Seán wasn't sure how he felt about the squad. He didn't know whether it would be a graceful beginning or a painful conclusion to his life. It was in fates hands now, but it would be up to the others to get his back. For whatever possible reason he knew that this squad had potential, they just had to utilize it and push on no matter the cost. Seán took one last look at the whole squad before they left the tavern. More marines then any. I just have to hope they can hold there own if no one can get to them. Hopefully those mages and that healer proves useful as well. Seán was decent at making decisions quickly and effectively, but he can take orders just as well as yell them.

Before he knew it the hour was gone. The squad made their way to the docks, which was crowded and filled with rowdy squads eager to get into a real battle. Little did Seán know, he would get involved in a small fight before he was even placed on a real battlefield. Seán focused on other squads around them. He saw a few squads that had large men. Some men being larger than him. They must be the heavy squads, the heavies with experience in military. Seán didn't have military experience but was given a boot camp feel for eight years straight. He was catching people staring at him just like they eyed the other heavies. It was something that a heavy was used too. Especially the ones that seemed to have a larger than normal frame for their height.

It was quick and sudden, before Seán knew it he had just caught the sound of a heavy squad going up against a marine squad. That was it. Haha! Suckers, I almost feel bad for that squad. Wait- Seán looked over just in time to see a squad of heavies charging across a clear part of the docks. Oh boy! Seán had to side step and trip one before he heard his name called out. Things were quick and sudden but Seán gained sight of the whole picture quickly. They were fighting over a win so they didn't endanger their lives on a ship that was practically a giant bomb. He quickly looked at the heavy who had face planted into the wooden planks below their feet.

"SEÁN! XAVIER! Cover the mages! - " It was his sergeant who yelled it and Seán reacted very quickly. The first thing he noticed was the healer get hit though, they needed the healer to fight at maximum advantage. Sadly, Seán wasn't fast enough and he saw a heavy land a punch right into her stomach. Seán charged the heavy and practically ran him into the wood, swinging his metal encased fists at the mans face. Seán was suddenly thrown off by the heavy he had tripped earlier, instead of landing on top of him and beating the living hell out of Seán he went to help his buddy up. It gave Seán enough time to stand on his own two feet. Before Seán knew it, he was taking on two heavies at once. This is not gonna end too well for one side

Ana paid just enough attention to the others to hear names. But even so, it was difficult to remember them all of them. Mostly, she paid attention to Sergeant Hunter. At least, somewhat. Her attention was focused more on her pipe, and the smoke pooling up on the ceiling. Her eyes slid over to stare at Viktor, who'd been brave enough to grab the mug she'd pushed away. Poor soul would probably get sick from the stale piss he was drinking up. Eh, at least he looked to be enjoying it, which couldn't be said for some, who looked to have a sour expression on their faces.

When it was called for them to head off to the port, Ana made a small excuse to the sergeant, and ran off in another direction. The sapper arrived at a small inn, which she had paid generously to keep her cart safe and out of the way. She gave the innkeeper the order to have someone drive it up to the port where the mercenaries were gathering, and to make sure that it was delivered directly to her, and to no one else, no matter what they said. Otherwise, she'd have his balls on a platter. With that wonderful image in his mind, she hurried back off to the port. After grabbing a burner and another sharper from her cart and clipping them to her belt.

Back at the docks, she arrived just in time to see the large supply of munitions heading towards the Raggaton. Beneath her helmet, she was nearly drooling at the prospect of getting to handle even any of those bombs. Her hand brushed over the three at her hip, making sure that they were still there. She gripped them hoardishly, then released them and continued heading on to where her squad should have been. She arrived just in time to hear her sergeant yell that he wouldn't let his squad be put on the same ship as the explosives. A wave of disappointment hit Ana, then a smirk came over her face. He'd be in for a rude awakening when he realized she had her own cart of bombs to put on whatever ship they were to be placed on, so it didn't matter whether or not they went with those or not.

The order to fight came, and while the others stripped themselves of their weapons, Ana did no such thing. She trusted none of these people, especially the recruiter, to leave her bombs alone. Hell, she hardly trusted anyone to not grab her squadmates' weapons while they were fighting. They'd just better hope no one jarred her around too much. Else the dock would be on fire and most of the people there would be full of shrapnel. A grin came over her face, and she positioned a sort of grappling stance as the heavies came at them. One was apparently either brave or stupid, because he came rushing right for Ana. Rather than take that head on, she opted to side-step that. Unfortunately for her, he was smarter than he looked, and as she dodged out of the way, he managed to turn himself far enough and hold his arm out so that he was able to clothesline her.

Ana fell like a sack of rocks, landing on her back. Having been in this position before, she anticipated a boot being slammed into her chest, so she rolled over. Moments later, where she'd been, his foot slammed into the ground. Using her position on the ground, she lunged forward, tackling the man at the waist. They both went down, but this time with Ana on top, where she preferred to be. Kneel on top of him, she began to wail on him, fists swinging as fast as Ana could rear her arms back. As she brought her arms up high, fists balled together, intent on breaking the man, his arm swung around and landed her in the side, where there were fewer plates and more leather. The breath knocked out of her, Ana rolled off of him, coughing.

