Fanilly blinked as she stared at the apple in her hand, before quietly stowing it away in a pouch on her hip. There was no reason not to accept a fresh-seeming apple, after all, was there?

She gave a nod to the hundi as he explained his positioning. Staying close as a defensive wall for the upcoming charge made sense given his equipment. She'd never seen anyone wield paired tower shields before, it was something quite unique to the small blonde girl. "Thank you, Sir Ian."

With that, she continued to guide her division through the forest. The plan of attack as simple. The archers were in back, the shield-bearers were in front. The other combatants, including herself, were between. The archers would fire a volley into the camp

The woods were slow going. And yet, Fanilly could see the light of a roaring bonfire ahead... and soon, make out the shapes of tents. There were dozens of men and women, perhaps hundreds, all talking to one another, preparing their weapons, cleaning off... bloodied equipment... the sign of their last raid. Anger burned lightly in her heart. That was the blood of Thaln's soldiers and citizens. These bandits, they did not deserve to suffer. No-one did. But they would die all the same. For their terrible crimes against the innocent.

A tall wooden seat stood in the camp, vacant. Fanilly could not be certain, but she could guess that was the seat normally occupied by the Bandit King himself. And yet, the huge man was no-where to be seen. Reports indicated he would be hard to miss, to say the least. An enormous, barechested man, wielding a truly massive sword. At least Fanilly had seen such weapons before, so that was no surprise. It was hard to be surprised by such a thing after seeing Sir Tyaethe's equipment.

She looked back towards the archers.

"Take aim..." she began. The archers raised their bows, adjusting their positioning to make it count. She turned back to the shield-bearers. "Ready yourselves."

A line of shields raised.

Fanilly raised her hand.

"Loose arrows!"

There was a chorus of 'twang' sounds as each archer fired. The arrows arced through the air, and several could be easily seen piercing multiple bandits, bodies falling in the camp. The shocked criminals grabbed weapons and drew them, looking around in a panic.

"CHARGE!"

The shielded knights charged. Fanilly followed.

The bandits were already softened, stunned and frightened, by the initial volley of arrows. The charge of armored knights that followed left many of them in a terrified shock.

The attack on the camp had begun.

The sound of soldiers rushing into battle from the other side of the camp gave Tiral enough notice to know that the attack had begun. Nodding, the mage raised his right arm as the archers took aim at the lookouts that were now scrambling around their posts for weapons. With a cry, Tiral brought his arm down to point at the camp.

"Fire!"

The arrows whizzed through the air as they met their targets head-on, bringing the men to their final resting place as the rest of his men began to move forward. Tiral, too, began to move amongst them as he began chanting under his breath. That rudimentary defense would be gone soon enough.

"O, water of this land, bring rightful vengeance upon those who have defied thine own will. Freeze that in front of us, and let it shatter into dust--!"

Pulling the dagger out of its hiding place mid-cast, Tiral drew a line in the air across his field of vision as water immediately coated the wooden barricades in front of them before freezing over. The ice soon began to crack, and Tiral sheathed his tool at once, biting his lip to keep himself up.

"Now!"

The frozen barricades cracked more and more, until they finally gave enough to give out. With the entire rear flank open, Tiral and those knights with him charged into battle, quickly moving to take care of those bandits who had been too slow to ready themselves... And, well, those that had, as well.

"Quickly! Before they can regroup!"

The bandit camp was now in chaos, which let Tiral take a deep breath as he attempted to look at the situation. The bandits were...

Well, fairly unprepared, clearly enough, but the level of disarray that he saw here was kind of... Absurd. Regardless, letting his guard down in combat would be a death sentence. Didn't mean that he didn't have to take a bit of time to let his body recover, though...

Tyaethe started off walking sedately towards the camp but, as they drew within a range where the group's archers could begin following, picked up her pace. She slid the shield onto her arm in order to free the appropriate hand. A hand that wrenched the spear out of its fleshy lodging! With disturbing ease given the gaping wound, the paladin launched it into the mass of bandits already reeling from attacks on multiple flanks.

That was when she launched into a full sprint, heedless of the men behind her. They knew what to do and the heat of a battle was no time for fancy commands. Instead, they got treated to the sight of one of their reliable elders apparently doing a suicidal recreation of a cavalry charge on foot.

Against a disciplined wall of soldiers, it was quite likely that even her immense sword would have been repelled and the spear bounced off harmlessly. Instead, against bandits trying to gather up their weapons and rush to deal with the captain's charge, the spear got one man in the side and the already-horrified bandits were treated to a wordless raw as Tyaethe slammed into their position. A disciplined massed force was a threat but an undisciplined one? A target-rich slaughter.

The paladin was in her element, until the others caught up. Her later training and fighting style focused on two things: going forth and destroying her enemies or providing more than ample protection for a single person. Experience tempered it somewhat but the paladin's fighting style was very unfriendly to fighting in an infantry wall and, back when she was a newly-minted paladin, it was expected that it might end up as her against a necromancer. It did a lot to explain using a weapon that could go through multiple people before stopping.

Nevertheless, she was doing an admirable job of keeping to her promise to break the enemy position for her group to exploit the gap as she fought forwards, slamming her shield into one bandit and smashing the edge down on his neck when he tripped. Though she would have preferred a challenging fight, bringing justice to these murderous cretins was satisfaction enough... for now.

Tiral's water and ice magic was quite impressive as it completely shattered the wooden barricades in front of the group. Front this initial charge it was quite clear that the battle was already won; however, she just hoped the archers had the sense to stop fighting soon after the initial volley and instead focus on taking down anyone trying to escape. A few more arrows flew overhead as she charged in, shield held out in front like a bulwark she plunged into the fray.

A fearful bandit tried to attack her from the front but her shield completely blocked him and a quick thrust with her sword pierced his abdomen. The man doubled over in pain but she already had her sights on the next target. A bandit with a little more sense tried to run past her but she slammed the edge of her shield into his side, causing him to stumble which allowed her to make quick work of the bandit before he could recover.

They had two objectives in this battle. One, was to wipe out the bandits completely, which meant allowing none of them to escape. The second was securing the Bandit King. If possible, no doubt capturing him alive would be the best outcome as the nobles back home would doubtlessly love to have such a prize to make an example of.

If she had been in command her priority would have been to make sure no one escaped, but as just a simple knight, finding and capturing the Bandit King would be her best priority, after all if some escaped it would not be her fault. Julianna started to search through the camp to find the man in charge, not bother to chase after or engage bandits unless they came to her.

Where was he? Was he perhaps resting somewhere when the attack occurred? Perhaps he was where the greatest concentration of bandits were? Trusting her instinct she noticed some makeshift structures in the camp and started to make her way toward them, bashing anyone her happened to get in her way.

She kept herself as silent as possible so she wouldn't draw as much attention as the idiots screaming and grunting as they fought. She would find him first if she was lucky.

Ian adjusted his grip again as they approached the camp, taking a deep breath in preparation. As Fanilly gave the order to the archers he slammed his right shield into the ground hard enough that it stood up on it's own and drew his crossbow, aiming for the camp and letting his bolt fly with the rest of the volley. After firing he put his crossbow away and picked his shield back up for the charge.

Once the order was given he rushed forward with the rest of the shield line, a thrown axe from some cheeky bandit bouncing off his shields, as they hit the camp's perimeter he braced behind one of his shield and shoulder-charged into a bandit, followed by slamming the bottom of it into the bandit's chest, crushing the poor sod. He continued to used his shields to bash and beat the bandits out of the way until the troops were able to push into the camp proper, At that point pulling back to stay beside Fanilly.

