply, shocked to find himself awake once more. Where was he? This wasn't the alley. He groaned, instinctively pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. The groggy mage blinked and scrunched up his face, trying to focus back on the present. It appeared he was in some sort of building now. Was he sitting? Yes, he was definitely sitting now. It felt like a wooden chair of some sort.

"Mmph. You're that- That apple thief, right? What occurred?" Ereshk blinked lazily at Arianna, still half in a daze. He idly felt around for his grimoire.

"Whew! Morning sleepy head! I thought you were gone for good there for a second." Arianna gave Ersehk a reassuring smile. "And, yes, I am the apple thief." She rose to her feet and extended a hand to help him out of the wooden chair. "You passed out after-" she stopped herself, not wanting him to pass out again. Arianna didn't want to have to slap him again. "After you saved someone from a bandit. Good job, by the way." Her stomach decided it would be a good time to turn. She tried to hide a shiver as she remembered the alleyway.

She noticed that the mage's hand was searching for something. Oh Gods, I hope that wasn't important, she thought to herself. "Uhm, Erksh... You wouldn't happen to be looking for that old book of yours right now, are you?" She laughed nervously and rubbed her arm up and down. "I sort of left it in the alleyway... But I've seen plenty of books like yours in the marketplace. I'm sure you can buy another one, right?"

Grey Onyx

At first, Grey was content to let her go, it was her decision after all, but then another thought hit him. "W-wait! Don't charge off alone!" He shouted as he rushed to pursue. He couldn't just let her charge off by herself, she had even less experience than he did! Naturally, she was much faster than he was, especially considering he wore more metal armor than she did, head start aside. He lost sight of her after a time, but before he could continue the chase he felt a swift blow to his side, straight out of his blind spot.

He slammed into a wall, before he picked himself up and came face to face with a foe he didn't expect. This man was clearly no disciplined soldier, yet he seemed to be a cut above the common barbarian rabble. He barely wore anything resembling armor, just leather padding over select bits of clothing, as well as a thin blade. A Myrmidon. Unfortunately, this was the kind of foe Grey was least suited to dealing with. "Alright, you got lucky with that one..." He picked his axe back up and gave it a swing as he readied for single combat. Everything was on fire, his cape was fluttering in the wind, This would make a great painting... He thought with some amusement. "But you're gonna regret letting me get back up."

The myrmidon just spat and checked his blades' edge. "There's no fun in that. These villagers just scream and die when we show up, but you mercs are a real challenge." Grey gave a derisive snort before replying. "Well it's your lucky day, scum. You get to be ground to nothing under my bootheel!" Grey shouted as he charged forward. He swung for the bandit's midsection, but he was already gone by the time His axe got there. He prepared a strike of his own, but Grey was just barely able to absorb most of the damage with his shield. But now the bastard was in close. Grey shot forward with his axe and struck. The blow missed, naturally, but that wasn't important. Grey's shield arm shot out and he grabbed the punk by his collar, before pulling him in for a mighty headbutt.

The myrmidon was writhing on the ground clutching his head. Grey strode over, and was about to bury his axe in the bandit's face when he felt a searing pain in his midsection. He looked down, only to find the bandit had shot his sword out and got him. He didn't think it hit anything vital, but by the gods did it hurt. But if there was one thing Grey was good at, it was ignoring pain.He quickly stomped on the man's arm, until he felt a crunch. The bandit was screaming in pain now. After all, he did just have his arm crushed. He looked up at Grey, who was staring at the man with the a look that he could only describe as soulless. The man's eyes widened in fear as he slowly extracted the sword from his torso, and uttered the last words the bandit would ever hear. "Life is a privilege. And you don't deserve it." The last part was almost a snarl, as he brought his armored boot down on the bandit's head.

The adrenalin of battle having faded, Grey took a moment to recover. He had some emergency bandages he could use to slow the bleeding, but he doubted that he'd get very far with his wound. Worse, he had a moment to think. That was his first kill, and he was almost horrified by his own actions. Did he end the man quickly? no, he decided to prolong his death and inflict suffering on him. But... he deserved it. Unquestionably. Each and every one of these monsters deserve nothing but the painful crushing deaths they themselves inflicted on the innocent. But for now, He had to find Arianna, or maybe a wizard. They might have healing salves handy.

He went towards where he saw Arianna go, and upon turning into an alleyway, he came across an unimaginably gruesome sight. There were piles of... of meat that could have been a man once, and in the center was a book, completely unattended. He scooped it up and stored it on his belt next to the myrmidon's sword for his growing loot collection. Now, the bleeding was getting worse. He couldn't fight like this, so his best bet would be to head back away from the front in the hopes he might come across a healer. As he wandered, he heard familiar voices from the inside of an empty home. With some effort, he managed to find his way through the open door, only to discover Arianna and a mage he might have seen earlier. "T-there you are... you can't just run off... alone." He said as he leaned against a wall for support, clutching his wound. He brought his hand up to his eye, and found it stained red. Clearly the bandages had been overpowered. "Wizard... Idon't suppose you *Hack* have anything for this, do you?"