The heavy worked his way up to his feet, as did Ana, and then the two went back to beating each other, Ana moreso on the defensive now. She was pushed back to the end of the dock, where it fell off into the water. She couldn't fall in - it would ruin the bombs! As the man threw a punch that would probably have smashed her face in, she reacted faster than most would believer her capable of, the love of her explosives giving her a small boost. The punch flew wide of her, and she grabbed the arm, throwing him some extra momentum so he fell over the edge. The thought then occurred to her, while he was splashing around, that he might just sink with all of that heavy armor on him.

She flopped down to the ground, flat on her stomach, and reached a hand out. They gripped each other, and with a lot of effort on both of their parts, they managed to bring him out of the water and splayed on the dock. Rather than give him a moment of respite, she punched him square in the face and knocked him unconscious. She stood, leaning over, hands on her knees, catching her breath, before walking back into the fray where she was needed.

Xavier was quick to throw his sword and shield to the ground as one of the heavies, a man of about six feet tall, came rushing towards him. The large man tried to ram Xavier to the ground but instead ended up hitting the ground as Xavier stepped to the side while slamming his elbow into the man's back. Xavier felt a stab of pain in his elbow as the thick metal plating of the heavy's back smashed into the weak plating at Xavier's right elbow. The heavy was quickly back up as Xavier realized when he felt the man's leg sweep under him. Xavier quickly fell to the ground with an audible thud as the man moved to stomp Xavier in the chest. As the man brought his leg down, Xavier grabed his foot and rolled to his left. As Xavier rolled on the ground, the heavy became unbalanced and fell.

Both the men were on the ground as they traded blow for blow. Xavier landed a blow to the weak plating at the man's ribs and his jaw as the man slammed his fist into Xavier's back. The other heavy finally broke Xavier's grip on him by pushing him at the elbow joints. Xavier was finally able to get a breath of air as he stood up to face his opponent. The man was obviously injured but Xavier was sure he also had a broken rib or two. The brief respite gave time for Xavier to realize that one of the mages, Cynric as Xavier believed he was called, was about to get in a brawl with a heavy. The man who had advanced on Cynric was slammed in the back of the head by Xavier's heavy hand. The opposing heavy rose from the ground on shaky legs as Xavier was surrounded by the tight grip of the heavy who had been fighting Xavier earlier. Xavier battled against the grip of the heavy as the man who he had knocked to the ground punched him in the chest multiple times.

Viktor laughed as more tankards were pushed towards him. He cared little for the quality of the ale since it was being given out freely. He was not so proud as to turn down or waste free food if it was offered. He downed the tankards as they came heartily. Mixing his concentration between drinking and listening to his other fellows. And though he probably had four or five tankards in quick sucession they were hardly strong enough to stagger him, though he did feel a slight blur cloud his thoughts and vision after twenty or so minutes that seemed to persist.

When it was time to leave he pushed himself to his feet. With no more free ale this tavern held little to keep his attention. He followed his new comrades outside and back towards the docks. He tried spying his friend in the skies again but could not. He was either still eating or off doing something else entirely. He would find his way back to Viktor if he wanted to. He paid little attention to the man reading off lists, he found that many of the people in cities loved their lists and had them for every possible occasion and reason. Trying to simply read such lists much less understand their purpose or gods forbid try to make one himself was enough of a strain for him.

The same could be said of the crates being loaded on to the ship known as the RAGGATON. They and their contents meant little to him but it seemed the symbols stamped on the side of the boxes meant something to the others around him. He gathered that the cargo was dangerous somehow, but the particulars were lost to him. He may have seen explosives in his year since leaving the tribe but he was not familiar with any names that could be attached to them. Or even how they worked. Though he was not overly afraid of having to travel with this cargo. He was more worried about being on the ship in general. While it would certainly make for a new experience and interesting tale he did not think anything was capable of crossing the great seas and enduring the storms it's spirits could conjure. A death at sea was no way for a Kordish Man to die.

And when the call was made for a good and hearty brawl was made for the rights not to ride on the ship, Viktor roared in approval as the simple but reasonable rules were laid down. No weapons, only fists. A test of skills and abilities then. He eagerly jabbed the but of his glaive into the dock planks and rested his cap on the tip of his blade before he raised his fist along with a throaty roared curse in his native tongue as he charged towards one of the men of this enemy squad.

The man was wearing his heavy armour, and was clearly a head or two larger than himself. But Viktor hardly cared. Size did not make a warrior and if viktor played to his strengths in this fight well it should be a damned fun time. He took a fraction of a second to take in his opponents armour, Made of cold and inflexible metal. That hardly mattered to him. He would try and take advantage of this and in return avoid those steel wrapped fists that could easily crack a rib if used right. He instead focused on the man's un-helmeted head as he closed the distance. By that meaning he quickly grasped the mans neck and sent his own forhead forward with a loud and dazing crack into the other mans. The many tankards of ale definatly helped absorb some of the shock of this attemptand was probably some of the reasoning behind it.