He plunged both his shields into the ground and began using them as cover to use his crossbow aiming for any bandits using throwing weapons or bows of their own. He made sure he to stay close to Fanilly, ready to pick up and move if she charged on.

He could hear the result of the other group's charges, and could clearly see the effect in the disarray the camp was in. Given all then he at one point looked to the Captain while reloading his crossbow. "Shall we hunt down this 'king' captain?" he gestured toward the fighting "I think the others can handle his army"

Themerlinhawk

Sir Garrett eyed the doctor with something approaching disgust and fear. “I don’t think so but I recently appreciate the offer. Pain is the bodies way of telling you when you have a problem and the best warrior’s recognize that lacking pain just means you have no warning. Numbing the body is a sure fire way to go to hell using the bodies of the enemies whose sword’s you fell upon” Taking up a position at the back of the shield line he hefted his own shield. “We can talk after the battle and you are certainly welcome to look at the shoulder.” Garrett didn’t trust the doctor; medicine quickly approached magic and that was something that had always made Garrett’s skin crawl.

As the shield line charged Sir Garrett reached up and snapped his visor down. Normally he’d have lead the charge himself however with Tyaetha not by Fanilly’s side he felt obligated to keep an eye on the girl. Side stepping a stroke from a scythe that had until recently no doubt been used as a farming implement Garrett rolled his right arm bringing the maul in a circular stroke which crushed the unfortunate bandit’s spine as it connected with the base of the man’s neck. The stroke killed the man instantly as the nerves in the neck were severed from the shearing force of the blow. Using the maul he hooked the man’s body as it fell and tossed it behind him clearing a path way for those moving behind him.

The air reeked of blood, sweat and fear as Sir Garrett moved along behind the shield wall making short work of anyone who had got past the flank or made it through a break in their wall….or was thrown through it to the giant of a Knight.

Sir Garrett’s picked up his foot to crush the bandit’s head beneath it and remembered a moment before he brought it down that the Captain had pitched a royal tantrum earlier about how they had dealt with the bandit’s the first time. With a heavy sigh Sir Garrett tossed his maul head first into the ground and slammed his shield into the earth on his left. Reaching back he swung the hand-and-a-half sword off his back. With a quick jerk he unsheathed it and then drove it through the young man’s heart pinning him to the ground as the massive piece of steel slid through his body. With a heavy Sir Garrett pulled the sword back up through the bandit. Re sheathing the sword he looked left and right at the progress the Knights had made. It had been a slaughter for the most part. Not much of a challenge.

Picking up the shield and war maul Sir Garrett surveyed the battlefield his eyes searching out the tabards and colors of the other Knights. Taking note of the other forces closing in on the camp Garrett walked back over and fell in on Fanilly’s left flank keeping his shield and body in between anything that approached her from the left. It was quite the baby sitting that Tyaetha engaged in but it left him close enough to help as he kept his eyes out for other Knights who might need his help.

Sult yawned significantly, her weight shifting from one leg to the other. So many things had happened in so little time, but she had felt not doing anything. That damned old carcass -this was going to be how she would refer to the Scary One from now on- had completely ruined her adorable punchline with her spear demonstration. It was gross, disturbing, annoying... and somewhat interesting to her healer side. But mostly annoying. Then more people appeared, instructions were exchanged.

Oh, and she wiped the blood as the Ice Jerk had told her. The joke was getting old. Still, Sult could not hide her bliss at some of the new knights, all of them male. A manly scholar, and a medic, to pester for information and books! Creepy looks aside, she was looking forward to stick to the shadows of those two. She, after all, was a fellow thinking mind. So engrossed she was she did not notice much of the actual strategy and hush hush, and as such she didn't make much of a reaction. She had gotten a general gist of it. Four groups. Smash and entrap.

And of course given her less-than-stellar performance, no such group had been entrusted. Still, she stuck to the Captain. After all obeying the order and keeping her alive was more important than other whims. Plus, one of the new recruits, the Hundi, looked positively adorable next to her. A pup and a mini captain. She could joke all the day...

...but Sparky had gone to the old geezer's side. That was not fair! She wanted to tease them a little! And that Eadwig (earwig!) didn't look like he had a sense of humour. At least she could rely on Sir Garret for that. She dedicated a longing stare to the tall man. "Sir Garreeet, please don't let poor me get harmed, will you?" She said, fluttering her eyelashes, while looking at their companions.

And then the order for charge happened, after an arrow attack. Sult grinned, and yelled in top of her lungs.

"FOR THE MINI CAPTAIN!"

Well, she was trying to be encouraging, but the devil that whispered in her ear almost always won. Speaking of crooks, the leader of the haggard group was nowhere to be seen, thought the newbie knight as she drove through the uneducated hordes, sneaking cheap kicks and pommel hits in critical parts when people weren't looking. That was unacceptable.

"Cover me! I have an idea!" She yelled to her nearby teammates.

Seeing that there was a surplus of healers, she took the spirits she used to disinfect from her pouch, as well as a bandage, and fashioned an incendiary artifact, all to lob it into the throne who was in the middle of the campment.

If that bandit was too arrogant to claim himself king, surely the sight of seeing his dear crude throne in flames would make him come out.

Teller merely shrugged and stowed away his syringe. The big man was a skeptic and the symptoms were written plain as day in the big mans body language. Distrust of magic, of medicine, of civilization it might have even screamed. But a doctors duty was not to judge a patient for their beliefs or their idealism. If it meant saving a life you could bet a kings ransom that Anton Duboi would do what he had to for the results he needed. The big mans injury would manifest later in the fight when his heavy weapons finally exhausted his burly frame. Though from the looks of him, that would be a very long time.
Anton might be dead at that point. Who could say for sure in the chaos of battle.

The fanfare sounded and the knights charged. To battle, to glory, to blood, to honor, everyone fought for something. Like Sir Garette, Teller fought for the enjoyment of it. Battle had become his world. An idle blade, sword or scalpel, lost its edge. Every fight honed his mind and every end he saw guaranteed him practice. Be it fixing up a wound or finding a new way to make one.

Blade in hand, Anton separated from the initial charge. Not a well armored fellow the doctor was not the best person to have at the front line as arrows rained into the camp, and return fire came back in kind. Lacking a shield, avoiding getting stuck like a porcupine was not a viable option. His pace had gone from full on sprint to a gingerly stroll through the scenery. Few were looking his direction by the time the bandit camp was within touching distance. Teller had used that time to apply a thin layer of his toxin to 3 of his crossbow bolts and the edge of his sword. Now all that was left was to find someone to use it on.
Shouts and alarms were being thrown every which way as battle was found, the bandits hastily grabbing weapons and shambling out of their tents to fight. Most of them had gear stolen from the dead, some likely sported a fallen Knights armor they had pillaged. An insult that would cost them dearly.

Ducking under nearby cover he waited patiently. Still as stone the doctor waited for his opportunity and when it finally arrived, made a sprint to the nearest bandit occupied tent. His Curved sword cut a swift and silent arc through the neck of one such bandit trying to put on his boots. Anton stood over the dying man and plunged his sword through his heart before moving on. Taking a peek out of the tent, he spied a small fire with some burning logs.
Men and Women were rushing about and failed to notice the long beaked intruder.
From the sound of it, the shield wall was getting close.

