Lady Ioetta Vetcel and Captain of the Silver Shield mercenaries in the city of Xoni was in a foul mood. First the incompetency of the cities High Constable had allowed the enemy to breach their defences. Second the reinforcements from Zlarver had yet to arrive. Fires had already began to spread in the east section of the city. The smoke bellowing into the blackening sky. The smell of burning wood mixed with the faint coppery scent of blood was heavy in the air even this far into the city.

Worse still the dark clouds overhead meant a storm was brewing. While that could be advantageous to the defenders; it would at best delay the inevitable. Who know how many had already gotten into the city? If the gates fell there would soon be a bloodbath to follow. Still as much as Ioetta wanted to lend aid to the embattled defenders at the walls her objective was clear. She was to remain here and defend the only entrance to the Grand Palace from any would be assassins.

The wide doors into the main palace were sealed shut and the gates already in place. She stood near the base of that same entrance kriegsmesser in hand. At the very least this location was a good enough position to defend. The bridge she and her comrade found themselves on was no more than thirty two feet wide and served as an excellent bottleneck of sorts. She would have preferred a full company but considering the circumstance they would need to make due.

The sounds of battle echoed from several yards away. Accompanied by screams and shouting. The sounds were getting closer and closer. The time was nearly upon them. She looked to her fellow Silver Shield-- Ser Grimsson-- as they waited. She did not know the man personally, though his reputation as a skilled fighter was rather well known. She was glad for his aid, she had a feeling it would surely be needed. Even if a few enemies were able to slip through the defences it would be a hard fight ahead.

She heard a crashing sound as the main gateway on the other side of the bridge was forced in. The enemy had arrived. The stagecoach in the middle of the bridge was large enough to obscure sight of the enemy from this distance. Which meant they wouldn't be picked off from a distance for now… but should the enemy reach that stage coach it would be an entirely different story.

“Come Ser Grimsson, let’s see whose come knocking. If we can reach the coach we shall at least have some cover.”

Once the city’s defenses had been breached, chaos took its reign amongst the Black Talon ranks, dozens of armed mercenaries with bloodshed and pillage on their minds spilling down the streets. Funneled between the cramped and crowded buildings, their formations broke down into small warbands, which the command frantically struggled to control, as their disorderly ranks fiercely clashed with the remaining Silver Shields, resulting in needless casualties on both sides rather than any tactical gain. Both sides fought to the last breath – one protecting what they had sworn to keep safe, and the other sating their craving for riches and taking out the pent up rage after several weeks of ceaseless siege. Xoni was no longer safe, and where the lines of the Silver shields had broken down, blood boiled in the ditches next to burning carcasses of buildings; where they still held, the air was filled with the roar of battle and a fresh scent of death.

It was a miracle that amidst this utter mayhem, Gernev and his two comrades had managed to get this far - but it seemed that they were the only ones yet with such luck. However, he had his hopes up high: as they neared the Prince's palace, the resistance became progressively weaker, meaning that they had left the main enemy forces behind, and that could mean that the palace itself had to be left lightly guarded, in favor of a decisive response to the Black Talon's rampage; so they decided to take the risk. Instead of waiting for reinforcements, Gernev, together with his comrade Kirian, bashed down the main gates, while their archer, Phia, stood on guard. They gave in after just a few mighty heaves from the two; whoever built them clearly never had the thought that somebody would try to open them by force. "Nice," - said the Orc, with a grim smile underneath his bevor, - "Lets go get them."

Heading down the bridge, he drew both of his weapons, mace in left, sword in right, and glanced behind himself, where both his comrades were following. Gernev felt a sort of maniacal drive building up deep in his heart, dead set on his mission to kill the Prince, with a yearning to make it a goal accomplished; and the stronger this urge was, the more worried he became with a single question - will they make it? Some ten yards away from the coach, he gestured them to stop.

"They maybe taken cover behind this coach. Phia, you stay behind, me and Kirian will go see if it is true. Is that good?" - he said, in somewhat clumsy Commonspeak. In the end, he had decided to ease in and investigate first, perhaps opting to retreat if met by too strong of an opposition and wait for somebody else to reach the palace; that way, they'd have a much better chance of getting to their target - the Prince, who was the sole reason for Gernev joining this campaign. For reasons of his own, the Orc felt it was his duty to kill him.