Ereshk gratefully accepted the young woman's help in hoisting himself up to his feet. He was still a little wobbly, but at least he could stand. The mage nodded absent-mindedly as Arianna explained how he fainted after saving a villager. His hands were still patting down his robes, trying desperately to find his book.
Where in the nine hells did I put it!? Ereshk was starting to panic now. His mind was beginning to fully comprehend the notion that he may have lost his master's spellbook. It was at that moment that Arianna's words sunk in. His hands stopped their frantic pat-down. They paused for a moment, paralyzed in fear, before falling limp at his sides. Ereshk slowly exhaled. He stared at the young woman with a look of confusion and betrayal. The mage appeared to deflate like a balloon, collapsing back down into the wooden chair.
"Left it... in the alleyway..." he murmured, taking a moment to let the finality of it sink in. "Huh."

Suddenly, a mountain of a man barreled into the house, blood oozing from a gash in his torso. Ereshk jumped to his feet in surprise, and knocked over the chair he had been using in the process. A shiver ran down the mage's spine as the large man in front of them examined his blood-coated hand. Ereshk had to turn his gaze away just to keep himself from vomiting again.
"Wizard... I don't suppose you-" the man paused to cough. "have anything for this, do you?" He appeared to be addressing Ereshk, unless the young apple thief had suddenly sprouted magical powers in the last hour or so. Ereshk risked a quick glance at the wounded man. He immediately regretted that decision, and squeezed his eyes shut a moment later. Nope. Nope, nope nope nope nope nope. Nope. There was just something incredibly unnerving about seeing blood. It wasn't right. Blood was supposed to stay inside your body! Inside! Not out!

Ereshk tentatively opened a single eye, choosing to stare at the young apple thief instead of the wounded man.
"I appear to have lost my spellbook," he began, speaking slow and steady. "I won't be of much help to anyone until I get it back."

Oh boy, the damn thing was important.

Arianna huffed as the mage plopped himself down in to the wooden chair again. "Hey, come on now." She tried to encourage him to get up again. "I bet it's still in the alleyway. Oh, by the way, my name is Arianna. Anyways, why don't we just-"

Suddenly, a man burst through the doorway. Arianna screeched, thinking it was a bandit coming to loot the house. "T-there you are... you can't just run off... alone," the man spoke, obviously weakened as he leaned against a wall. Suddenly, the man's voice and face clicked in Arianna's mind: It was the Rak'thurrian recruit. "Oh, Gods, it's you!" She sighed in relief and tossed her axe on the ground away from anyone to use. "You can't just barge in like that when there are all these bandits in town! You scared me half to death! Haven't you heard of knocking?" She scolded the mountainous fighter, her fear diminished now that she knew who the man was.

She then looked down the man's body. There was a distinct scent of blood in the air. Sure enough, the man had a nasty side wound. "Wizard..." He was talking to the mage now, who had bolted upright from his seat. "I don't suppose you-" COUGH "-have anything for this, do you?" The mage answered, informing the man he had lost his spellbook.

"Actually," Arianna broke in, "we were about to go get it. We dropped it in an alleyway after-... Well it's a long story." She suddenly sighed loudly. "Okay, before we do anything else, I need some names." She pointed to the Rak'thurrian man. "You're just the fighter who gave me this axe, and sounds way too formal for your job right now." She then turned and pointed to the mage. "And you're the mage who I stole the apple from. What was your name again? Ershk? Erksh? Arrest, maybe? I don't remember, sorry about that." She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Whatever. It would just be nice if I knew them the right way, so one-two-three, name time!"

Simon

Simon maintained an eerie calm as bandits drew closer to his position. He tightened his grip on his sword, even closing his eyes as the bandits began to sneer, "Ha! Is this scrawny excuse for a kid the best this town's got?" a voice jeered, to which Simon offered no response. These bloodthirsty bandit types were like animals, caring only about where their next prey awaited. And so Simon would treat them as such as well, not offering so much as an introduction. Instead only saying one thing and one thing only.

"Leave peacefully, and you may yet live to see the sunrise." this was answered by laughs and scoffs. Unfortunately, the warning fell on deaf ears.

"Kill this whelp!" said a voice, and from there everything became a blur of motion. Someone lunged, an axe raised high to chop into the myrmidon's shoulder and neck. No more words were spoke, instead Simon spun his body forward, the chop of the axe meeting only thin air, but leaving the bandit helpless as the blade of Simon's sword tore through the man's bare waist like the claws of a tiger rending its prey asunder. Simon didn't stop there, his maneuver had given him a momentum he was not about to waste. Simon spun his body forward once more, this time the edge of his blade finding prey in a bandit's neck, cutting through it with almost sickening cleanliness. The third of the bandits who had approached him was just stunned, too slow to act when Simon's movement ended with the tip of his blade jammed cleanly into the man's back at an upward angle so as to avoid being caught in the ribs. With one final spin of his body, Simon simultaneously pulled his blade free of the the now dying bandit and flung the blood of the three men to the ground before giving one final swing as it entered the sheathe from which it was drawn, all in the time it took for the three bandits to hit the ground dead. Simon's assault proved to be every bit as "beautiful" as his reputation alleged it would be.

It seemed, though, that the bandits began adopting a different strategy. Simon stared in silence as a man held a young girl in front of him with one arm, using his free hand to point the blade of his axe to the girl's neck, "Heh, let's see how heroic you are now..." the man taunted, pressing the blade ever closer to the girl's neck.

"...Fool." said Simon, drawing his sword, "You could have walked away, but instead you choose a miserable death. I pray your gods show you pity. Because my father and I will not."