Both men stumbled backward in a slight daze but the Heavy was much more solidly built and recovered first to launch a meaty punch into viktors side that he only just managed to turn enough so that it more connected with his hard chest and not his soft kidneys. Even still, It was a respectable hit. And one he was not keen on allowing a second through.

Another arcing punch found the Sergeant's leather vambrace, jarring Hunter's right arm. Another punch got through Fyn's defense with it's sheer power, nailing him on the cheek. Hunter felt lacerations in his mouth from the hit, spitting blood out before facing the soldier again. He realized this can't go on for much longer, he needs to get on the offensive.

Fyn backed up a step in order to clear himself some room for maneuvering. He recalled his stay in Koniria, when he was captured as a prisoner of war and began instructing them i the military stratagem of The Jadelyn Empire. One of the things practiced on that far away country were the Konirian martial arts, based on take downs and grapples. Hunter did his best to learn the technique and moves that were shown to him, and after more than a year of staying there he actually got pretty darn good. Damn useful for bar fights and the like, when he wasn't inclined to start slicing people in half due to some drunkard's remark. Time to put those skills to use...

Hunter feinted a jab at the heavy, receiving the exact reaction he wanted - a powerful, but off balance punch coming in from the right. Fyn, with amazing alacrity leaned sideways, placed both of his hands on the ground, raised himself off the ground and delivered a powerful kick with both legs to the 4th Squadmember's chest. As the heavy began to topple over, the Sergeant quickly transitioned from the kick to wrapping both legs around the opponent's plated arm. As they both went down in that position, Hunter grabbed the heavy's hand and with the power of his legs began bending it at the forearm joint. A howl of pain erupted from the armored victim, before a snap was heard.

"Hope you'll find a healer..." muttered Hunter as he got up. The scream of the heavy caused the Sergeant of the 4th Squad to approach Fyn, with his hands up in a boxing stance.

Sergeant Helon confronted Hunter with panic in his voice, "Are you insane, Sergeant? You just broke his arm!"

Hunter shook his head, "What about you charging at us with our backs to you?"

The marine Sergeant looked over Helon... This one's going to be tough. He look like he actually had martial art technique, unlike the heavy he fought before, who fought with his sheer power and anger. Hunter didn't want to start trading punches with him. That wouldn't end well.

Unless...Well... Fuck it, let's try this

"I don't know if you've been noticing... But my squad is decimating yours. The broken arm of this lad here is the least of your worries" Fyn nodded toward Helon's shoulder, toward the direction of the squad members fighting.

The Sergeant heavy's eyes widened momentarily before looking back. I almost feel bad for this... Using his concern and protective nature against him. Hell, the faster this ends the less injuries everyone will receive.

As Helon turned around, Hunter quickly pulled the helmet of his previous opponent's head, and brought it with full power against Sergeant Helon's face just as he turned his face back to face the marine.

A sickening sound, and the big heavy was on his way down to the ground.

Hunter took the respite to analyze the fight. Merek seemed to be squaring off with a heavy... as Ana surprised her opponent with some impressive moves, before actually pulling him out of the water he fell in and leaving him unconscious. By Trake's whiskers, I hope she doesn't have any munitions on her...

"Hey, Ana? No weapons, right?" shouted the Sergeant over, hoping she hears him.

Zyre was skillfully taking on a second heavy, while Cynric blasted an opponent with lightning, before being kicked in the face by what seemed to be an actually agile heavy. The Sergeant nodded his head in approval as Xavier rushed into there, throwing the heavies away from Cynric. Viktor, with his glaive placed away, seemed to be enjoying the battle the most as he squared up with his enemy.

Iver got one of the bastards down, but took some damage in the process. Acele was healing him up though, Oponn bless that healer, but was then hit and crumpled down. To Hunter's relieve, Sean made his way over there, charging like a bull and getting that heavy off Acele. Not bad, not bad

Sound began to get through the Sergeant's adrenaline, and he noticed that all the new recruits, crowded around the fight, were excitingly roaring.

"9th Squad! 9th Squad! 9th Squad!"

Hunter smirked as he also noticed some of the abysmal expressions on the ships, who obviously bet on the heavies to take this one. Ah... A lot of gold will be lost today.

The Sergeant noticed, with alarm, how a third heavy was running up to Iver, Acele, and Sean.

Hunter was quick to even the odds, running up behind one of the heavies, and at speed, swiped both legs under the armored opponent, who went down in a clamor of armor against floor.

The agile heavy had been knocked to the ground by the surprise attack. Cynric looked at Xavier angrily. "Hey I could have handled him!"