Screams echoed through the city. The guttural roars of the bestial creatures sacking the once proud city mingled with cries of fear and pain. Chaos reigned. Lars stared at the broken haft of his lance, the metal tip stained dark with blood. Seated, the weight of the world pressed upon him, he was tired. The skirmishes had been short, bloody and often one-sided.

Tossing the spearhead away, the dull clatter it made as it rolled along the stoned bridge faded quickly as a dream lost among the louder clamor of battle. Behind him, the grunts and heaves of men, muffled and distant as they ensured the great gate remained shut.

Rising with caution he heard then felt a click in his shoulder, a grimace of pain rippled across his dirt stained face. An orc, large and brutish, managed to catch Lars in such a ways that his club hammered his left shoulder. Thank the gods that his padding had absorbed the blow, it staggered him, dropped him to a knee, but it did not kill him. Somewhere an orc lay in a pool of his blood, his entrails strew across his body; sliced open by the spear, in a ragged, ugly way.

A tremendous crash at the far end stirred Lars from his thoughts as he adjusted the shield with a grunt. They were here, now on the bridge. Lars glanced at his companion. Tall, stout, and fierce. Truly, he could ask for no greater companion to fight alongside. Lady Ioetta Vetcel was as skilled as any man, and more so than most.

Cracking his neck a moment as he eyed the far end. With a sudden move, he slammed his shield against the gate behind him. A loud, metallic thud echoing between them. Drawing his war sword, Lars straightened inhaling deeply.

“Aye Lady. We should make haste for the coach; it may provide a bulwark against them. If nothing else we can force them to fight us singularly if we hold the paths alongside it.”

Transferring the sword to his left hand, Lars scooped his great helm up and placed it atop his head. Adjusting it a moment, he returned the gleaming, deadly blade to his right hand and began moving with swift and sure determination towards the coach.

"Sounds good to me," Phia said under her breath. She had an arrow knocked already, gently pulling it idly as she paced one from one end of the pathway to the other. Phia was in good condition. Too good. She'd barely seen any real fighting with this two big-guys around. They had already slit the throats of any idiot that got in their way before she could get a shot off. They had gotten extremely lucky. No real opposition, when the rest of the Black Talon hit this place like a flood of water, smashing into buildings, spilling into the streets ransacking.

It was good to know that she was with competent fighters and not just blood-thirsty maniacs. Okay, they might be blood-thirsty maniacs but that's not all they are. They didn't just leave her behind as they went to go off and rape some children or something. Phia scanned as her two comrades walked on. She trailed behind, glancing over the edge of the bridge. It's a long fall. Movement catches her eye, two distant figures fighting near the edge. They clumsily stumble over eachother and go stumbling into the abyss. She couldn't help but chuckle. It was funny, to imagine people being so uncoordinated.

Phia idly pulled her string once more, and faced their six, slowly walking backwards trailing behind.

Smoke drifted into the scorched air in lazy spirals, huddling like ravens over the bridge. Three more scavengers made it to the structure's far edge-- Black Talons, birds of prey attracted by their thirst for blood, riled by the thought that it would soon rain down into the canyon below. Kirian Varlos tasted his teeth, the tang of iron sharp against his thoughts. The entire day had been spent spreading a fine mist of dirt, sweat, blood, hate, fear into the air. For many, it tasted better than drink. It tasted better than food. Kirian tasted the chaos in the air, and narrowed his eyes on the gate looming ahead. He didn't even enjoy the feast; he'd had so much that all he could have was more.

Kirian's armor shod boots rattled lightly against the cobblestones as he strode alongside Phia and Gernev, impassively picking out details like a crow among men. From this distance, a stagecoach ahead looked to be about 12 meters away, with the gate another 25 or so meters beyond that, with various debris littered like so many corpses near the wreck of the coach. He rested his hand on the haft of his bec de corbin, and turned as Gernev ended the march with a signal to stop.

"They maybe taken cover behind this coach." He rumbled, "Phia, you stay behind, me and Kirian will go see if it is true. Is that good?"