~The ceiling.... the ceiling... concentrate.... close your eyes....~ Ever since the talk about the raiding horde Sammael couldn't find a way to sit still or sleep, even as his brothers all peacefully laid nearby. With a groan he hoisted himself up and stared out the window, toward the forest. Even now he missed the woods and their unknown paths during their travels. Now he was stuck inside this wooden structure until dawn. "No. No, I'm not." he said to himself, forcing his body to leave his bed and begin dressing for the day. Light armor, full quiver, short bow, long bow, carving knife, descaling knife. It was a small arsenal, but it had worked for him for many years now. As he put the quiver on his back a pounding noise, then an explosion, banged in his ears. At the same time his brothers all started up, Shaking off their sleep each one looked around the room before finding Sammael by the window, already dressed. "Get up. The battle is here." Without another word Sammael stuck his head out the window and grabbed the edge of the roof to pull himself up with. His body was a little tired from the lack of sleep, but his day's work only required carrying food, so it wasn't strained in the slightest. Getting his feet on the top of the building Sammael looked in the direction of the gate, now a pile of rubble, and tried to make out what was going on. Some buildings blocked his view, but the archer could make out the battle going on. The rest of the town seemed unaffected besides a few brigadiers here or there, but the bulk of the forces were still at the gate. A pegasus rider, he believed it was one of the men he met earlier, was currently taking out targets in the air with his bow. "Hm. A good, if not ironic, combination." Sammael said aloud to himself before jumping to the next closest roof.

Landing in a crouch, he sprung off the momentum from his last jump and continued to run his course towards the battle. As he made his way across the town a sickening scent and sound came from an alleyway not far away, but Sammael ignored it, deciding the main attack force was a more important target. A flash of light distracted him from a nearby rooftop, making the archer quickly draw his bow. Three people stood ontop of it. a pair was a mother and her young, the other seemed to be a magic user. Approaching silently Sammael hear the healer calming down the mother and child. They carried a small shimmering around them still from magic being freshly used on them. Observing the healer from the rear he couldn't see any weapons on here besides the heads of some staves. Walking towards the three, bow drawn in the direction of the fighting, Sammael breathed in, then out. Letting loose the notched arrow he saw the shaft stick itself in the knee of a brute heading into the city, causing him to shriek in pain and double over. Turning his head slightly away from the battle, he looked towards the healer. "You have no protection up here. I'll be your escort." he said, notching another arrow and putting it through the throat of the same man from before. Hearing a howl from behind him, Sammael put his bow to the floor of the roof and cupped his hands over his mouth, howling back.

---

As Sammael fired his second arrow the other three finally made their into the streets in their light armor. With Helath on his left and Lasair his right, both with their weapons drawn, Nialas cupped his mouth and let out a few extremely loud howls into the air, hoping he would be heard over the fighting. As they turned a corner a man with a steel axe attempted to bring it down on Lasair's head. The fool obviously didn't understand the numbers same. In a synchronized fashion Lasair blocked with a blade of his own while Helath turned around Nialas and delivered a massive strike to the man's abdomen with his steel axe. Lasair then kicked the corpse of a man to the ground and they continued to walk as a howl was returned, explaining in simple detail the layout of the battle. "Large force at the gate, a few stragglers in the streets. Easy enough. Lasair, take to the streets and take out any of the ones you see going around. Loot them if you can obviously. Helath and I will help defend the entrance." Lasair grinned and left with a nod, turning down an alleyway and beginning to run. Helath and Nialas sped up towards the gate and found a familiar sight; a big, bloody skirmish.

Two distinct instances were noticed by Nailas. In the center of the gate's remnants a knight of some sort took out what seemed to be the big leader of the gang. Not too far away from their position a swordman faced off with a bandit who had an axe to a girl's neck. "Coward!" Nialas said, seething with anger. "Helath, take care of that trash that uses human shields. I'm going to go help the one in the center of the battle."

"Fine with me. Enjoy the pole-vault!" Helath shouted back as he took a roundabout route to the man- not, the monster- using a woman as a shield. With all the noise going on it was fairly easy to sneak up on a cocky bandit. Letting out a small sigh Helath raised his own axe in one hand, sheathed the other and stepped in closer, closer... closer... When he was only a foot away from him Helath simultaneously grabbed the bandits wrist to push the blade away from the girl and swiped the axe through the man's leg with tremendous strength, cutting it clear off. The axe left the bandits hand as he fell to the ground in pain. Still holding the man's wrist, just in case, Helath looked up at the swordsman. "Sorry to cut in, but I wasn't having any of that shit. Name's Helath." As the man continued to writhe in pain, Helath brought his axe down in his head, stopping the movement. Taking his axe back out of the head by resting his foot on the skull and yanking, Helath draw his swordreaver and turned toward the battle. "Still up for fighting?" he asked the swordsman.
-
At the same time of Helath's one sided fight Nialas could be seen dancing his way through the pileup of fighters towards the center of the mass. As he finally approached the fighter he found it was a woman carrying a shield. He wondered how a defender of the town could have gotten out in the middle like this, but chose to ignore that detail of now. She definitely wasn't in good favor of the bandits, so Nialas had no qualms with her. As one of the bandit's moved to strike her from behind Nialas's spear found his spine, hitting him straight in the center back. With a gasp and shudder, the man fell over without any movement. The entire line of the spine was Nialas's favorite spot to strike, as it only took one hit. Twirling the spear in his hands and turned his head towards the woman. "Need a little help? Protect my flank and I'll protect yours."
-
Jogging lightly through the streets Lasair found most of them empty of trouble. The walls of the town seemed to work fairly well, which was almost a bummer. When he came round to the other side of the next building, however, he found himself watching a bunch of bandits climbing over the wall with a small siege ladder, hastily built by the look of the top. One, five, seven, eleven. "Shit... thats a lot... I guess I'm using the last one." he muttered quietly as he snuck to the center of the street, staying away from the torchlight. Digging a small hole with his hands Lasair continued to look back at the bandits as he continued to dig. There were fourteen over now. Taking out the small device from his back, Lasair lowered the mine carefully into the hole before partially covering the top. Ready to run away as his hand was on the safety pin, he heard a loud yell. "Hey! Shithead! What the hell are you doing?!". ~Well, damn the deer, I'm in trouble...~