Looking over the fight he could see several skirmishes happening, the agile heavy had not been stopped by Xaviers attack and got back up charging at Cynric. Side stepping him, Cynric brought his elbow down onto the man's skull. His helmet absorbed most of the blow causing Cynric a lot of pain in his arm. Rubbing his elbow his elbow he was rewarded by his action with a dump tackle from the heavy he had failed to subdue.

Dazed Cynric looked up at the armoured giant who brought a fist straight into Cynric's face. His face exploded in pain as the fist connected and broke Cynric's nose. "You'll pay for that! Cynric's anger flared as spark began to dance around his hands. Placing the palms of his hands on the man's armour he release the energy that had built up. The heavy suited man began to convulse and shake as the electricity began to flow through him. After about two seconds of this the man flew off Cynric landing on the floor in a smouldering heap.

Spitting on the floor he looked at the unconscious heavy. "You break my nose and fracture my jaw? I short circuit your nervous system. Have fun walking when you wake up!"

Wiping the blood away from his nose he surveyed the fighting once more. Noticing Seán was having a bit of trouble he built up a lightning bolt in his hands and let it fly. Due to the pain in his nose and jaw the bolt had less strength then when he had first started but, it did put the heavy off balance which should allow Seán to land a blow in and even the odds.

Merek and the heavy just stared for a while. They both knew what each of their team member were doing, but didn't care, this was a one-on-one brawl that would be settled when one of the two were stone cold unconscious on the floor. Merek took the initiative, better than to have a giant hunk of metal charging towards you was the only justifiable reason he could think for doing so. He quickly dodged left when the heavy sent out a quick jab to Merek, Merek took this chance to begin wailing on the heavy's midsection with everything he had. He tried his best to avoid any metal, but it was inevitable that he hit it once every now and then, a bit of blood on his knuckles was nothing to what the heavy would do if Merek let him get a good hit on him though.

Merek's tactic of punch anything and everything seemed to be working. He dodged the swipes that the heavy sent out in frustration by ducking under them, but a glancing blow from the heavy caught Merek on the jaw. The punch was at an awkward angle though, and so the heavy couldn't really build up enough force to actually do any real damage, still hurt though. Merek quickly rolled to the side before the heavy could square up to him and get another punch on. He then done something he genuinely thought he'd never do. He leaped onto the heavies back and used his cloak to block the heavies sight along with arch his back as Merek landed on the floor. His original plan of using his cloak to blind the heavy worked better with the added height. Merek quickly took the advantage he had just given himself and swept the heavies leg, tripping him up and sending him to the floor with an audible thud. Merek quickly manoeuvred over until he was standing over the heavy and began to pull the heavies upper section up before punching it back down again, switching hands regularly to keep up the pace. Soon it turned to him just punching the heavy without raising him up and eventually the blood on his knuckles wasn't just his own. He stopped after he was certain the heavy was flat out unconscious. Merek moved off the bloody pulp of the heavy and surveyed the area to see if any of his team mates needed help.

A brawl? It wasn't particularly his best overall mode of action, though he'd seen his share of violence in a mean street situation. But he didn't see any good way to win a fistfight against a man with armor on. So much for no weapons, as those gauntlets might as well be maces. "Fucking cheating filth," he grunted. With that in mind, Tal didn't drop any weapons -- he had a poniard concealed on his person and if it came down to defending himself from a man swinging a metal-clad fist at his face, he'd happily maim the bastard, orders or no. But he didn't say that to the Sergeant or anyone else.

Luckily, it didn't come down to that -- the Sergeant said "warrens" even as he was thinking about how to go about disrupting the enemy, how to make them break their momentum and their formation. As he readied himself and started to draw in the power from the shadow, he tried to keep his voice heard but not overheard as he told his comrades, "I'm about to distract them. Use it."

He didn't explain himself fully, even as he waved his right hand in front of his face and along a half circle that dipped down toward his hip and came up with a sharper, which he hurled into the ranks of the charging enemy with an evil smile. A moment later, he even managed the triggering movement of two fingers snapped forward from his wrist, parallel to his temple, for a second illusion: the sound of the sharper bouncing off a breastplate. The whole idea was to be seen with that smirk and the hurled object. The enemy didn't know who the sappers were and who the mages were, and it was gratifying for one of the enemy heavies to yell, "SHARPER!" with the panicked undertone of a scream to his shout; maybe the big son of a bitch didn't like cheating so much when it didn't benefit him. At least one believed it and called out -- and perhaps the rest of the squad would react instinctively, as veterans might. So much the better if they did.

Ana was more than a bit tired. Giving a beating, taking a beating, and pulling a heavy bastard out of the ocean took a lot out of someone. But, whatever, there was still work to be done. Maybe. As she stumbled back to the squad and the heavies who were still conscious, she heard the sergeant call over to her and ask about weapons. In response, she unclipped one of the sharpers at her hip and raised it up high above her head, grinning beneath her helmet. She placed it back, then continued to head on over the squad. Moments later, the cry of "Sharper!" was sent out, to which she flinched. However, common sense forced her to believe that there were no sharpers in the field, as there was no explosion, and the fact that the only sapper around was her.