"Sounds good to me." Phia voiced her affirmation, and took to the rear. Kirian offered a nod to her in response as she passed, and drew his bastard sword as he turned to face Gernev.

"Let's go. If they mean to take the coach, we'll draw them around to give Phia a clear shot.", he said, voice like iron, "If not, we'll secure, have her take point on top."

Kirian repositioned himself a good distance from the right lip of the bridge, close enough to Gernev that either of the mercenaries could freely engage in a melee with their comrade. Kirian primed himself for action, dismissing anything in his mind but the bare essentials in preparation for combat. He stood ready to move quickly at the edge of Gernev's sphere of influence, just far enough that any soldiers that got too brave with the Witch Knight would have to turn to see the other Talon, or be blindsided by a full grown orc. As soon as Gernev was ready, Kirian would stalk to the right, pacing himself to be a meter or two behind, keeping alert so that he could signal Phia of any changes.

Kirian's eyes narrowed again, unable to resist the sigil of the Silver Shields flying proudly alongside the carved insignia of Xoni above the palace gate. The entire day had been spent among similar banners torn to shreds, stained by men who were wrong in thinking they had the strength to hold it aloft. Kirian had spent the entire siege among broken shields and broken people, seen them starve in their walls, and their empty stomachs spread against their alleys. That would serve them just as well. Seeing those flags fly high and proud, Kirian looked forward to the next meal.

Karvos was the last to join his companions, his tower shield heavily bloodied after smashing in the face of an unlucky and witless marauding Black Talon member who made the mistake of believing that shields were only used for defense and got a tad too close for comfort. The pointy end of his halberd was similarly soiled, though everything else about him was clean besides a few speckles of blood here and there, none of which were his own. His handsome face was relatively calm and quite focused on the task at hand, which matched the confident yet brisk stride that he took as he approached the rendezvous point before the enemy would have a chance to intercept him while he was on his own. Fighting was one of the few things that he was really good at, so as things stood now, the attackers were not all that impressive to him outside of their numbers. He still couldn't fight everyone alone or would be quickly overwhelmed if left out in the open, plus he was bound to run into more competent enemies if they had made it this far into the city without getting killed off or allowing themselves to be distracted by other things.

He didn't introduce himself to the two, only nodding silently as he took a temporary position between them, standing behind the stagecoach that they were approaching. Although he didn't bother introducing himself, revealing the Silver Shield emblem on his bracer and leaving it at that, he felt like they should get on to business quickly so he spoke up.

"I'll take out whoever you need, just so long as I can point a stick at them," he said confidently. "I'm not one for giving orders, only following them."

Ioetta nodded in response to her comrades. She cracked her neck to one side and rolled the shoulder of her left arm. Favoring it somewhat due to an earlier glancing blow which had left behind marks and indentations in the armor. Then without further hesitation Ioetta held her kriegsmesser in her right hand and began moving forward. Working to quickly close the 23 or so meters to the stagecoach abandoned in the center of the bridge. The sound of metal gently bumping against into metal echoed as the Silver Shield defenders moved up mixing with the cacophony of their feet on the hard flagstone and the screams across the east end of the city.

Lady Ioetta knew once they began to near the enemy would become aware of their presence. Stealth would be no real aid here, but speed would be. Coming to the front of the stagecoach Ioetta slowed her steps as she stopped before an overturned crate. She took a position along the left hand side and waited.

Without turning her head away from that side of the coach, she gestured for one of them to hold the right side of the coach with a wave of her right hand. At least with three of them they could have one reserve member if one side began to falter. She stood so that the coach blocked her profile until one had nearly rounded the corner-- standing just 6 feet from the driver's seat. Standing so that the crate would block underneath the stagecoach. She hardly wanted her feet shot out from under her in case the enemy had come armed crossbows.

She felt her heart hammering in her chest as sweat beaded down her forward. The adrenalin already coursing through her body in anticipation for the violence soon to follow. She slowed her breathing and waited. There was nothing else left to do for now.

There it was - the sound of footsteps, quickly approaching from the other side of the bridge. Unsurprisingly, their intrusion didn't go by unnoticed - but at least it spared them of the need to creep around. Gernev halted, eyes quickly darting to the palace gates ahead, then down to the coach, confirming that neither of the positions were taken by archers; relived, he threw all caution to the side, breaking into a run headed straight for the coach.