Trying to think fast Lasair pulled the pin and began to back away. "No! You can't have my gold! Just because I'm the richest man in town doesn't mean you can harass me!" he shouted back, hoping to draw some of them toward him while the other's split off. Apparently his act was too convincing or they were too dimwitted, because all of the now sixteen bandits began to approach him. "Aaaaaaand cue running." he said, turning tail and taking off in the opposite direction as them. He was about seven seconds into his run before an explosion and cried of pain echoed through the area. With a large grin plastered on his face Lasair turned to inspect his handiwork. An uneasy feeling hit him as he saw many of the men still whole. Apparently it was the last person who stepped on the mine, allowing the first half of the group to escape the blast with minor injuries. Taking a quick count of how many were standing Lasair began to back up again. "Eight... yup, gonna keep running." he said, dashing down an alleyway already pasted with blood.

As Arianna requested the two men's names a loud yelp could be heard in the street followed by a lot of yelling. With his back slammed against the doorway where the three talked Lasair groaned in pain from being tossed, only standing partially up. Looking over to see the three he croaked out a few words from his bloodied mouth. "Five... bandits... here..." he said, rolling on his side into the house as a hand axe lodged itself where his stomach just was. Now laying on the floor flat on said stomach with his slim sword in hand, he coughed up a small amount of blood as shadows of the approaching bandits could be seen outside. Lasair used his free hand to prop himself up and began to bring himself to his knees. He got three done with no problem, but one of them carried a swordreaver and gave him trouble. Using the sword as a cane he propped himself up onto his two feet, facing the doorway.

Faris

Faris, if nothing else, was a creature of opportunity.

For the young mercenary, the screams of fallen and dying bandits served as an alert, of sorts, to show where the now crippled bandits would be struggling and clinging onto life. While a rather obvious observation, the deviously-minded woman took that easy conjuncture a tiny bit further. If there were injured bandits, then there'd be non-injured bandits who helped said injured bandits up, probably when they've put down their weapons.

A smile placed itself upon her face as she heard the rebounding sound of an explosion that rocked the area, blasting away the screams of the ones caught inside. She caught glimpses of fighting as she paced closer to the sound, witnessing the fight between one of the new men and eight of the hulking bandits, whistling softly to herself as he took out two with ease, before watching the other one get in a wicked blow with his swordreaver. That had to hurt. The rest closed in, and followed the man down an alley that already looked like the fire and blood had spent time in it.

Following closely, the mercenary turned into the alley as the first three men vacated it, one barking orders about staying put to the duo that left behind.

Faris' slight smile of pleasure grew into a sickeningly sadistic grin as the prey she had stumbled upon appeared to be distracted with something else entirely(Perhaps the remains of his comrade, splattered all over the walls and ground). Additionally, the gore-soaked alley was narrow enough to make swinging an axe difficult,

She allowed herself a giggle at the perfection of it all, before taking a mighty, two-handed, overhead swing at the closest bandit's skull.

Two unexpected things happened(For Faris, it was a rather disorienting feeling of deja vu) very, very quickly.

First, the man she targeted started to speak. The resulting crunch and immediate termination of his words caused his sole partner to spin around, eyes widening at the graphic image as the crushing sword tore the unsuspecting man's head in two.

Secondly, the jarring impact of blade on bone sent a shockwave rippling down her arm.

Her injured arm. The arm that she'd already fractured, and that shock had been keeping numb for her.

A bright flower of pain erupted in her forearm, tearing a breath from the now regretful young woman who's fingers slipped off the thickly-bound handle of her heavy metal blade. Her eyes crossed as she staggered back, barely noticing that her prey had fallen and that the second target was now charging her.

Moments later, a second burst of pain clouded her vision as the still-living bandit brought his fist around, smacking into her jawline and knocking Faris backwards. She toppled, extending her still injured arm to catch herself, immediately regretting the instinctual decision with every fiber of her being as it collapsed with a sickening crack.

Blackness and sweet release of consciousness followed. The mercenary had no way to gauge how long she lay there, only praying that the return to life wasn't as horrible as she was expecting.

The cold, enveloping blackness faded as quickly as it came, dragging Faris back into the world of the conscious as heavy, calloused hands wrapped themselves around her throat.