Speaking of explosives, the familiar sight of her cart came into view. She waved at the driver, a young man who worked for the innkeeper, if she remembered correctly, and motioned for him to wait. Oh, she couldn't wait to tell everyone this fight meant nothing, since she was going to be bringing her bombs onto whatever ship they were going on regardless. Probably would get the shit kicked out of her by Fyn, but it would be worth it just to see the looks on their faces. Rather than actually re-enter the fight, Ana stepped up beside her cart, and crossed her arms as she watched her squadmates beat the snot out of what was left of the heavies. She removed her helmet, allowing herself to breath air that wasn't hot and stuffy, and set it up on the cart near the innkeeper's feet.

"Almost brings a tear to the eye, don't it?" she said to the nearest recruit, referring to the fight. "None of them know each other, but they fight like they've been fighting by each others sides for years." The recruit agreed, then went back to watching. Ana gave the driver of her cart the last bit of his pay, then began rustling around in the back. Everything seemed to be in order. All of the sharpers, burners, and crackers were exactly where she'd left them, and their were even the same number as when she'd last checked. Even the cusser, hidden beneath all of its padding, was still in perfect condition.

Placing the canvas back over her precious cargo, she stood up beside the cart, a strange smile on her face, and watched as her comrades finished off the rest of the heavies. She'd beat her opponent, now her job was to make sure no one got frisky with her cart.

The man Viktor fought readied a second fist to be launched his way before he was interupted by a shrill Cawing and a sharp pain in his face and a Kestrel dived hard and fast to scratch the face of viktor's foe. Laughing Heartily and resisted the urge to clap at the timely intervention of his friend and the deep gashes that now appeared in the Heavies cheek he threw himself back into the fight with relish.

Hooking his fingers at the neck of the breastplate he heaved and kicked out at his left ankle to further unbalance the large man and cause him to come crashing down onto the dock plates which nearly buckled and broke beneath him from the weight of his armour. And the smack of his head against the wood. Just to make sure that he stayed down Viktor moved to heave the man onto his back and was promtly met with a somewhat sluggish blow to his other side after he did so. It was clear the man was a little stunned buy the fall and the hitting of his head and was still determined to fight off his opponent. A strength Viktor could well respect. But all the same he responded to the blow with a sharp jab into the mans jaw which seemed to push him over the edge. Viktor stood and placed his foot over the mans neck and held it there, Ready to increase pressure if the man should try a second attempt.

Looking around at his fellows to see how their fight progressed. For the most part things seemed to be going well. Minus a few bruises they were winning fairly handedly. He heard the familiar flutter of wings and the small weight of his companion as he perched on his right shoulder. Beak and claws still bloody from both fighting with the downed man and ripping into the flesh of it's lunch. It spread it's wings slightly and seemed to inspect and groom itself, oblivious or uncaring of anything else that might be going on around it. Viktor smiled at it but made no moves to pet or touch it. To do so without permission would be a grave disrespect and treat as if it were little more than a common pet.

Iver continued limping his way back toward his squad with the intent of helping however he could, though judging by his current state he would only get in the way. He was halfway through an unbalanced step and about fell when the small, golden-haired Healer rushed to his side and held him up as best she could. She began using her powers of healing on Iver and was only able to rid him of his headache when another of the opposing Heavies rushed in between the pair and punched Acele in the gut, sending her to her knees with a gasp of pain and surprise. Iver took an unsteady step toward the Heavy, intent upon tackling him from behind when a Heavy, Seán he thought his name was, from his own squad beat him to it and tackled the other Heavy to the floor of the pier and began throwing metal-wrapped punches down upon him.

Iver charged at the other Heavy that had entered the fray, barely noticing his new Sergeant take out the third or the cheers from the crowd gathered around the brawl. Iver ran up to his new opponent, leapt into the air, and kicked both legs out at the Heavy’s torso. Iver hit the floor and quickly rolled to his feet as his opponent toppled backwards on his back, ending his helmet rolling off of his head and down the docks. The Heavy stood back up before Iver could close the gap, revealing that it was a woman with long chestnut brown hair down her back; Iver stopped for a split second at this new development, which gave the woman mercenary enough time to charge forward and land two quick punches to Iver’s jawline on either side. He staggered backwards, but stayed standing and soon started throwing his own punches.

The two exchanged punches and kicks for a while before the Heavy landed a kick to the side of Iver’s knee, sending him to the ground again. The woman did not give him a chance to stand, but instead started to stomp her massive armored foot down at his chest. Iver quickly rolled out of the way of each stomp, eventually managing to catch her feet and push her off balance and back onto her back with a clatter of metal and a crash. Iver got to his feet shakily and fell into another sloppy brawling stance, allowing his opponent to get to her feet. When the woman stood, she wore a look of confusion as she stared at Iver. She fell into a much less sloppy fighting stance than Iver did and closed the gap in a few steps, swinging her fists in wild hay-makers aimed at his temples. Iver managed to block the hits, but they sent painful reverberations along his arms from her gauntlets.