The orc simply bashed down its door, ramming it in with the full weight of his armor-clad body, but then paused just before entering, turning round to face his comrades. Gesturing Phia to stay hidden, quiet and come inside the coach as well, he peered through one of its windows to capture the enemies' positions, and picking a safe moment to do so, hopped right through it, landing with a sharp metal clank from his plated boots. Setting his left foot forwards, heel in line with the right foot's toes, he took a bold, daring stance, mace hanging low, the arm holding it as if almost lazily relaxed, while raising his longsword overhead, in a manner similar to the Ox stance. Hopefully, by that time, Kirian would be making his entrance as well, and together, they could draw all the guards' attention, letting Phia slink into the coach unnoticed.

One of the slivers of his combat savvy, gathered over years spent in raids and military campaigns, told that the best use for a bow and arrow was ambush, and only second best was keeping the enemy at bay. If all went well, for all the hails of steel that felled the Black Talons from Xoni's walls, it would be the Silver Shields who'd be cursing archers in this battle.

With each step they took, Lars’ voice carried as he uttered a prayer to Graff, the God of war and battle. Each word echoing as the chaos outside the walls dimmed a moment. The soft clank of the chain armor, and the beat of the sword pommel against the shield, enhanced the prayer as they kept time with his cadence.

“You are called Gangleri,
Wandering God,
at home nowhere and everywhere;
You are called Sigtyr,
brilliant in Your battle-glory,
born to conquer, to possess the world;
You are called Grimnir,
and by vitki Yggr,
in honor of Your terrible time upon the Tree.

You are known by these and many other names,
and the paths to You are many.
We praise them all, that You may savor
in each of Your guises,
and by whichever name pleases You the most
the fermentation of our spirits.

May these words please You oh God,
and may You bestow upon us,
whose mouths overflow
with adoration and praise,
the terrible grace of Your blessing.”

As he finished he prayer, Lars was at the coach, on the eastern most side, the shield pressed against the back of the coach. It was clear that the enemy was upon them. The stench of Orc filled the air. It was a rotten, putrid smell oozing from their pores; a stench that once cursed with smelling, never forgotten.

Smashing the coach heartily with the shield, Lars snarled as the brutish creature hopped out, “Well Lady, it appears the Black Talons have graced us with their ugliest warriors.” The coach on his left shoulder, the shield before him as he let the war sword drop into a low guard, the blade jutting up ever so slightly, his booted feet apart. Rising slightly on the balls of his feet, Lars flexed his knees a tad, ready to react forward or back if need be.

The orc, heavily armored and wielding a mace and longsword assumed a posture that the seemed similar to the Ochs, with the sword up and to the outside. The point of the sword aimed somewhat towards Lar’s face.

It was a stance normally requiring both hands on the hilt for stability, yet this Orc seemed supremely assured of his position that he carried it with a single hand. It was clear that the poor bastard had some training, not very good training but some training. At least he would offer some fight. The Ochs stance, although not as stable as others, would protect the Orc well enough, and allow him a counter with a straight thrust. Of course if he was skilled he might turn to cut diagonally down, or pull back to cut from underneath. All this of course was possible from the Ochs; however, this Orc carried a mace as well so those moves must be modified to account for the second weapon.

No matter, Lars already gleaned some insight to his opponent already.

Phia could see Gernev tense briefly- most likely hearing movement of some kind- before breaking into a sprint and smashing his way into the carriage sending the door almost off it's hinges. That was loud. As the door hung limply inside the vehicle, Gernev gestured over the shoulder of Kirian and to her, seeming to say:

Stay quiet, get in the coach.

Phia understood her position in this battle. The Silver Shields had most likely gotten to the carriage first, and since she wasn't being shot at right now she could assume that they didn't have any ranged fighters. This would mean that she wouldn't have to worry about any other archers obstructing her a clear view of the fight.

She had a feeling this wouldn't be like the other scuffles. This was the palace gate. Chances were, obstructed from her view, were a small squad of elite Silver Shields. Not some peasant armed with a spear trying to protect his family or something silly like that. Phia hooked her middle and fore-finger into the bandana hanging around her neck and pulled it up to the bottom of her nose. The bandana didn't do much, but it made her feel a little bit more protected.