She groggily flailed about, every one of her weak attacks missing the mark as the man's grip tightened, intending to send her to the grave without even giving her the decency to end her with his axe.

This sucks.

Faris Carthul was going to die before her journey had even started, and it was all because of an exceptionally simple mistake.
.......
......
.....
....
...
..
.

Bullshit.

Her arm snapped out in an open-handed grab with the last of her strength, darting upward toward faint cloud of darkness and flashing teeth in her blurry vison. The impact was, for some reason, rather squishy, and she jammed her thumb into what she assumed was his nose or mouth.

In the next fragmented second, the weight that was crushing her throat and holding her body down was gone, screams of rage and pain floating in and out of her flickering reality.
The next breath was both sweet and pure agony, her bruised throat trying to expand to catch as much of the life-giving air as it could. Faris lapsed into a coughing fit, curling into a fetal position as her body was wracked with the unavoidable consequences of being nearly killed. The tears in her eyes hadn't faded as she rolled over, and suddenly was confronted with the surprising truth to why she was freed.

From what her shaken vision was telling her, the man had collapsed by her side, clutching his head and writhing in pain, dark crimson splatters leaking across the pavement as he whipped the injury back and forth. His writhing motions had dislogded the shiny metal of her erstwhile iron blade from his companion's skull, and the gore-soaked object lay fallow just out of Faris' reach.

Twisting, she extended her left arm and grabbed the offending weapon as yet another burst of pain shot from her right. Grunting a curse with the breath that still wasn't coming, the mercenary hefted her blade(What was she thinking, making the damn thing so heavy?), turned, confirmed her target, and brought the hilt down as hard as she could.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

After giving herself a minute to recover from the sudden violence, Faris began to follow the way the rest of the bandits had gone, stepping over the fresh corpse of the man who's head had been caved in, splattering the alley with a fresh coat of gore and bone fragments.

---

Bandit Captain Berseker and the Merry Men of Banditland

The bandit leader, a berserker, lay on the ground and contemplated his life choices that had lead to this moment. He'd been a good enough leader to his men, letting them have the pick of the towns they'd looted, all the women they could carry and all the crops they could burn. He'd even offered to take care of their families should they fall in combat. It had been a good life, that, even as Vinsenia had suddenly begun an extermination campaign of his kind as their territory increased.

But then everything changed the day he was captured, and brought before the little snot that had suddenly changed the defensive nation into one of oppressing war. Even the beserker would admit that the man was beautiful, a flowing example of regal elegance and casual charisma. If that's all he was, the captain would have accepted his death right there, knowing that the king's purge with iron and fire would not spare one such as him.

But then the king had stepped off his throne, paced forward, and asked the lowly bandit if he'd work with him to provide crushing defeat of his enemies. The king had smiled as he described the slaughter that the beserker could bring to the towns and villages in his way, explaining in gruesome detail every blow and crushing smash.

That was the moment that the beserker had decided he'd live his life for the king. The lovely way his eyes glimmered, the vigorous excitement in how he spoke of the beauty of blood and gore, the sadistic smile and the cherubic laugh, all dragged at his haggard soul in ways that the hulking man had never felt before.

And now these incompetent little scum-sacks were taking that away from him.

First his prey had been taken from him, and then that bitch of a supervisor had attacked him without warning.

He'd show them.

The berseker shot bolt upright, his body twisting and rippling as saliva dripped from his jaws, a crazy light burning in the depths of his eyes. He tossed his body forward with a demented roar of pure fury, smashing the axe that he held toward the least mobile of his two targets, the fiflthy whore who had betrayed him and the king.

---

Duraid

Duraid's hulking form made a distressingly silent appearance in the fray about the front gate, seemingly ignoring the fragmented bandits that had already begun to scatter, running for the hills and the edges of town. Instead, his target was the steel core of the looter's forces, the collection of men around the berseking captain and hapless do-gooders who got in his way.

He impacted like a tidal wave, the warning of his approach masked by the smashing sounds and screams of rage and anger that emanated from every crevice of the rapidly escalating slaughter. The warrior's steel axe buried itself in the nearest enemy, nearly tearing the hapless man in twain as it continued on, crushing the next one's skull without much issue.

Blood. Blood, gore, carnage. That's all Barst could see as he took careful aim with each arrow he sent hurtling towards the ground. Some missed as his targets moved, some struck, and some killed. Deciding that the people down below could handle the remaining bandits, Barst lifted himself to the top of the roof and whistled again, calling his pegasus. He wasn't sure where the flying horse had been, but so long as it came unharmed, he didn't care much. And come unharmed it did. Quickly getting onto his partner, Barst gave the order to fly, and the two were off again. For now, he was looking for anybody who needed help, civilian or defender.

Circling over the battlefield, Barst landed amidst a small group of bandits, bow drawn and pegasus flailing its legs. A few screams sounded out, but the bandits managed to collect themselves quickly, taking wild swings at Barst and his pegasus, only for the horse to leap over them, using its wings to make its way over the attacks. Both turning, Barst raised his bow and unleashed an arrow into the group, knocking one attacker to the ground in pain. Tapping his mount's hip with his foot, Barst smiled as an approaching bandit was tossed back by the pegasus's powerful leg. He'd definitely broken a few ribs, probably pierced a lung. The man was dead regardless, his breath and blood pouring from the wound. Releasing one last arrow before flying off, Barst called after the bandits playfully. "Better luck next time, cowards!" He couldn't stay in any one battle long, or his chances of getting hurt skyrocketed. If he was on foot, he might have been able to stay, but the streets were no place to maneuver a pegasus.