Bursting from his cover, the doctor slashed out the throat of a startled bandit and turned his attention onto its companion. This one was skilled with the blade and deftly blocked two swings of the khopesh before going on the attack. The blows were fast, the mans shortsword was sharp and light, resulting in a rush of controlled swipes that pushed Anton back with his own blade focused solely on defense.

"DIE, FREAK."

The bandit roared in the face of his opponent as he broke momentum, throwing himself into a straight lunge at the doctors chest. Though the move was brilliant, Anton had to admit to himself, the man had made a a mistake. The toxin only needed a minute or so until it robbed you of your strength.
The bandits vision swam before him as his lunge turned to an ungraceful dive as the doctor simply moved aside. The small single handed crossbow bolt was embedded in the victims stomach, about a third of the bolt still sticking out of his flesh.

"It's a wonderful effect isn't it? Fast acting and powerful in small doses. But do not worry, you will feel no pain soon." Teller spoke clearly for the man. "The poison numbs you first. Robs you of your strength. Steals from you the motor functions necessary to fight, and cripples your legs so you cannot run. Your vision will fade soon. Do not be worried," Tellers enthusiasm at the effectiveness of his concoction was evident as he approached the downed man. His victim was frantically trying to crawl away but his hands and legs no longer obeyed the command. "You will live for a few more minutes. Use them to reflect on your life and choices a bit, ok."

Anton bent down and grasped the bolt firmly, a single tug had the diminutive but effective projectile pulled from the wound and loaded back into the crossbow. Kneeling beside the twitching form, Teller reached out and closed his eyes respectfully before walking back out of the camp. He would find another opportunity, but for now it seemed prudent to swing back to the main force. Maybe check up on how the others were handling themselves.

Gillian could not help but feel a momentary pang of sympathy for the bandits as the iron wave of knights bore down on them. While the bandits were not caught with their pants down (well, most he would note, seeing a surprised pair of young men rush from their tent swords in hand and trousers nowhere to be seen), there were few who managed to recover from the sudden shock of a deadly rain, nor could he blame them. The sympathy, however, quickly vanished as the charge pushed him forward, threatening to trample him if he did not keep pace.

He chose his first target quickly, a shorter woman currently fumbling to load a crossbow, too far forward to use the weapon effectively and too stunned to care. His arm shuddered as he felt his spear bury itself in her chest as the two forces slammed into one another, confusion followed by grim recognition flashing across the woman’s face before he wrenched the weapon back and the body falls limply to the ground. He raises his shield and advances over the corpse, doubting the other bandits would fall so easily now that the ambush had been sprung.

The next bandit had fared better than his companion, having found a kite shield and sword to hold as the knights charged forward. He sneered at Gillian, holding the shield high to cover his torso as the knight advanced on him. As the spear forced its way through the man’s leg, he and Gillian began to understand the huge disparity between the two forces training and how effectively the knights were slaughtering the bandits, tactics aside. “Sorry Klien, seems you will lose this one…” Gillian thinks, drawing his sword staggers and falls backwards shield and weapon abandoned to claw at the offending intruder to his formerly impregnable defense. “Even that child would have difficulty loosing this engagement.” Gillian mused as he thrusted the blade through his opponent’s chest.

Over the roar of clashing blades Gillian hears, “Cover me! I have an idea!”, as he pulls the blade free with a quiet wet pop. He turns and sees a blue haired young girl fiddles with bottles and some section of cloth, and large pair bandits with clubs advance on her. Where there time, Gillian would have loved to complain of her brazenness. Stopping in the middle of a battle to tinker, what hubris!
Instead he stowed those thoughts for later, rushing the bandit pair. The first feel easily, not having seen the rushing knight in the chaos of the fight, and only becoming aware of his presence as a blade slammed itself into his side, freeing his arm from his torso and creating a lovely new orifice. The second proved more a challenge, turning to face Gillian as his friend squealed in shock, swinging wildly. Gillian raise his shield as the club came down, the painful buzz of metal meeting metal in his ears confirmed blow had been blocked. The bandit struck again adjusting his strikes angle, taking advantage of the pause the knight needed to free his weapon from his dead or dying comrade. Again the buzz of metal rang in Gillian’s ears, but he felt a sharp pain as the club slammed into his shoulder. The partial block did its duty tough, as the knight freed his weapon from the bandit and stabbed at his unarmored assailant.

As the bandit dropped something arced over Gillian’s head, shattering against the wood throne at the heart of the camp. “….that is not a plan.” Gillian says (as much to himself as to the blue haired young woman), watching as orange flame began to consume traitorous furniture where the butt of evil once slept. “That is barely even arson, much less a plan”, he says, checking his shoulder, albeit a wasted gesture. The artificial arm did not bruise from such a glancing blow, though that did not stop it feeling like it would.
@AtomicNut

Sir Garrett grinned as Sult fluttered long eyelashes at him. “As you wish.” With a heave he resettled his shield adjusting his position to stay close enough to reach Fanilly and Sult evenly. “Watch it, if you get to far and a bandit guts you then don’t come crying to me to kiss your injuries better.” Sir Garrett brought his shield up and swatted an incoming arrow aside. Where in the nine circles was the King.

As Sult yelled her rather insulting war cry Sir Garrett winced then his eyes bulged as she took off towards the chair with a bottle of alcohol and ill intentions. “Damn it, Sult.” With another heave Sir Garrett looked back to make sure Fanilly was well surrounded before he took off at a dead run in the heavy armor. With a quick two step Garrett dug in his left foot and pressed off of it shifting onto his right foot as he passed the line of shield bares and slid in beside Sult slamming into a bandit approaching her. The man folded into the ground where Sir Garrett drove his warmaul onto his torso crushing the ribs before smashing the man’s jaw into oblivion.

“You know if you keep this up you’re going to get yourself killed and then where will I be. The others around here are so damn boring.” Sir Garrett shrugged both his shoulders forward as he resituated his shield and maul before himself. “You think he’ll come looking for us? That’s why you torched it? Hope you’re ready.” Sir Garrett chuckled as he turned slowly looking around covering Sult’s back as he stepped into place to cover her back and flanks. “If you’re going to get run throw just scream so I can know to get the hell out of the way.”

Scanning smoothly from left to right Sir Garrett watched for the others, taking note of the Doctor as he moved like a shadow. It did not improve Sir Garrett’s opinion of the man but at the very least it was an appropriate action for the armorless man. Good to know he was worth something on the battlefield. Perhaps the others would see and join them. That or he and Sult were about to have an interesting time.

@AtomicNut

Screams echoed abstractly across the forest from beyond their sight. It was unsettling as blood curdling roars of pain and cries of despair created images of mangled and trapped animals fighting to keep the candle of their life lit in a downpour. The scars on Eadwig’s body were ghosts of remembrance and for a moment he sympathized. He raised his lance slowly and gestured forward.

They moved slowly like specters through the forest, ghosts in a dying light. Archers climbed through the brambles, quietly lifting their legs over fallen logs and intrusive roots. The line of pike soldiers followed stomping the thorny branches and bushes into the earth beneath them, flattening them. Eadwig’s horse made careful passage, avoiding branches and searching for the best passage through. At times, he and the cavalry were dispersed behind the moving lines of men searching for footing, and other times they were in line following a narrow game trail.

“They are making quick work of them,” Sir Aethelmund said to the Dame Efelia who rode beside him through a harsh pass of fallen trees.