Heel first, she broke into a fast jog, nimbly overtaking Kirian. She saw Gernev vanish into the inside of the coach before she herself hopped inside. Phia barely caught the tail end of Gernev's dramatic descent out of the open window. That was a little crazy. She made eye contact with Kirian, urging him to assist the fight before it really kicked off. Phia did a well practiced technique, a quick peek around a corner. With them distracted with Gernev appearing next to them, there would be little to no chance of them detecting the minuscule amount of movement in the dark carriage.

Three of them, and Gernev was squared up against them all by his lonesome. She had a decision to make. Without Kirian right there, if she took her first shot, chances were one of them could barge past Gernev and right into this carriage and run her through. Phia stepped aside in the carriage and crouched down, hidden, to await what would happen next.

Karvos stood between his two companions near the center of the stagecoach about five feet away from it, his tower shield resting on the ground at his left side so that it could protect most of his body and cost minimal energy to hold up. Meanwhile, he was positioned with his left side facing forward to limit his profile sticking out from this protection on the right side, just in case someone tried to get all sneaky-like and fire an arrow at him or something.

His right arm held her halberd loosely at his right side at first, but then he snapped to attention when a massive crash erupted from the other side of the stagecoach. Looked like they meant business and were in quite the rush to get things moving. Moments after this noise had occurred he witnessed a truly ugly creature read his ugly head out of the window. Perhaps he was no more ugly than a normal orc, but he certainly looked tougher, even if he was likely more brawn than brain. As the orc leaped out and took a stance to issue a challenge towards Lars, Karvos grinned as it appeared like the brute had just cornered himself against the stagecoach in between two opponents.

He raised his halberd quickly to capitalize on this moment in order to try and joist him straight through the belly where his breastplate ended. To carry out this attack Karvos took a powerful step forward, starting with his front foot (careful to still remain out of reach of the long sword without his opponent having to advance towards him), combined with a thrust of his weapon once it got level with his target. Moving down to block him would likely leave himself open to Lars. Either way he'd quickly find himself in a world of hurt. Let's see how he'd get himself out of this one.

The rush of battle began to swell, and Kirian was going to let it flow. As soon as Gernev jolted into action, Kirian was moving panther-like across the battlefield. He caught Phia's nod as she passed into the darkness of the stagecoach ahead, both warriors silently positioning themselves as quickly as possible, killing intent compelling them forward like it blew ashes on the stained wind. While Phia darted forward, Kirian moved to flank, dashing east while keeping his concentration trained for the slightest movement. From five yards away from the coach, he pressed forward to his right at a 50 degree angle, anticipating the possibility that an opponent would engage him at any instant. With cold recognition, his expression glinted at the first of the Silver Shields that came to defend the final gate, a woman wielding what appeared to be a tremendous knife. Something in her mein suggested more danger than Kirian had encountered thus far, the possibility flashing before him making him bristle with anticipation. Maybe it was the way she stood. Maybe it was the way she held her weapon. Maybe it was the way that when he caught her eye, he was sure that she knew that this first move would decide their duel an instant.

Very well.

He came around the corner of the coach just far enough from the wall that his mark would have to extend to meet him, keeping himself at an angle to her, so as to attack on her diagonal from the right side. As he stopped his momentum, he kept his blade downward in a "Fool's Stance"-- it was a relatively defensive position for an attack of opportunity, but Kirian elected not to take chances with a foolhardy attack, and instead readied himself to whip a defense into place. He was canny enough to want to read his opponent first, but it was important to close the distance on his own terms, in case another soldier thought themselves bold enough to join the fray. This time, he decided to test her by pulling his sword upward and stabbing toward her right side, sliding his right foot forward but calculating to keep his weight close to his center.

If she decided to press forward before he managed to complete his offense, his sword would have been close enough into his guard that he could react to it in his own space, using it as a lever to shift her attack around his center of gravity. This would allow him to press his advantage off of the parry, but if she decided to look for an opening in his guard after a dodge, he intended to keep a good six inches of his blade within her guard. In that case, she'd be able to attack before he could pull back to defend himself completely, but Kirian had often kept his life using his sword as a measurement stick; spacing an opponent out was often more valuable than a bit of blood lost early.