The woman suddenly charged at Iver full force. Iver dodged around her charge and managed to slip his arms around her neck and flexed to tighten his grip. Iver released his grip only when the woman was out; she fell to the floor for a third with a crash and clatter, but did not stand again. Wiping the blood from his lip and cheek, Iver made his way to the tiny Healer and knelt down next to her.

“Are you alright… Acele, you said your name was, right?”

Seán and the two heavies were having a stare down. It was as if they were all waiting for someone to make a move. The two heavies looked at each other and nodded. Just before they could do anything though, a marine, he believed it to be Iver, took one of the two giants standing in front of him. He would have to thank him later. On top of one less to worry about, a bolt of lightening hit the heavy in front of him. He looked over to the mage he believed fired the lightening bolt, Cynric as he recalled, and nodded as a thanks, though knowing Seán, he would do something more than just a simple thank you. A drink or two was on him for Iver and Cynric. Seán looked back to the heavy who seemed to be off balance. A wide smile came over Seán face, he was now just realizing that his helm was across the docks where he had to side step and trip the same heavy he was against now.

Seán took advantage of the stumbling heavy and slammed his shoulder into his waist while wrapping his arms around the back of his knees. He pulled his legs from under him and made sure his shoulder stuck to the heavy's waist as he slammed into the wooden floor below them. The slam hurt the heavy but it wasn't enough to put him in a complete daze. Seán's fists pounded into the mans face. He was a tad tougher than Seán had expected. He felt something set up beneath his stomach, Seán stopped punching and looked at the man wide eyed. The heavy countered him by kicking his feet up and sending Seán in the air. As soon as Seán landed the heavy was on him slamming his head against his. Seán didn't have a choice anymore, he had to defend himself.

As soon as the heavy took a break Seán took the man by the throat and threw a right hook, landing on his mark, the cheek bone. A deafening crack was heard and the heavy fell on his back holding his face screaming in pain. Seán didn't know the damage that he had done to the heavy. He stood up over him and looked down at the heavy. Blood quickly escaped his forehead and nose in a few places from where the heavy had head butted him multiple times. Seán cracked his neck and knuckles and went over to pick up his helm, which he wiped clean of any of the dirt that was on it. He was in pain for sure, but he didn't show it. He had a way of trying his hardest to block out pain, it would have been different if he was cut open or if he had a few broken bones, but to him, it was just a little bit of blood. It was expected in a fight like this.

Hunter grinned as he saw Tal throw a 'sharper' at the few remaining heavies, causing them to throw themselves in different directions. He's seen Meanas used a myriad different ways, ranging from High Mages creating whole illusionary battalions, to hiding whole ships from sight. This, however, was simply brilliant... He would have to praise Tal for that, and remember that trick for the future. It will sure come in handy... As long as the whole squad knows that the illusion isn't actually an explosive.

Just as Fyn was about to start beating on the heavy that he tripped, he heard a gruff voice from the crowd, "Enough!"

It wasn't a shout nor a yell, but everybody seemed to simultaneously simmer down and freeze in place.

A tall man with graying hair, in silver chain armor and a large bastard sword strapped to his back approached from the crowd. He had the darkish skin of someone hailing from the south. Near him was a bald man of frail stature, with the slanted eyes of someone who hails from across the Inaran Sea. Hunter's experience with mages somehow told him that this man was probably one of them.

The man approached the soldier who was in charge of placing squads on the different ships, taking hold of his parchment and looking over it for a few seconds.

"I think it is fair to say that Sergeant Helon's squad will be sailing on the Raggaton" begun the gray-haired man.

The heavies squad began to get up, trying to help each other reach the ship as they began limping away. Others had to be carried away with the help of other fresh recruits.

"It is my apologies, Sergeant" said the man as he approached Hunter. "I do try to keep good discipline in my army, but the fact remains the same - someone has to go on that ship. Is it not only fair that squads have the ability to prove themselves, and therefore have the chance to sail on another?"

Fyn looked over the man, and quickly realized that this was the leader of the Fifth Echelon - Eben Ral. He heard of this man in his travels... A general of the Tetrarchy down south, gone rogue for a reason unknown to anybody. It seems like there wasn't a soul in the Fifth Echelon without some mysterious past.

"With all due respect, sir, it's my squad you should be apologizing too." responded Hunter, eyeing Eben. Haven't been on a good streak making friends, have I? thought Hunter to himself.

Eben glared back at Hunter for a few seconds, before easing his expression and nodding. "9th Squad... My apologies for this rude introduction to our host."

The army leader looked back at the parchment, scanning through it some more. He turned his head to the soldier he took the parchment from.

"9th Squad will be sailing on my ship."

Eben looked back at Hunter, before approaching him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Your squad showed it's worth, and therefore there is an important... Situation, that I will explain to you only on the ship. A task. We don't reveal any information on our movements before we set sail, as we don't want the word spreading." With that, Eben walked back to his eastern accomplice, to stand by the port and overview the squads being hurried onto their ship.