“Less work for us,” Dame Efelia grunted, “We could have gone on foot and attacked.”

Eadwig’s eyes were fixed on the path below them guiding his horse through the territory. “Aye, we could have. I prefer the height advantage.” He replied, “When we enter our troops will be fresh enough.”

“Fresh yeah.” Efelia began, “I don’t see us having glory if we are late though.”

“Eh, aren’t we both a bit old to be seeking glory against bandits Effe?”

“Not as old as you, ya bag of bones.” The crow’s feet on her eyes deepened as she smiled.


The soldiers and knights came across the palisade after a few minutes. Contrary to Philin’s report, Eadwig could see the sky clear over the camp. The trees must had been cleared by the bandits to make the crude wall that protected them.

“Ropes!” Eadwig yelled over the noise of chaos from beyond the wall. Half among the archers held lassos that they threw over the palisades hooking them. With a heave the wall began to sag toward them. They rested a moment, then they heaved again. The horses stomped their hooves, and the rest of the archers held their bows preparing to fire a volley. “Archers!” Eadwig shouted and the men nocked their arrows. The palisade creaked as it was pulled. “Draw.” With a crack, the wooden wall split from the ropes binding it together and it collapsed to the ground before them leaving a hole wide enough for seven soldiers abreast to march through. “Fire!”

Behind the wall a number of surprised faces turned to them only to fall beneath a sudden rain of arrows.

“Pike! Forward! Secure the opening.”

The line of pike soldiers marched in close step slowly into the breach, their shields caught a weak response of arrows before they were met in return by fire. The bandits armed with dull hatchets and bent swords drew back, not many of them had rallied to this flank, instead having rushed where they were initially attacked. The line of pike stepped harshly into the camp and unified stab of their weapons brought down three bandits who had become disoriented in the mass attack. “Fire!” Eadwig shouted again and the archers bolstered again by those who tore down the wall fired a volley that cut through men and women and through the canvas tents.

The pike cleared the breach standing ten abreast stabbing through their shield wall like a wall of thorns. From within the forest, Eadwig and the left cavalry waited, watching. The archers were slowly moving through the breach, keeping themselves safely behind the shield wall. Despite this, the luck of the draw had left some injuries from stray arrows sent from the bandits, but nothing that seemed fatal yet. Marianne should be clearing her breach by now, he thought. She rode with good soldiers, and she was backed by pike and all of Sir Bernhard’s reserve. Sir Aethelmund nodded to himself and shouted through his visor, “Cavalry draw up!” The mounted soldiers pushed themselves as close to each other as they could within the forest. Unfortunately they were still marred by thick clumps of trees that grew in awkward angles greedily taking up more than their share of the forest’s earth. “Forward!” He declared and they moved forward at a slow pace, carefully coming together as they moved through the breach. The first line of four cleared the breach and then nearly ten seconds later the next line pushed through following behind the first by ten paces. When Sir Aethelmund cleared the breach he trotted to the first line and pulled the horn from his hip, “Cavalry!” He shouted before raising the horn to his lips and blowing a quick fanfare to signal Marianne, and they whipped forward to the left of the pike at a gallop.

The bandits were thinly dispersed through this portion of the camp, and the groups of ones or twos were battered and run through by lances and swords. The second and third lines struggled to keep form through the camp, some falling behind at times to cut down the tents beside them and grasping loose torches and tossing them onto the canvas.

Before them, Sir Aethelmund witnessed a force of thirty bandits rallying just beyond the reaches of Captain Danbalion’s line. He couched his lance, and in moments they were upon them. His lance shattered on the back of a bandit having run him through the spine, beside him Dame Efelia’s lance caught in the chest of another and she dropped it in favor of her sword. It was chaos for a moment as bodies barreled over each other as horses trampled them and the bandits struggled against each other to move out of the way. As fast as the chaos began, it had ended as the past the rally and rode by the right flank of the Captain’s soldiers. Eadwig’s second line made quick work of their opponents, but one among the third line caught a billhook to the chest and was pulled from his horse.

“North!” He called, and the Iron Roses banner was raised high rallying the cavalry beside Fanilly’s shield wall. A moments respite before they galloped northward toward the now burning throne. When they passed the space where the bandits had rallied, there was only bodies remaining. The soldier who had caught a billhook laid dead with a rondel through his visor, an unavoidable casualty of battle. The order of the camp was destroyed as Aethelmund’s cavalry moved forward at a slower pace. Captain Danbalion’s knights had torn through the bandits like a meat-pounder. Even still bandits in disarray were being driven toward the center by the tightening vice of each flank’s shield walls.

Bandits screamed and yelled all around them in disorganized bands. Eadwig’s line would as easily deal with opponents from the front, before realizing two more had attacked them from behind.

His sword drawn and his lance dropped, Eadwig Aethelmund engaged a bandit who struck at him with a pitchfork. His shield raised instinctively blocking the stabs and jabs, and he attempted to parry with his sword. Efelia trampled the man from behind.

“Did you forget we need momentum?” She shouted as their lines regrouped.

It is easier said than done, Eadwig thought as they pushed on through the camp regrouping with their line of pike and archers. As they rode up upon them, he saw the damage that had been done to them. Their shields were peppered with broken arrows and at least three of the pikes had been snapped in half and were being used as long clubs to harass any that came upon their line. Aethelmund almost smiled, but pain blossomed from his left shoulder. Without realizing it, he was fingering an arrow that was protruding from the gap between his spaulder and brigandine.

“Damn it!” He grimaced as he urged his horse back behind the pike. Sheathing his sword he reached back and crudely snapped the arrow shaft, feeling a warm trickle of blood washing over his armor. Holding his shield arm steady, Eadwig looked back toward the burning chair noticing Sir Garrett and Dame Sult and the others from Captain Danballion’s party doing their damage. Perhaps it will be time to end my service soon., He thought sadly for a moment, before preparing another sortie.

@harinezumikouken

Marianne Delacroix

Having prior separated themselves from Sir Eadwig's main force to move into position, her and the men she commanded lay in wait at the edge of the dense brush and vegetation of the forest. Looking on, watching and observing as the other forces were well into their work. Waiting for the moment for when they would begin their assault on the bandit camp. Keeping her expression as blank and stoic as possible, her grip tightened on the reins of her palfrey. Turning her head, her eyes took in the faces of the knights who had yet to lower their helmet visors. Looking each of the valiant men in the eyes and committing their faces to memory, with each giving her a respectful nod of the head or similar honorable gesture. Quietly sighing, she turned to face forward. Truth be told...

She was scared.

Scared of coming so close to Death's visage only to stare into the hollowed sockets of his eyes. Inhale the rancid stench of his breath and take it into her body. The scents of blood, viscera, and other human filth. She was scared of losing any of her men, though she hardly knew them as people they were still held dear to her heart. It was inevitable, she knew this. But, it didn't make it any more comforting or the burden easy to deal with. She was scared of getting hurt herself, terrified at the idea of possibly shedding her own blood and seeing it. Nervousness, anxiety, doubt, and similar emotions taunted her. Pulling at her heartstrings and testing her faith, to which she replied with by internally forcing them into a compact sphere to cast against the ground and stamp beneath her heel.

Now was no time for such feelings. Reminding herself of who she was, of the noble blood that coursed through her veins, and of her whole reason for being, she steeled her resolve. Her jaw setting as her eyebrows came together, her eyes burned fiercely with an intense passion as she decided that action would suffice to silence her doubts. Mustering her confidence and inner strength, she projected her voice as best she can over the chaos taking place behind those palisades. Her voice coming out clear and firm.