Having said that, Barst was in the air almost immediately, making his way back to the battlefield. As he got closer though, his blood froze in his veins as a familiar sound reached his ears. FTWAAANG! Almost falling out of his saddle, Barst yanked the reins to the side, pulling his pegasus out of the archer's view. Scanning the ground, he panicked as he didn't notice any allies. This....this was bad. Really bad. Bringing himself to the ground, Barst and his pegasus piled into the nearest alleyway, when they heard a grunt, a curse, and the sound of cracking bone. Making his way towards the sound, Barst turned the corner, his eyes widening as he saw Faris stepping over a bandit's corpse. "Nice to see a familiar face for once..." Shaking his head, Barst sighed. "Place has gone to hell. You know where the rest of the fighting is? I can't go back into the air, we almost got our wings clipped a minute ago."

Kristoph

The fighting got off to, more or less, the kind of start Kristoph had expected. His explosive trap took a chunk of their numbers while simultaneously alerting the entire town (and more specifically, Simon) to the bandit raid, effectively killing two birds with a single stone, or bomb as the case may be. He didn't stick around to admire his handiwork, though, Kristoph instead choosing to duck into a nearby alley and using it for cover. His greatest strength was his ability to analyze enemy movements to predict their attacks, but no matter how sharp his eyes were they would do him no good if his head ended up rolling on the ground. This allowed him to observe both the bandits and the mercenaries, which of course would allow him to more properly assess the battle and formulate a plan accordingly. The first thing he would need to do was rendezvous with Simon, who he had no doubt would join the battle upon hearing the signal of the explosion.

But before he did that, Kristoph made one more observation. From within the mercenary camp, a man emerged and began giving orders to the others. This, Kristoph presumed, had to be the leader of this town's defense. What he didn't understand was the appearance of a nearby knight in Vinsenian armor closer to the entrance. Surely the town hadn't already been captured before Kristoph's arrival, because if it were then there would have been no need for the bandits. Kristoph knew he specifically heard the mention of a general's orders, meaning that this raid had to have been on the orders of the Vinsenian army, and yet one of theirs was here fighting in the town's defense? Either this man was a deserter of some kind or there was a more complex plan at work here. Either way, Kristoph was determined to get to the bottom of it. But finding Simon had to come first.

It wasn't overly difficult to avoid the bandits. After all, their targets were the mercenaries in front of them, and as such sneaking around them proved simple enough so long as Kristoph stuck to the alleys. In doing so, he witnessed a mage slay a bandit with what Kristoph recognized as a dark spell tome. Unfortunately the mage seemed to pass out after that, and was essentially carried off to safety by someone else. Kristoph didn't stay to witness anything else, instead pressing on, specifically in the direction of the tavern in the hopes of encountering Simon. Finally, he heard his son's voice, sounding as if he were offering someone a chance to leave with their lives. One had to admire his insistence of such honorable behavior, even if it was naive at times. Kristoph turned a corner, spotting a bandit holding a girl hostage with Simon further back with his sword in hand, even further still were the corpses of the men he had only just slew.

"You could have walked away, but instead you choose a miserable death. I pray your gods show you pity. Because my father and I will not."

Good, Kristoph thought. His son's choice of words had contained a hidden meaning, one that signaled Kristoph that Simon had spotted him. Kristoph nodded in silence, about to grab his sword but held his position when another man crept past him and toward the bandit, apparently having the same idea.

"Really, now? 'Cause it looks ta me like yer all alone, boyo!" he said no more, the stranger attacking him from behind in a rather gruesome show. Kristoph approached silently, listening the other man introduce himself as Helath and simply letting Simon do the talking.

"Thank you." said Simon to the man who had aided him. He had no doubt in his own ability to slay the bandit, but doing so without harming the girl in the process was a different story, "My name is Simon Thane. The man standing behind you is my father, Kristoph."

Kristoph chose that moment to speak, "We may be in trouble, Simon."

"Trouble? Why? What's happened?" Simon asked, questioning his father's greeting.

"I overheard one of these bandits mentioning the orders of a general. Take a wild guess who he was talking about," said Kristoph as he took a cautious glance at their new... friend, "but that's not all, I caught glimpse of a Vinsenian Knight defending the gate."

"But that makes no sense! Why would the Vinsenians attack a town defended by one of their own?" asked Simon, now thoroughly confused.

"I don't know," said Kristoph, "but I intend to find out."

Alika

As Alika finished calming the mother and child, she heard... something. She didn't quite make it out, but it sounded like speech. Well, it looked like the bandits had found her. She would not allow any bandits to harm these civilians! As soon as she heard him(?) She whipped around with lightning speed, her concealed short sword primed to cut his throat.

However, as she turned, she saw him fire arrows at a bandit... Oh. Crap. Now, not killing him would be easy. Doing that in a dignified matter would be impossible. She threw her weight off to the side, causing her to land to the ground instead of leap at his throat. "Y-you should know better than to sneak up on a lady!" She shouted as she rose and dusted herself off, her cheeks bright red from the embarrassment. He had apparently howled... Huh, he must be a Wolf then. She groaned internally. She had nothing near Grey's hatred of non-humans, but she didn't like the wolves. They were so... unrefined. She wouldn't call them savage but they didn't exactly have the best manners.