Hunter shook his head as he approached Ana by her cart, where most of the squad was gathering. What kind of a task could this be? He hoped it wasn't anything suicidal.

"Damn good job, the lot of you!" exclaimed the Sergeant as he looked over the squad.

"Tal, that was a nasty trick. Hope you can do that again.... Acele, we'll need you to heal us all up once we're on the ship, I have a feeling we'll need to be fully rested by the time we get to wherever we're going"

Two Fifth Echelon soldiers came up to the squad, looking at the cart with skittish eyes. "We need to inspect all carts and material entering the fleet, Sergeant"

Hunter's eyes darted to Ana - then to the cart - and back to Ana. Shit's probably full of munitions. Blowing up the flagship, with the army leader on board? Ha! That would make an awesome 'Ballad of the 9th Squad.'

... Then again, I've seen these explosives change the tide of battle. Our squad having more then the munitions we are rationed could save our hides...

Hunter hardened his expression, before straightening up and facing the two soldiers. "You listen to me, soldier. We just fought a whole squad of heavies in order to get access to a normal ship. Your general and leader just assigned us to his flagship. You going to keep fucking bothering us? By Trake's tail, I promise you that we still have a hell lot of fight in us. You want to be next?"

The two soldiers looked at each other, trying to decide what was more important - not having their faces broken, or violating their army's regulation.

To Hunter's relief, as he wasn't sure if his squad was up for another battle royale, the soldiers sulked away.

Acele had been lying on the ground in pain when Iver came and asked if she was alright. "Yeah, everything hurts but I'm fine." She said through gritted teeth, when she finally got enough wind in her to get up she stood and looked around, the heavies were in various states of consciousness and pain groans and grunts from the wounded men and women of the heavy squad filled her ears so she looked to Hunter for guidance. "Hunter, would it be alright if i helped both squads?" She asked, feeling like it was her duty as a healer to make sure everyone walked away alright, looking over at the dispersing crowd made her lose a little bit of faith in humanity money was changing hands people were joking and laughing like this was the battle of century, but these people were really hurt they had broken bones or internal injuries that if not treated could kill someone, and to those people it was just a game, it was nothing to them.

Sighing Acele sat down on a crate waiting for her leaders response and looking over the injuries of her teammates from a distance, minor injuries from what she could see maybe a couple of broken hands,fingers and noses, nothing that couldn't be fixed without too much effort on her part "at least that would be the easy part" She thought, but she was having second doubts if she really was mercenary material, the guys in the inn laughed at her when she said she would become a mercenary, but she was having a hard time coping and she hadn't even been in a battle yet, "How do they cope with it, can i heal it, How?" Were some of the thoughts that raced through her head, she was frustrated and it showed on her face in the form of a grimace, far from her usually dopey smile.

Hunter quizzically looked at Acele as she asked him if she could heal the other squad. This one was far from the others - Hunter couldn't even remember a time when he fought alongside someone so... Innocent. Free from the scarring of years of warfare - free of the dark cynicism and lost of faith in humanity. He saw her lean back on the crate with a frown on her face.

"If you would like, Acele... Although they are boarding their ship, and you need to be out of there in time to get on ours." began Hunter.

"You can't judge the ones around us too harshly. Yes, it may seem barbaric and unkind, but you also have to remember what some of these people have been through. They are not easily jarred by pain, suffering , or battle anymore. Instead, they find humor or entertainment in it. How else do you cope with constant battle, warfare, killing?"

They needed their healer, and he hoped Acele wouldn't break down when real battle begins. When munitions are thrown, cussers turning whole squads and units into pink mist.

Fyn couldn't help but also find the strengths of Acele's attitude. Their squad was a sword, and a lot of the character and personality he has seen in it so far has been fire, flame, ferocity. What happens when a sword is being tempered, but is overheated? It cracks. She can be the factor that will stop that from happening. If her psychological state lasts, although it will be battered, she can be the humanity of the squad - a trait a lot of them start to forget as the battles pass.

Acele nodded and stood up her smile returning to her face as she walked away, getting onto the Raggaton she proceeded from heavy to heavy healing them, she didn't answer questions she just did her job, it felt good and it was the right thing to do these people were allies and they went to town on them like rabid animals, some of their injuries were pretty bad, but she managed to heal the lot of them, all they would need is some rest. When her job was done she stood and nodded to the heavy Sargent and left, leaving a crew of dumbstruck heavies who seemed to have no idea what just happened or why she did it, but nonetheless she knew they were grateful and that made her feel better.

Walking off the Raggaton was harder than she thought, she had spent a lot of her energy on healing the other heavies so she was walking a bit slow, she was tired and yawning but she still had to heal her squad looking at all of them and smiling she asked "Alright whose got it the worse? Tell Acele what ails you." and let out a slight chuckle, they were all a ragtag bunch but that fight had them feeling a bit closer together, and she would gladly fight with all of them "But would they fight with me?" She thought shrugging at her own thought, they were her new family and friends all rolled into one, and she had to be kind to each and everyone of them if she wanted them to like her.