"Men! With me!"
Raising her arm, she waved it forward and willed her palfrey to do the same.
As they moved together with pikemen at the front, Marianne thought to state the obvious and make her intentions known.
But, when she thought about it more it would be rather pointless. Sir Eadwig gave her experienced knights to command, they already knew what the plan was and what to do. They were merely allowing her the courtesy to issue the commands they already knew they would be following. So, instead she took after Sir Eadwig's simple commands as they neared the palisade wall.
"Ropes!"
As they were commanded, the five pikemen tossed their ropes onto the palisades and began to heave, slowly pulling them down.
"Ready bows!"
In near unison, her and her 12 cavalry readied their bows.
Marianne's eyes flitted from the pikemen and the sagging palisades.
"Draw!"
They all nocked their arrows. Any moment now and Marianne would be greeted to the full view of combat.
"Do not falter. Steady your hand. Steel your heart." Marianne told herself.
She could hear the wood and string of her bow straining, creaking audibly as she held her draw form.
Down the palisades came, the wood crashing to the ground with little fanfare. The sight that lay beyond nearly stole her breath from her, but she fought to keep control of herself.
"Fire!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, letting her bowstring loose as her first arrow shot through the air and found its home in the neck of a shocked bandit. Unexpecting that the walls of their little world came down so suddenly all around them.

After her first shot, a volley of arrows followed behind it. Immediately clearing an uncounted score of bandits, dropping them instantly as their aim was true and found their intended targets with ease. There was some poetic beauty to it, Marianne would later find. Having felt the gentle brush of her arrow's fletching through her white gloved hands. "Maintain fire! Pikes! Advance and clear the entrance for our horses!" Marianne continued to shout with as much volume as she could summon, already nocking her next arrow shot. The experienced men she had at her side did as they were told, continually loosing arrow after arrow following her example. The pike advanced with relative ease, bashing aside bandits with their shields and executing them their pikes until they failed and drew their other weapons. Within seconds the path was clear.

Slinging her bow behind her, Marianne took the reins of her palfrey and broke forward as fast as the horse could manage. "Cavalry! With me! Follow along the perimeter to your right until we link with Sir Tiral's forces! Pikemen, continue after us to reinforce Sir Tiral's flank!" Leaping over the fallen walls, Marianne was thrust headlong into what felt as if it were the infernal belly of some demonic beast. Shaking her head, she shoved the scene out of her mind and refocused. "Cavalry! Continue to hound them with arrow fire! Do not allow any bandit forces to break through Sir Tiral's flank! Force them back to the center of the camp, but do not give chase to those who flee!" Allowing her horse to continue forward without her guidance, Marianne prepared her bow and nocked another arrow to fire. When..

"Dame Marianne!" One of her men shouted at her, desperation in his voice.
She turned toward the voice that called out to her only to turn back 'round in the opposite direction too little, too late.

She didn't know what had hit her. Possibly some crude blunt weapon? All she knew was that she had no time to even gasp before her world quite literally came crashing down on top of her. The wind was forced out of her lungs and a severe dull pain radiated from her stomach. Her back and head ached with a similar pain as she slowly opened her eyes to stare up at the darkening sky, sitting up to cough weakly. Her head pulsed painfully, vision swimming. She felt like vomiting but swallowed down the rising bile, reaching out for the reins of her horse when she realized she no longer sat on her horse. She had been dismounted, her palfrey nowhere to be seen. Just as she came to this realization, the culprit that had forced her off her steed threw himself on top of her to lock her into a grappling match.

Panting as she quickly broke out in a fearful sweat, she struggled against the strength of the larger man, essentially pinned by his size and weight. She began to pathetically whimper as she strained and fought, looking around desperately for someone. Anyone, to come aide her. To save her. But from all that she could see within the fires and bloodshed, was that all her men were embroiled in fierce battle with a group of bandits that had been able to somewhat organize. Unable to reach her in time as she faced Death in the eyes of this bandit atop her. A sinister dagger in his hand, begging to be sunk into her neck. Tears welling up in her eyes, she cried out. Pleading and begging that someone help. As she stared into the eyes of the bandit, she saw the crude and animalistic desire in the man's eyes. Wanting nothing more but to bleed her dry, to kill her. He was even grinning, frothing at the mouth as his spittle fell to Marianne's face. Horror overcame her, taking her.

This was it. Her very first mission and she would die here, just as quickly as any other knight.
"I'm going to die!"
She thought of her brothers.
"He's going to kill me!"
Her mother and father.
"This is my end!..."
She shut her eyes and half wanted to just embrace Death, still managing to keep the man at bay and from doing any serious harm to her yet.
"Goddess Reon, I'm sorry! Please, forgive me!"
Her strength slowly giving out, the bandit's dagger came ever closer to her neck.
"Captain Fanilly! Iron Roses!"
Panting hard, her lungs and muscles burned, still some fight left in her as the dagger's tip came within an inch of her carotid artery.
"You're going to die tonight! Sweet thing, you!"
The bandit snarled, his breath reeking of meats and alcohol raided from other innocents.

There was something in those words. When said aloud by the bandit after her life, it woke something within Marianne. Blinking, a moment of clarity passed over her. Was her death such a certainty at the hands of this meager foe? Was Marianne seriously going to just accept defeat so easily? The heiress to the throne of the proud Delacroix noble family? The 'lightning princess' that would join the Iron Roses, proud and confident? No. This was not her. But, this moment was what she needed to come to terms with herself. She had yet to let go of a part of herself that dragged her down and prevented her from becoming truly great. She was to change that, this very moment.

Finding strength, she gritted her teeth and growled. Her expression growing fierce and severe, she allowed herself to become enraged.
"No! This will NOT become my grave, my deathbed!" Losing herself in her rage, her mana became unstable and seeped from her body. Manifesting in vicious arcs of electricity crackling up and down her body, her long raven hair starting to levitate. The bandit was startled at the sudden sparks that lightly shocked him, and that was all Marianne needed. Recalling her training, she attacked his hold on his dagger and stole it away from him. Freeing her hands in the process, she crossed her fist across the bandit's face. The strike had hardly any strength behind it to do any real damage, the bandit returning the gesture in kind by striking Marianne across her own face.

She tasted blood, but ignored it and collected it to instead spit in the bandit's eyes. The bandit cried out in more annoyance than anything, but the distraction continued to work in Marianne's favor. Bucking her weight and hips up and forward, she threw the bandit off balance and with a few swift movements freed herself from under the man. Not stopping there, she reversed the situation and flipped the man onto his own back. Quickly straddling him, she took the dagger she stole from him and immediately buried it deep into his eye socket with a loud scream. Pushing with all her might as deeply as she could until she could feel something pop and the bandit lay still underneath her, dead. Arcs of electricity still sparked over her body, her hair still magically levitating and floating as she panted heavily. With a yank, she removed the bloodied dagger and stared down at her work just as her men came up to her.