Kirian's movements were sharp and clean, almost mistakable for lazy in their apparent lack of effort, deadly in their deceptive speed. If this opponent decided to take her chances among these fractions of openings, she'd find herself bleeding on the cobblestones. A second's hesitation, a touch more force than necessary, and it would all be over. She had the look of a seasoned veteran, but there was only one means of proving the worth of that experience. Staying alive.

Lady Vetcel waited as the sounds of violence further into the city played out in the background. She did not have to wait long before the enemy revealed themselves. He came in the form of a human bedecked in heavy armor, wielding a longsword with the ease and grace of a true swordsmen. She knew from a glance as he rounded the side of the coach he would be a fighter of substance. She naturally spaced her feet into a horse stance, blade point up and before her, and right foot leading slightly as the Black Talon appeared.

As he neared his sword lowered, as if inviting her to strike first-- then pulled his sword up into a quick thrust aimed for her right side. Ioetta’s response was swift and calculated. She moved forward as he stepped into his thrust. Gripping her kriegsmesser in a two handed grip, she pushed down and to her left leading with the face of the blade. The forte of the sword near its base above the guard would strike from the side into the incoming thrust, using gravity and her forward momentum to displace the longsword to her left side as her blade came down.

Ioetta then pushed off her left leg and sent her sword around and edge up, using the impact from her parry to send her messer blades tip upward towards the man’s face. Hoping to catch him before he recovered enough to bring his sword back into play and score a wound early on to his face. Should he retreat backward she’d be forced to give up the onslaught for the moment. As such an act would cause her to chase him beyond the protection of the coach and without knowing where all her enemies were, she could not afford getting caught in the open.

If this was the case she’d fall back slightly by stepping back with her right leg behind the left slightly as her sword was brought up and to the outside on her right side. Ending her riposte smoothly into an ox stance. The slightly curved tip of her kriegsmesser pointed down at her opponent's chest level. She would then circle slightly to her opponent's right keeping her knees bent and ready. She had a feeling at this point the engagement would not be ending quite so quickly.

“Well Lady, it appears the Black Talons have graced us with their ugliest warriors.”

The Silver Shield's less than subtle jab at him only made the Orc smile: to him, the insult was no more than the fearful growl of a cornered wolf. On this day, he had already breached the capital's walls and marched through its streets, slaying no less than half a dozen of enemy soldiers on his way to the palace, so Gernev was certain that out of them two, he'd be the one to have the last laugh, tearing down the last line of Xoni's defense. It seemed like he'd be fighting against two - but Gernev did not waver. He had been fighting ever since he was a child, and had long accepted battle not as an occupation, but as his destined duty: whatever the the challenge may be, he simply had no choice other to conquer it or die.

A watchful eye placed on both opponents, he waited for them to strike first, and when one of them did, he was ready. A quick twist of the forearm, and his mace collided with the halberd's shaft, knocking it sideways into the crook of his elbow, with it's tip passing by his side. Snaking his arm around, he pushed it up into his armpit and then turned his elbow outwards, applying counter-clockwise torque to the shaft and securing it with a firm friction lock. However, instead of stopping the thrust, Gernev fell backwards, piling his body's weight on top of its momentum and plunging it into the carriage's side, burying the weapon's spike in the wood. Even without both hands on the shaft, Karvos would now have a lot of trouble pulling it out, winning Gernev a bit of breathing space to deal with his other opponent.

Fear. Blood. Pain. All elements of combat, elements that even the bravest warrior experiences. Such was the events that unfolded in the scant few seconds since the Silver Shields had reached the coach. The orc had raised his sword in some endeavor to present a fearsome visage. It had not worked, evident by the quick thrust by Karvos.

Melee were not clean affairs, combat was messy, with blows felling opponents from every angle. Such would be the outcome today. One against two, unless the one was supremely skilled and the two were inept farmers, the single one would fall in a matter of seconds.