Cynric stared at Hunter like he was insane. "Are you fucking kidding me!? My nose is broken and my jaw is fractured, and your saying we're use to pain." Cynric paused for a second.

Touching his eye patch he thought back to the moment he lost his eye. A broken nose and fractured jaw was nothing compared to that pain. In fact the pain he felt on that day cut deeper then any knife or blade could. His trust was betrayed and he paid a great price for it. Reaching into his jacket he brought out a cigar and lit it with his finger breathing deeply he sighed out the smoke. Thinking back to the moment his eye was gouged out he had been cocky and stupid. More importantly he had been too trusting. Looking at the group he wondered how far these people would go too protect him. Would the sacrifice themselves to protect him. Some Cynric knew would. They had an aura of honor about them. However others he was not too sure off. Puffing on the cigar he calmed himself down.

"Sorry for lashing out Sergeant it wont happen again. But I promise nothing. Anyway, I was wondering Acele if you have enough energy left to heal my jaw. My nose i can live with. After all, I'm already missing an eye a broken nose is nothing to cry over. But don't push yourself on my account. If you need to rest. Rest. I've seen healers kill themselves by over working their body. In fact this one time, this healer tried to heal a dead person. It, uh didn't really work. Ended up almost killing him."

Iver helped the tiny Healer to her feet, then made his way over to where his squad was standing next to a cart after retrieving his sword and knives. Among his squad, Iver sat down on one of the crates gingerly, his whole body aching from the fight, but he did his best to not show he was in pain. The young man looked around the docks, taking in the small number among the crowd applauding for 9th Squad’s victory and of course booing for it as well; he watched as money changed hands with both smiles and grimaces. Of course there was betting on the brawl, he was amongst mercenaries now. The majority of them would bet on just about anything for entertainment. Mercenaries would also now respect the Marine squad after the display they showed against the Heavies.

Iver looked around his squad, examining what he could of each of them when the leader of the entire Fifth Echelon came right up to them. Iver shakily stood to his feet and about saluted the man before he once again realized he was amongst mercenaries; it would definitely take getting used to for him. The commander apologized to the squad of Heavies about them being the ones to be placed on the floating bomb called The Raggaton. Iver was furious; the damn old fool should be apologizing to 9th Squad on their injuries or for having to fight in the first place. Hunter must have read Iver’s mind, because he stepped up and said what he wanted to to the old man. By way of response, the commander apologized to 9th Squad and then stated they would be sailing on his ship.

Oh, this can’t be good for us…, Iver thought as the old man and his Mage companion walked around from the Marines. 9th Squad’s Sergeant turned and complimented them as the old man left. Iver nodded in thanks to his new Sergeant. Looking around, Iver saw how banged up the squad really was. He was the most injured amongst his squad, but he would be fine. When Acele asked to go aid the squad they had just thrashed, Iver couldn’t help but smirk in her direction; she definitely fit the role of Healer well. Iver watched her go off and help the other squad.

In her absence, Iver went back to examining the dock at large, taking in the ranks of the Fifth Echelon. Each one of them had a unique background and experience as well as skills they brought to the army. Iver then went back to examining his own squad, wondering at each one of their sets of skills. They were mostly made up of Marines, so they were going to most likely act as a sort of Special Operations group.

When the Healer returned, Iver allowed Cynric to get his aid first. He would be fine for a while; he only had a dull headache and some scrapes and bruises here and there.

Watching those heavies dive away was gratifying, he had to admit to himself, but the shout to end it before it got bloodier was a good thing -- even those heavies might have realized what happened and gone for him with a vengeance and a viciousness, and for all that they were called a squad, there was more cohesiveness in the gang he ran with before it was torn apart and sold out. The sergeant could speak of watching one anothers' backs, but it was a hypothesis at this time, something that remained to be seen.

But the Fifth Echelon meant even less to Tal, particularly the squad of heavies that just got done trying to beat in his skull. There might be a grudge there in the future, and while the sergeant and the leader of the entire Echelon conferred, he kept his eye on the remaining members of the other squad, just in case. It wasn't over just because some man said so, and maybe that was Tal's cynical streak at work, but he simply did not care to take eyes off them until they were no longer a threat.

The sergeant's voice jolted him out of his observation of the limping, shambling retreat of the defeated; he acknowledged the compliment with a short nod, but wasn't inclined to say much more. Nasty? He'd take that as a compliment, just as he did the flat-eyed glares of the men from the defeated unit, apparently feeling sore about the 'unfair' use of magics. He could read the body language, the outrage on the faces of the muscleheads.

The job was nasty, getting it done right was nasty. This world of mercenaries and warfare was no place to play nicely. If theft was a game, and burglary a challenge, warfare was that writ large, with much higher stakes -- greater rewards for winning and much greater penalties to the losers. Tal Etai didn't intend to lose.