"Dame Marianne! Are you alright?" A pikemen asked, concerned for her wellbeing as the rest of them surrounded her to form a protective circle.
Wordlessly, she cast aside the dagger and got to her feet.
They all looked to her, fending off the bandits that dared come close.
Drawing her sword, she shouted at them.
"What are you doing?! Continue with the mission! I'm fine, damn it!"
Looking to each other and then to see the fire that burned within Marianne, they understood.
Regrouping and reorganizing as quickly as they could, they prepared themselves.
With horse or not, Marianne would continue. Not nearly as fast as her palfrey, she broke off into a sprint towards Sir Tiral's flanks. Swiftly and gracefully dancing between charging bandits, near surgical sword swings cutting deeply enough into their necks to kill them. Her blade near invisible with the speed at which she thrust and swung it, save for a telltale flash of light reflected off of the metal. Deflecting telegraphed and amateur weapon attacks with the buckler on her left forearm to follow up with a beautiful riposte.

She carried on with her plan. After all she was a grown woman, no longer a child. A proud woman at that! Marianne Delacroix of the Iron Roses! Her pikemen followed close behind her though struggled to keep up. Her cavalry circling around them to continue their arrow assault. Not a soul would be allowed to infiltrate Sir Tiral's ranks. Not if the Lightning princess had anything to do about it.

For... for the Mini Captain?! What was... why...?

This wasn't the time to focus on such things, however. As the archers transitioned to watching for reinforcements and taking down any bandits that came too close, Fanilly felt her steel clash against another's, as the edge of her dagger locked up the blade of a bandit's sword from the result of a wild swing. She forced him back and swung her longsword up in response, slicing upwards through his body and briefly lodging her blade in his chest. He fell back with a gurgle. To take another's life had long been the greatest obstacle in her mind for her commandment of the Iron Roses. However...

She had surpassed such worries prior to truly taking her spot as captain, for better or worse. No-one deserved to suffer, but murderers and thieves with no remorse would be paid in death. That, at least, was no longer among the many concerns the young girl faced in the course of holding her position. Fanilly's eyes traveled to the shield-bearing Hundi for a moment. He raised an excellent point: The battle already seemed to be won. And yet... something seemed wrong. These were bandits who had slain soldiers of Thaln, those who had trained all their lives in combat. But these common criminals seemed utterly unprepared for such a battle.

"Do NOT let your guard down!" she called to her knights. She did not what them believing they could simply focus on nothing more then slaying the bandits. There could have been some kind of trick, a second group, something... even as his throne burned, the Bandit King did not appear.

"You may be right, Sir Ian," Fanilly said, addressing the shield-bearing hundi, "The bandits seem easily defeated. But..."

She hesitated. A soldier, one of the men who had accompanied them in the charge along, stood nearby, having just struck another of the bandits' number dead. However, the bandits seemed largely preoccupied with other areas. Indeed, it seemed as if Fanilly's initial shielded charge had pushed them directly into the path of the other three groups. At this rate, the entire camp would be cleared of bandits swiftly and without loss. "... Something seems wro-"

As she scanned the battlefield for a point of entry, she spotted a man in leather armor, emerging from the forest. He swung up... a crossbow? No crossbowmen had previously been sighted among the bandits! He raised his weapon, took aim, and fired, a bolt whizzing through the air to strike... Fanilly didn't see. Julianna? Marianne? Sult perhaps? She had only seen enough to know it was one of the other girls. She was already in mid-stride. Perhaps he had fired once already, but she could stop him from shooting again! Perhaps it would have been better to have Ian go first. But he was wielding a much heavier set of equipment. Fanilly's armor was made from an alloy purchased from the northern dwarves long ago, a suit passed down through the Iron Roses, known for being almost unnaturally light.

And so, in that moment, Fanilly acted without thought. She had to protect her knights. She had to keep them safe. Lowering her shoulder, she slammed it into the man's side. He let out a surprised wheeze and stumbled, and she swung her sword up to knock the crossbow away in the same breath. The bandit drew a shortsword and lashed out, catching himself as he did. Fanilly raised her sword to deflect the blow, but he swiftly followed with another. The blonde locked his blade in her parrying dagger and struck out, impaling the man through his chest. He let out a wheeze, and as she drew back he fell with a thud.

"Haah... haah..." Fanilly looked back. She'd covered the distance between herself and the others, and the crossbow man, quite quickly. Only now did she realize just how far away he had been.

Only now did she realize that everything had become warmer. Hearing a violent creaking sound, Fanilly looked up in time to see an enormous tree in flames. It tilted, and fell towards the battlefield.

"Look out!" Fanilly cried. Taking a step forward she made a bid to run back to the battle, but everything happened quite a bit too quickly for her to make it. The burning tree crashed down ahead of her, cutting her off from her nights.

Inwardly she cursed herself. How had she been so foolish as to charge for that crossbowman, away from the battle?! It had been a kneejerk reaction. Her faith in herself plummeted. But she didn't have time for that. She had to return to battle, to-

There was a clattering sound beside her.

Fanilly turned. It was the body of one... one of her soldiers. Half of it. Her eyes widened as they traveled over the bloodied upper half of a man, cleaved apart much like the bandit that Tyaethe had slain earlier.

"At last, the Iron Roses," spoke a deep voice. Fanilly looked up.

He was a huge man, taller then anyone Fanilly had ever seen before. He worse simple pants and was barechested, his face remarkably cleanshaven. He looked to be in his thirties, perhaps, with dark hair and a truly enormous sword resting on one shoulder, stained in blood.

"It really is true," he said, with an amused smile, "They did get a little girl for their captain. Heh."

He swung the blade off his shoulder.

Fanilly raised her sword and parrying dagger. But the sheer size of that sword... deflecting it seemed unlikely! Was this...?!

"Allow me to properly introduce myself," the man said, smile widening into a grin, "I'm no simple bandit king, even if that human garbage saw me that way."

He cocked his head to one side.

"Knight's Doom Jeremiah is my name," he said, "The Three Hundred Man-slayer!"

He charged.

Garrett heard the whistle from his left side and it triggered something in the animal portion of his brain. That sound was so familiar and so lethal. There was zero room for thought; with lightning speed Sir Garrett wiped around grabbing Sult around her shoulders and forced her down. The searing pain shot from just above his bicep on his left arm to his brain. Looking at the shield it took way too long for it to register that the upper left segment of the metal had been punched clean through by the bolt. Traveling further down his arm he could see the mangled remains of the mail between the joints of the armor and the punctured leather where the quarrel had ripped right through it.

The scent of his own blood floated through the air as it dripped down over Sult’s armor from the gaping furrow in his arm. The shield was mangled and he couldn’t hold it with his left arm now. It seemed like an eternity as he watched the drops of blood spatter his armor and run over the pauldrons of Sult’s armor. The sight was rather fascinating and it held his gaze.

The boar's blood pooled in the runes carved into the barrow stones, it was there to appease the dead. Too many times had they waded into the halls of the ancient dead to kill the reanimated remains of their ancestors returned after a lack of sacrifice to silence them. Dipping his hand in it he put the fingers to his nose and slowly inhaled. It was a strange feeling knowing you had killed something with your own hands. Truly strange.

With a shake of his head the hill clan Knight snapped back to the present. This is how it is then. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fanilly move like lightning out of his field of vision. Oh please don’t be doing something stupid. Standing up but still keeping himself in between Sult and the direction of the bolt he tracked Fanilly’s movement and what he saw made his heart sink as the massive man stepped out of the woods. No. No. NO. NO! YOU FUCKING DON’T. Slamming his maul into the ground Sir Garrett all but roared at the searing pain that shot up his left arm. This is what you get for not taking the doctor’s remedy. No time for regrets now. With his right hand Garrett ripped the straps of the shield off letting the ruined piece of metal drop to the ground. Grimacing he reached up and unslung the bastard sword. Hold on. I’m coming, please don’t make me sacrifice another coming to save you. If he left Sult and there was another crossbowman... If he wasn’t close enough and Tiral’s flank turned...if he wasn’t there and Sir Aethelmund was cut off and surrounded...if they closed to melee with the hundi knight? Where was Marianne? Standing, the hill knight shook his sword and the sheath was unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Forcing his left arm to move he gripped the hand-and-a-half sword he looked up at the sunlight filtering down through the trees. Don’t make me choose.