"I am quite fine on my own, thank you. I've quite a bit of experience..." She was no soldier and she didn't really enjoy fighting, but over she'd built up quite a bit of skill over two-thousand years. "But I won't stop you. I advise picking off those ruffians surrounding the big one over there..." She said as she pointed towards the gate at the berserker.

Whatever he did, it was none of her concern. She watched a pegasus knight of some variety fleeing an archer. as she watched him land, she noticed him talk to a blade-wielding woman, who appeared to be severely injured.

This would not do.

Assembling Physic, she cast it at the woman, and breathed a sigh of relief to find her just at the edge of its range. It took a good two seconds for physic to do it's work, and she wasn't sure if the woman would notice her or not, but that was irrelevant. However, it likely wouldn't feel good. Grey had complained that the staff made him feel this sickening tingling sensation whenever she cast it on him. Normally she'd chalk it up to his odd intolerance for magic, but she'd seen the expressions of the people she'd used it on. It wasn't painful, but it wasa severely uncomfortable is what she guessed it's effect was.

Grey Onyx

Grey was incredulous. Why the hell was this man so damn squeamish? He was dying here! Arianna seemed to recognize him, and scolded him for bursting through the open doorway. "And you could have..." He was about to cough again, but he managed to suppress it. "Waited. Where I come from we don't fight alone..." He stated. Ooh, lordy. This was probably the second most physically painful thing to ever happen to him. The mage didn't seem to even want to look at him, but he did say something about a book. He remembered the book he had looted from that alleyway, and moved to unclip it from his belt. "You mean this? I found it in the second most disgusting alley I've ever seen." He said. He wanted that to be a joke, but his tone was more serious as he remembered the horrible sight there. Nonetheless, he more or less dropped it on the guy with his bloodied hand. At this point fine control like handing things to people was getting hard. "If that's your damn book can we please fix me before I bleed out or... or something?" He said as he slid down to a sitting position, no longer strong enough to stand.

Then, Arianna seemed to want names, and she had also noticed the couple of times he slipped into his more, er, noble speech patterns. "Greyson Onyx. But unless you just wanted something to carve on my headstone I suggest someone help!" He shouted. Now he was getting angry. He always got angry when he was afraid. But, he had noticed that wasn't helping. "I'm... I'm sorry. I just... I don't want to die..." He said as he lay there. Then, one of the beastfolk from earlier burst in. He... wasn't in good shape. He said something about there being five more bandits out there, right as a handaxe embedded itself in the wall.

At that point, he realized something. He was giving up. He was going to give up, and die on the floor in the house of somebody he'd never even seen.

No. If he was going to die, he was going to die like a man, axe in hand. With a sudden surge of adrenalin, he got up on his feet, before procuring one of the homeowner's shirts from the floor. He tied it around his wound and readied his axe. He was still very much in pain, but he couldn't allow those animals out there to smell blood, so to speak. But he knew he wouldn't last long. "Come on... if I'm dying then I'm dying on the battlefield." He said to the other two. He didn't care if they followed, but he did care if they survived. If they went with him, he would likely give his life for them. Pushing past the beastman, he noticed the bandits, who were very nearly ready to attack.

"Well here you are, scumbags!" He called out. They very much didn't care for that, but they were gonna wait for him to finish at least. "Do you wanna know what I do with scumbags? Huh? Huh!? Why don't you ask the underside of my boot! I bet it's still got some of your friend's brains on it!" He shouted. At least one bandit seemed a little put off, but it was clear that they were still very angry. "What the fuck are you waiting for! Get over here and die!"

Alice could hear the commotion others were causing fighting in other areas, but she held her ground. One of the bandits fell to an arrow, so she knew that at the very least she wasn't a target... yet... Her thoughts were interrupted as a pair of axes glanced off of her armor. They were quick, but not quick enough. She managed to catch one in the chest with her lance as the other tried to get at her again. The berseker shot bolt upright, his body twisting and rippling as saliva dripped from his jaws, a crazy light burning in the depths of his eyes. He tossed his body forward with a demented roar of pure fury, smashing the axe that he held toward the least mobile of his two targets, the fiflthy whore who had betrayed him and the king. Alice barely had time to react as she raised her shield to block the blow from the beserker. It was a good thing that she did to, as she slid back several feet from its force. "this is going to be a pain. you know? you've got a bit to much power for my liking." Alice said, although the beserker seemed to ignore her. In the moment of reprieve she swapped out her lance for her axe. Even as skilled as she was with it, she needed at least an even playing field with this brute. A quick glance at her shield showed little sign of damage other then a decent dent. with a shrug she braced herself for the battle to come.

"Ereshk," the mage stated quietly as the man named Greyson Onyx tossed him back his grimoire. "My name is Ereshk, and I will not let you die here this day." Ereshk started wiping off the blood on his book with his sleeve. He swallowed as hard as he could, desperately trying to force the bile back down.
This is it. This is what being a mercenary is about. The dark mage cracked open his massive spellbook, quickly flicking through the pages to the one he had bookmarked. This is the life you chose. Get used to it. Ereshk began chanting in the odd language of elder magic. He stretched his mind out into the void. Feeling its infinite darkness, he channeled that power through himself as he approached the doorway to the house. An eerie calm fell over the mage as he continued to chant. There was no rage within Ereshk this time, no emotion for the darkness to devour. He was simply a living conduit of the infinite void; cold, emotionless, and eternally hungry.