It was amazing, had Lars had time to watch the elaborate move the orc did to avoid being run through, and nary his sword moved from its overhead position. It would have been a marvel of unprecedented skill, balance, and strength. The sinisteral maced moved deftly, body shifting, moving and yet the sword remained overhead even as the orc fell backward. It mattered not though as soon as Karvos made his move so was Lars moving.

Two quick steps and the shield was smashing into the orc even as his mace collided with the halberd shaft, the impact as Lars threw his weight behind it, the shield rising up a bit so that the top edge would be ready to turn away the longsword still held high. It would be easy to set aside the sword from this position.

The war sword, held in a low guard, with a quick flick of the wrist was now moving to get behind the right leg of the orc, as the blade slipped between his legs. With the overly elaborate defense and his falling back, the blade would achieve its aim. To slice through the leather leggings at the orcs right knee, the attempt was to hamstring the orc. With the orc falling backward, along with the impact of the the shield, it would not be beyond the realm of possibilities. With the Orc being preoccupied on his defense, the move would be neigh impossible to avoid. The blade would be withdrawn from its postion, the edge of the blade pressed against the back of the orc's knee as it was drawn out.

There was a rush of noise, the displacement of air, a shuffling of feet. Phia knew that Gernev would be outnumbered, and despite his skill, would be in need of support. She had confidence that Kirian could handle himself in a duel. She glanced upon her finely made Elven bow, arrow in her hand, gently resting in it's passive state. She could feel it's humble lethality emanating from it, vibrating like it had a mind of it's own. In Phia's mind, the arrows were unique. With their own stories. Each arrow was made by herself, years ago, soaked in enchanted waters and whittled down to perfection. Simple, plain, perfection. A wooden shaft, a piercing tip, and a feathered end. Penetrating armor and bleeding her enemies.

She was leaned against the inner wall of the cart, bracing herself against it, crouching down. She sucked in a quiet breath from underneath her bandana, steadying her hands and face. She pushed off against the wall and turned 180 degrees and side-stepped to look out the window. She pulled her string back and consumed the information that was on the other side of the window. Gernev was locked up with a powerful looking knight. The enemy knight struck her as familiar, perhaps she had read of him, but her mind was already onto the next important thing. Very close nearby, a pole-arm collided with the cart. Her eyes flashed to the source. A man-at-arms, just a short distance away, a prime target. Acting on instinct, she let loose an arrow at the prime target.

It whistled through the air. She did a short whistle along with it.

It would be coming in from his left, almost directly to his left, but an observant man might be able to see it in his peripherals. It should past just above his arm and into his middle-left torso. A painful distraction at the least.

Nice. His foe had more skill than originally thought to cause him to miss in such a way, but Karvos was still certain that the orc's efforts would be in vain. His primary weapon stuck well and good in the carriage would just put a delay on the inevitable. In the process of plotting his next move against him he caught sight of a swift movement from inside the carriage. It was...an enemy archer. Luckily for Karvos it took less time to simply move his tower shield every so slightly into place than it would to aim effectively at him, causing the arrow to be too late to take advantage of any opening that had previously presented itself during him attacking the orc.

The arrow thumped powerfully into an area near the left of the shield but not powerfully enough to make it completely through, sticking out where it had hit. His normal armor wouldn't be able to stand up to that impressive bow and arrow, so he certainly had to make sure to keep her in mind while he helped fight the orc. Dropping the shield to use both hands to try to un-lodge his halberd would be out of the question for the time being.

Instead he let go of the halberd, moving his hand down to equip himself of his two foot long war hammer as he shuffled forward, keeping his shield raised in the direction of both the archer and the orc, lining them up more together thanks to a slight change in his positioning. He would not be able to get to the confrontation in time to deal with the current exchange of blows between the orc and the knight, but he'd get there for the next should he press his advance.

A war becomes a duel, a feast for crows becomes a single murder. It was all of this, a glorious clash of steel, blood, sweat, bile, willpower that fed Kirian the Witch Knight.

As he pressed forward, he found his probing strike deflected with all needed deftness. This was unsurprising, given that she'd survived this long in the seige with only one eye. That could very well have been a fatal flaw, and Kirian was well prepared to make good on that. The edge of his blade was deflected outside her guard to Kirian's right side, followed by an arcing slash up towards his face. She may have thought his attack repelled, but his gambit was successful.