In a swift vicious movement Sir Garrett ripped his helmet off. It was impeding his peripheral vision and with the massive bastard sword unsheathed he needed to be able to hit everything. Shrugging his shoulders up Valdoth Thorn let loose a savage war cry that rippled through the camp. The Hill Clan war cry was a vicious animalistic thing that clawed up from the depths of Sir Garrett’s chest. It transformed the good natured man into a killing machine as he fought with reckless abandon. Cutting down anything that got in his way he set his shoulders and made a mad dash towards the captain; killing all foolish enough to stand in his path.

“Captain! Run!” Sir Garrett made one last mighty surge up the hill towards Fanilly. As he approached the tree Sir Garrett slashed twice carving huge chunks of burning bark away from the tree trunk. Like a demon breaching the gates of hell he put one foot on the burning tree and leapt to the top of the tree with a tremendous heave. Garrett's heavy boots ground into the cinders before he jumped from the top of the large tree. Bounding down the rest of the way with a roar like thunder. Surging up the hill he attempted to intercepted the giant who Fanilly was locked in combat with. “Get the Hell out of here. Get some fucking archers and turn this bastard into a god damn pincushion!”

@AtomicNut@VitaVitaAR

Julianna was searching as hard as she could for their enemy but he was nowhere to be seen. She had only run into the occasional bandit so far and frankly there was wasn't much of worth in any of the structures, mostly tents, for the bandits to fight for. This was all highly suspicious.

"Where is he? If he is not here then..." Julianna's blood ran cold as the implications started to settle in. The main opponent was not in the camp which could only mean one thing, he was never there to begin with.

Her thoughts turned out to be correct as a gigantic crashing sound could be heard from outside the camp. Julianna turned around toward the source wide eyed, a large, burning tree that crackled from the flames had fallen on the ground and trapped on the other side was Fanilly. Standing in front of the small captain was a very large man with an equally enormous sword. There was no question who this was.

"Arg! This wouldn't be happening if I was in command!" Julianna could not help but lament; however, inside she was downright terrified at what could happen. The battle would no doubt be won no matter what but if they lost their captain in exchange it would be a great blemish on their order. On the other hand, having the captain so miserably fail and fall in battle would but her noble faction backings ahead, but that was not how she wanted to become captain, she wanted to earn that position, not just fill in an empty space.

Julianna thankfully was not too far from her location due to where the main tents were located but she wasn't exactly close either. Julianna gritted he teeth and started to charge but it was a bit of distance to cross. She saw Sir Garett charge up before her as he abandoned all defense to reach her in time, but he was also wounded by a crossbow shot, he would lose too much blood and soon be unable to fight most likely.

The goddess Mayron was looking down at her as she rushed forward, trying to avoid the burning tree to get to the captain as she sensed something coming toward her. Normally one would hold their shield flat to stop any arrows but this was a crossbow shot and required a bit more finesse. Julianna tilted her shield to give it an angle so when the bolt hit, it bounced off the shield instead of piercing through.

There was another crossbow user aside from the one Fanilly had taken out. There was little chance of her reaching the assailant in time before the next bolt was fired even if crossbows took a while to reload. Julianna could only keep going while holding her shield at an angle, unfortunately this tactic left her somewhat exposed to a good shot. All she could do was keep going and hope for the best.

Thankfully a skilled shot downed the crossbowman before they could unload another bolt. She thanked whoever that archer was in her mind and continued forward, getting closer and closer by the second.

Sult frowned, upon hearing the comments of a knight... Gillian? Who said that it was a plan? It was an idea to provoke him. Stupid uppity military types. She cursed under her breath, but managed to utter a "Thank you" to both him and Garret, dedicating a beaming smile to the latter. The barbarian knight had seen through his intentions, proving once that education and clever thinking were two different things.

She had barely any time as she could feel the weight of her blunder -sir Garret pushing her down- as she impacted the ground, letting a surprised yelp as she did so. Crimson. Blood from Sir Garret stained her armor. Crossbowmen.

Oh great, so Sparky was right. I'm not going to live this one down, am I? She bitterly thought, as she eyed the ever changing battlefield. Come on, Sult, this isn't like you. You don't blunder this much. She added as aftertought, her fingers stained crimson with Garret's blood.

Which she licked. A nasty glint in the corner of her eyes appeared. Things were devolving quickly, so she made haste. She got up, and witnessed Garret roar and charge. Wounded beast, much? At least he is clearing a path. It was a sensible option, as she didn't skip a beat in tailing him, her shield and eyes at the ready for more crossbow bolts. One of such penetrated the shield like swiss cheese, but failed to do so through the armor, as it bounced after losing too much of its speed.

I'm your shield, Garret. She added as she pushed herself out of breath, following the barbarian in the mad dash, covering his back while he was wide open. Until it came to an halt, her feet actually slipping slighty upon seeing how the barbarian had leapt like a mad stallion.

Can't clear that jump myself. She looked at the burning tree, biting her lip in the process. She looked at each side of the massive trunk. Running to the sides could take too much time. Fetching something to make a makeshift ramp could potentially take much aswell. She eyed her shield.

Maybe... She skipped a couple of steps, as she began to run. And then she jumped, directly into the log, but with one important difference. She went shield first, weighting herself so she would spin and polevault, sliding across the trunk on her shield.

And falling flat on her face on the other side.

Looked a better idea when I thought it. The taste of dirt invaded her mouth, as her face faceplanted on the battlefield. And she could smell something could be burning. It didn't take too long for her to realize. Her own prized hair was aflame!

"GAH HOT HOT PTEW PTEW" She added, flailing to douse the incipient flames in her hair, and struggling to her feet, scrambling for her sword and shield. Just hang in there, captain. I'm almost there!

Anton ran into the camp on the heels of the knights and aided their forceful push into the center of the camp. Those that were struck with an arrow or crossbow were quickly hauled aside, the projectiles yanked from their wounds, and a bit of healing salve was applied via syringe. Small wounds healed with little effort and saved valuable time. No sooner had one man been aided than seemingly another fell to the ground. But his place was to aid the fallen and aid them he did. The push was solid and the momentum seemingly unstoppable until the group had hit the 'king' chair. Anton had stayed behind momentarily to give what aid he could, trusting the group to handle one man and whatever resistance still stood in the orders way.

Teller gave a knight who had taken a bad cut to the chest a sedative and deftly sewed the wound shut amidst the chaos, his hands slippery with blood but more than capable of finishing the task one stitch at a time. Satisfied, another soldier helped the wounded to escape the confines of the seemingly burning bandit base. It was only when Teller got to the front lines of the fight that he realized something was amiss.
An armored knight in solid plate had been cleaved in half like paper in front of the captain. The beast of a king, Jeremiah, unphased by the numbers against him. A cold shudder spread down the doctors spine but he stubbornly refused to let it go. He was needed.