Five bandits were in the street out front. The man named Greyson Onyx stood between the bandits and Ereshk, trying to intimidate the enemy. It did not appear to be working very well. Ereshk stood behind the man named Greyson Onyx, using him as a shield of living meat. The dark mage peeked his head out around the side of the man and found his first target. The infinite void coursing through his soul was unleashed. Like a burst dam, a sudden surge of shadow rushed out from Ereshk's body. Tendrils of darkness zipped along the ground, passing harmlessly under the man named Greyson Onyx, before lunging up like savage wolves at the bandit closest to the house. Armour. Muscle. Flesh. Bone. None of it meant anything to the tendrils of flux. What did these primitive mountain apes know of the Void? Nothing. They had no resistance to the power surging from within Ereshk. Their only defense was their sheer bulk. The mage canted his head curiously as he continued to chant softly in a foreign tongue. His target was not dead. The man, though grievously wounded, still clung to life. His delicious crimson blood oozed out of numerous gashes all over his body, and yet somehow, the man still stood.

That had to be rectified. The Void hungered. It demanded that Ereshk feed it, and the dark mage was compelled to comply.

Hark cut down another bandit with a horizontal slash as he went overhead with his swing. Hark had lost count of just how many he'd cut down, and he didn't have time to take an account of the corpses on the battlefield. Hark pivoted and slammed his shield into the incoming axe, and followed it up with a quick riposte. The angle was wrong and it went over the top of the bandit's shoulder instead of into his heart. The bandit recovered and Hark brought his shield back into position. The bandit had stumbled back a couple of steps and was considering his next move. Hark took a few heavy, deep breaths and, By the gods! Why am I so tired? Am I out of shape? Hark thought. His breathing had become heavy, his movements slower and sloppier, he was drenched in sweat and blood, most of it his enemies, with the exception of a few cuts and bruises that should never have happened in the first place. Hark would either have to end this fight now, or find a way to pull back.
It took a few moments more than Hark was proud of to take down the bandit only to see more bandits in the distance. Then Hark saw it, a duel between a large bandit and a vinsenian general. Wait a moment? Is that General Von Schmitt? Isn't she retired? Hark thought as he made his way towards the two.

Berserker Captain and the Bandit Playa Haters

The berserker's blood boiled in his veins as crazed eyes glared at his target, living only to skin the whore alive before violating her family and loved ones in an orgy of death and pain. Teeth gnashed against the open air, biting and snapping as clear fluid splattered forward as the frothing visage of terror howled for gore and agony. The muscles of the hefty man rolled and clenched with the shaking fury that possessed his hulking frame as the guillotine of his axe was raised again for another, earthsplitting strike.

It impacted with as much brutal force as the mountain-bound killer could muster, sliding off the shield a burst of sparks, even as the rest of the man pushed forward and dove for Alice's free hand, using the lack of space to his advantage as he prepared to simply crush the woman under his girth to incapacitate her so that he and his men could kill her at their leisure later.

---

Faris

Faris flinched backwards as Barst rounded the corner, raising her still healthy left arm in a defensive gesture against the surprise attack that she thought was coming. After a moment of awkward silence, the mercenary relaxed when she realized who called out to her.

"Godsdammit, Barst, I thought you were a bandit."

From where the pegasus archer was standing, an observant eye could discern the bruising that already forming around her misshapen arm and her slender neck. She shuddered, nearly loosing her grip on the blade as the scarlet liquid that used to be inside the now very dead bandit's head trickled down her hand and face, remnants from the brutal beating that had transpired moments prior. Blearily, the mercenary blinked away the sticky blood that was now trickling from her hairline before continuing in a raspy voice.

"I was tracking a group of five or so. I ambushed the couple of the stragglers, didn't turn out so well." She shrugged her broken arm, wincing at the maneuver and grunting in pain. "As ya can tell. I think that the re-"

Faris' voice vanished as her hooded eyes suddenly shot open, mouthing a curse as glimmering light enveloped the mercenary. A sickening crack emanated through the alleyway as her injured twisted violently, the bulging bone vanishing back into place as the bruising around her neck and arm faded back into the pale flesh that covered the rest of the young Carthul's body.

"Urgh."

The mercenary shuddered, the disturbing feeling of the magical aftermath rushing through her body as she shot a glare around, staring at the walls and floor of the blood-soaked alley suspiciously.

A full minute passed before she continued, speaking excruciatingly slowly as she tested her fully healed arm by hefting the gore-splattered iron blade.

"...I think that the rest continued down the alleyway, and over to the-"

Faris pointed just as a horrible scream rent the air, obvious sounds of the bandits falling to the newest additions to the band of mercenaries.

---

Duraid

His breath came hard and fast as he ploughed into the surrounding bandits, being held from the berserking captain by a veritable tide of axe-wielding flesh. Hissing a curse against the breeding habits of the mountain folk, he began to smash the steel head of the axe into any bit of exposed flesh that he could, his wicked grimace hidden by the metallic visor of his helmet.