Instead of fully retreating, he followed the impact of her parry, ducking down and twisting his right side towards her. To her peril, she'd stepped her right foot well within blade's reach, under an eyesocket without depth perception or peripheral vision. Kirian pivoted low, keeping his grip close to his chest, and used the counter-momentum to rap the inside of her right knee with the last four inches of the flat of his blade. With the torsion of his core behind the strike, it would land as the lady knight's counterattack would have grazed Kirian's face, and just as painfully as a kick. In that window of pain, he'd press his advantage.

Before she had time to pull her sword down, Kirian pushed forward and up with his trailing left leg, angling his sword upward into a modified ox stance. The primary difference would be that instead of pointing his blade forward to level with the centerline, he'd pivot it backward between her arms, as a metal lever behind the heels of her palms. At the same time, he was ramming his shoulder into her diaphragm, just underneath her miniature breastplate. As he'd follow through, he'd complete his turn and push back and outward with his sword. A complicated maneuver, he intended to press his blade roughly against the inside of his opponent's wrists, and bear her heavily back to slam against the side of the carriage.

This assault should wind her further, and part her with her sword through pure physical leverage, if she could surpress the instinct to drop it outright. Even if she did have the presence of mind to pull her guard up to avoid the "grapple", it would bring her center of gravity too far back to resist getting slammed against the carriage. At this range, a hunk of metal like her knife had all the wrong balance. Yes it could be more devastating than a normal sword at the sweetspot of its range, but it would likely be difficult to maneuver without the momentum of the body behind it. At that point, Kirian was close and heavy enough to pin her struggling, and end it with his dagger. A murder settles a battle, a duel settles a war. The lady knight's options had been swiftly severed, and soon her neck would be as well.

Lars, having hamstrung the orc before him, stepped back with a satisfied grunt. With the orc struggling and the blood pooling beneath him, Lars swung his shield in a vicious swipe to the head of the orc, followed by a boot to the chest.

A grim smile crossed his face momentarily as he heard the arrow thunk the heavy shield of his companion. Whipping around, leaving his back exposed to the other avenue of access, the avenue that the Lady held. Should the Lady be overcome Lars would be exposed to attack, however, he had fleeting faith in the lady’s ability to fight. Regardless, Lars raised his shield as he glimpsed some movement inside the carriage.

It was difficult to see who was exactly inside the carriage, however, the fact that they were using a bow in confined quarters might prove to be their downfall. Whatever happened next Lars would begin a systematic exploration of the carriage with his sword.

And with that, any advantage Phia had vanished along with Gernev's head. Both of her enemies had direct line of sight with her, and their shields were only slightly raised, making it an easy advance into the carriage. She played out a scenario in her mind where her arrows thunked uselessly against the two's protective shields until they stormed the carriage and the man-at-arms bashed her head in and the knight ran her through. A gruesome death her mother would be very disappointed in. She could run out the backside of the carriage, but that would essentially be abandoning Kirian, the battle, and she'd probably end up being killed anyway.

So while her two enemies held their shields like immovable statues that, for now, not be feeling one of her arrows in their eye, she formulated a plan. She had only a short amount of time before her enemies took advantage of the fact that she wasn't firing arrows, so she must hurry. She slung her bow over her shoulder and turned to face the window. She put her back opposite to the window and leaned out backwards, grabbing the small out-cropping that lined the top of the window. She jumped her legs up until they rested on the bottom of the window that Gernev had previously jumped out of, then she extended her hands upward and she latched onto the roof of the carriage. Then it was just a matter of pulling herself up, which she did with relative ease. She rolled onto the roof of the carriage, her tightly crafted quiver keeping the arrows in place. So, she stood up ontop of the carriage and looked down on her enemies. Okay. So, that solved the problem temporarily. It would be another hassle entirely for her opponents to find a way to knock her off the carriage, but they could easily do it if her last ally was defeated.

Now it was just a matter of helping out lonely Kirian. She unslung her bow and notched another arrow, ready to fire at either the Lady knight, or whichever one of her enemies dared to lower their shields. She thought with a minor satisfaction how it word hurt their arms that much more to lift their shields that much higher.