Anton rushed up the hill as fast as his legs could carry him to get a better vantage. The beastly man, Sir Garett, was trying to force the behemoth of an opponent back while another fighter extracted Fanilly. There wasn't much time and Teller was running out of options. Adrenaline would keep Garett in the fight for so long and there was no time to administer any kind of aid. The doctors sword and likely his spine would be cleaved well in half if he got close.
Last ditch effort.
Anton reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarrel with the numbing solution and loaded it into his hand crossbow. It was a risk, but it was one he needed to take for the good of the order. Those who felt no pain fought on well after their bodies could not continue. Teller aimed his crossbow and fired, the bolt sailing true and straight to collide with the back of his arm in a shallow hit. The crossbow was not effective at piercing, even at close distance, but at this point it just needed to apply its package. If Garett survived and remembered, Teller would apologize to him.

With a bit of luck, and the luck of the gods, the barbarian would only notice his fury and focus beyond his pain. The numbness of the sedation would not slow him down or cause a drowsy effect, as his toxin would.

There came a point where Tyaethe's charge was brought to a grinding halt, though not because of the quality of her opposition. Only noticing their startled eyes gave her enough warning to move out of the way before the immense trunk came down to her left, flattening unfortunate bandits as well as cutting the camp in two. The knight started moving forward and looked around for the other flanks, reckoning that there couldn't be that much ground between her and them.

The captain wasn't with hers. It was unthinkable that she had stayed back and allowed the others to fight after that display earlier, so where could she be? It wasn't a hard question to answer for the paladin: once again, she had run ahead of the other knights. This could only mean that she was on the other side of the flaming tree trunk... cut off from Tiral's detachment by the bandits still on that side of the camp.

She wasn't losing another captain so quickly. Not now and, after this, Fanilly wasn't going to go into a fight without her again. The captain had no luck at all.

This left the no small matter of being separated by quite a sprint and a burning tree barely thinner than she was tall. Going around would take too long and jumping it was out of the question, unless... quickly, the undead dropped her shield--she could come back for it later--and rammed her sword halfway up the log. Not caring about the danger, Tyaethe used the sword as a stepping stone to actually stand amidst the flames.

She wasted more precious seconds getting the sword out again and then ran. There weren't going to be any obstacles on a log this size that she couldn't see coming and the chance of being set on fire and burning to death was remarkably low. Oh, the metal would start to sear soon and the padding beneath would inevitably catch alight if she took too long (as would today's red scarf) but pain never stopped her. Hopefully she wouldn't be too late.

One sentence caught her attention as she ran towards the centre of the fighting and as she came to a halt amidst the flames, despite the very real risk that the captain was in--or worse, dead, Tyaethe couldn't help but be actually excited. "Three hundred men? For an amateur, this might be fun."

(Timing-wise, this ends somewhere in Vita's next post. Or at the end of it.)

No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy. That said, with good discipline and order one could maneuver their forces so that chaos was never the end result of a clash. Today though? Today was a clusterfuck of epic proportions, whether because they underestimated their enemy, or did not plan their assault properly. Likely, it was a combination of both.

When the great tree fell, and Tyaethe wasted no time in abandoning her position to help the captain, it left Iolyn in a terrible position. The captain was in danger. Bandits, while disorganized and weak, were still in front of their position, and there were now crossbowmen emerging from behind. Fanilly's life was the most important one on the battlefield, but Iolyn quickly gave up on going to assist her. If this moon-selection ritual the knights participated in had any merit she would live, especially with the undead juggernaut's help. If it didn't...

"Shields cover the rear! Block those crossbows! Sir Bors, Sir Gawain, sweep those bandits away! With haste!"

The two knights would be up against more than half a dozen bandits, but with their huge size and greatswords Iolyn hoped that the men would break rather than staying to fight with their superior numbers. The shield-bearing knights barely had time to get into position before the first volley of bolts slammed into them, eliciting shouts of pain as some met their marks. Yanking free his crossbow, Iolyn quickly took aim for the one who looked to be shouting orders and fired the bolt meant for Bandit King Jeremiah. Fanilly's life was important, but he needed to protect his men too. In the end, he chose them.

"Charge!"

In one motion, he and his men swept forward towards the crossbows, trying to close the distance before they reloaded. Iolyn threw aside his crossbow and let out a battlecry as he surged forward, burying his sword to the hilt as he crashed into one of the ambushers, quickly yanking the blade free as the man crashed to the ground in shock. As one of the crossbowmen drew his sword Iolyn slashed out, severing the man's arm at the elbow, and then quickly felling him with a follow up strike. Around him, his men were finding similar results, and the ambushers began to break, fleeing into the woods. Iolyn let them.

Turning around, he noticed Bors and Gawain hard pressed, their charge failed. With a curse, he wheeled about again and surged forward once more, leaving his men to finish cleaning up the stragglers and holding the flanks. Who knew just how many more would emerge from the woods? There was never enough time to think in a melee. With another shout he drove his sword into a cunning bandit who had maneuvered his was around Sir Gawain and took up a position between the two knights, panting heavily. Around him, more bandits were starting to file in and form a ring around them, no longer having to worry about the undead behemoth or the main body of troops from their flank.

The position was untenable.

"There's too many, break through!"

The three men charged.

Tiral sucked in a deep breath as he finished recovering enough; at least, for the moment. In retrospect, using such a spell over that sort of distance was a bit... Stupid... But at the same time, his men had managed to break through the barricades without a hitch, so all was well in the end. Every second they would have spent breaking it down was another that the enemy could have used to prepare, and that wouldn't have been... Well, optimal, to say the least.

Granted, they probably would've died all the same, but wounds took time to heal, and that would only have reduced their strength in combat in the future. So clearly, the most optimal option was that.
...
Right?

Before he could go analyze his actions any further, Tiral barely noticed an arrow whizzing by his face, barely missing his cheek and instead bouncing off one of the other knights' breastplates. Right, this was a battlefield; any time for such though could be put off until after the fight was over. Drawing his shortword, the mage noticed that a group of knights was already on their way to reinforce his flank, led by... Was that Dame Marianne? If he had recalled correctly, she had been with Sir Aethelmund...

Oh, so the reinforcements would have come whether he had blown his horn or not. A slightly bitter smile flashed across Tiral's face before he began to cut through a few of the bandits on his own. It wasn't as if their forces needed to be united, but there was no point in not regrouping while they had a chance.

"You'll pay for this!"

Tiral glared as he turned to his right, noticing a bandit that had been lurking in the bushes was now attempting to attack him. The mage quickly jumped backwards before the bandit swung again. With a wary glance around to confirm that there were no others attempting to attack him, Tiral ducked under the next stab the man attempted and, with a quick chant, held the extended arm in an icy cold grip.

"Stay here a while. Freeze!"

The bandit's arm was immediately coated with a layer of ice, which quickly traveled down to encapsulate the rest of his body down to his feet. With that problem solved, Tiral moved ahead, a few of the knights behind him grouping up as they noticed his direction.

At least, until the flaming tree was felled on the other side of the camp.

Tiral noticed a few of the more notable knights quickly rushing over in a panic, but given the distance from his current location and the fact that they still had a job to complete, he decided not to follow suit. If too many abandoned their jobs, after all, the mission might end in failure. There were other ways they could fail, true, but even so--!

"Dame Marianne!" he cried out, barely audible over the din of combat until he drew closer. "We should go and make sure no reinforcements interfere with the knights over near that fire! It would do no good to have anything in the way of whatever it is they're attempting to handle!"