Aedyt, Heiress to the Throne of Ceril

Getting trussed up and carried out of her own home (exile though it may be) was definitely not how Aedyt imagined her day would be going when it started.

The day began as boring as any other, and she had dressed casually, not really expecting any visitors. Aedyt wandered the yards for a bit before making her way into the kitchens and talking to the servants for a while, helping them with their cooking a bit to assuage the boredom. She heard one of them talking about news from a friend with another friend who knew someone who worked in the castle (the usual rumors, in other words) that Lord Arad was planning to claim the throne for himself relatively soon – and was certainly already doing a lot of the day-to-day things a king would do. Another brought up a rather interesting topic – apparently there was an entirely orcish mercenary squad in Ceril. Nat mart cord ish, or something like that. They all talked about who could possibly trust that sort of thing, and what kind of person would hire orcs to do their bidding.

Certainly not good ones.

She then moved on to reading, this time some histories on the relationship between the dwarvish kingdom and Ceril, trying to play catch-up on international politics - something about which her mother knew nothing, and her father never bothered to tell her (not that he ever did much talking to her). It was around this time, though, that things started to go to shit. Multiple wall guards dead from arrows – almost all of them, actually. Already. Of the already thin numbers. Immediately, they moved to barricade her, escape seeming unlikely, especially since these looked to be orcish tribal arrows. You don’t out-run an orc.

But. Buuuut... she was able to get a good look outside her window before shuttering it, and then securing it more firmly with the help of a guard, and she definitely saw multiple... humans? And she knew. She knew immediately. This was Arad’s doing. That fucking double crossing little bitch of a man, to shameful to challenge her rightful claim to her face.

She would die here. So she would fight to the last, and egg her troops on. Mustering all the powers within her, she began shouting words of encouragement, egging them on “for the glory of your Kingdom and its princess!,” her words deeply honeyed with the magic innate to her. It definitely seemed to be working pretty decently, but they were still falling: magical morale boosts only get you so far. So she worked further on the barricade, shoving a dresser towards it, and moving her bed in its general direction, before a rather painful pop in her shoulder told her that was probably a poor idea. too fucking heavy, she thought, frantically stripping the barricades she had made on the window, and preparing a final run for it.

The screams were different for a moment though, and there was another chant reverberating through the halls - "VRAS! VRAS! VRAS!" it sounded...

It sounded like orcs.

Aedyt was momentarily confused, and stopped to think for a moment. humans... attacking us with orcish weapons... ambush type scenario, almost certainly Lord Arad’s bidding...
Almost certain, yes. Don’t believe any other family knows exactly where I am. Other group enters... clearly orcish... think that’s their language, actua... THIS IS A SET UP FOR THEM she realizes, showing a bit of excitement at the prospect, stopping her pacing. It had gotten quite. Eerily quiet, for just a moment.
Then, it got very loud, and a different, stronger pounding came at the door. Too late to escape – and if she did, to where? If these orcs were smart enough to not kill her immediately (and she was potentially willing to give them that much credit), they might be useful. But this was not going to be pleasant. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t avoid pissing herself a bit when the orcs broke through the door.

One traumatic life experience on the back of a giant war-dog later, and another giant, ugly beast (slightly less green than the others, it seemed), was demanding from her a story. She was mildly confused which story he wanted, but assumed it was the one about the attack, so she gave him what he knew, name dropping Lord Arad a few more times than was necessary to try and get the hint across – and seeing a small glint of surprise when she did so. knew it, she thought; and this information gave her what she needed to reply with relative confidence to the inevitable demand of "How much is your life worth to us? How much is Lord Arad's death worth to you?"

“As you are aware, I am a princess, and the rightful heiress to the throne of Ceril.” She observed, pouring magic into her words – better safe than sorry, even if she was already pretty exhausted. “I am indeed worth quite a lot, and will happily triple whatever offer you were given from Arad – and unlike that slime, I. keep. my. promises.

You should also consider,” she pondered after a short pause, “That if you choose to murder me anyway, Arad will invest all of his resources into hunting you down – It’s a simple way to unite the kingdom around a common enemy, and avoid much of the squabbles over the throne that would otherwise occur. Arad has forced both of our hands: the only way you and I both live through this is by working together – you get me on that throne, and you will not only get your reward, but you will be the heroic defenders of my rightful claim, and finally be treated with respect.”

Boom Boom heard music in his head.

Not the pounding of war drums, or the guttural tribal chants that all Tuskers considered music. No, this was unlike anything anyone else in The Company had ever heard. The music Boom Boom heard was brisk and upbeat and it stirred emotions in him that he never knew he had. It was the music of a distant land and of a distant time. He'd heard it years ago during his gladiator days. A full orchestra of men had preformed as a prelude to their fights.

Even though he was in shackles below the stadium, the orcs could hear the music coming through from above and several had been moved to tears by it. The orchestra was finishing up just as Boom Boom and his brothers were led into the arena. He caught a glimpse of the man they called the conductor, so captivated as he commanded the orchestra like a war chieftain commanded his men in the throes of battle. Later that night, Boom Boom was struck by the thought that Bunnies could make such beautiful music one moment, and then cheer on Tuskers as they slaughtered each other for their enjoyment.

The music played in his head as the battle started. Along with the rest of the sappers and support, he was in the back. He followed the rhythm of the music as he prepared his concoctions. Six large clay bowls rested on the ground with wooden stirrers resting in each one. Boom Boom stirred and added in ingredients as he went down the line. It was a combination of resin and alchemical fluids that would burn twice as hot and twice as fast as ordinary flame and be twice as volatile. Junior members of the sappers took each bowl away as Boom Boom finished it and moved on to the next one. The junior sappers would then shape the resin into balls and place them in catapults with a flame nearby ready to light it up.

Like that conductor so long ago, Boom Boom had the sappers running about on his orders and preparing the catapults and resin. The music in his head was building to a crescendo, the airy uptempo or strings haven gave way to the pounding repercussions and blaring horns as the climax of his piece approached. At Radush's signal, Boom Boom and the sappers would unleash a fiery overture.

(Collab w/ @DJAtomika @Samdragonx and HeySeuss)

Some bunnies were very kind. They would stand still or wait to be sacrificed. Tendun always enjoyed making a few changes to the usual method of sacrifice. The report that more fighting was to ensue left the full blooded orc with an unspoken uncertainty. To ensure himself victorious and with enough bloodlust for battle, cruel actions had to be taken. And what’s more cruel than executing those wounded that had opposed them just a little while ago? “Preferably in the most bloody of ways, of course.” The wounded were lined up. Some standing. Some already in position to be picked up. “Flaggy, you want some extra bunny bits to put on that spikey flag of yours?” He raised his sword and began breathing heavier.

Some of the bunnies yelled a bit. In his enduring enjoyment of making the room a bloody mess and gathering a pile of bones, Tendun had disregarded his surroundings. “What? Where is everyone?” The drums had begun resounding. Storming out the door with a skull in one hand and a tasty bit of bunny liver in the other, Tendun realized he messed up and begun running wildly while making up excuses to get an extra punishment for this.

“Save some skulls for me, Tendun. I’ll make sure our Pikes have some good trophies displayed on their shields after this battle’s done.”

Karrush planted her standard in the dirt and dusted off her chest armour. Her sword was planted in the dirt as well, and she pulled it from its place and swung it a few times to get rid of the filth. The first engagement had been rather filthy but her pike line had stood firm under her guidance. Shields up and pikes out, the filthy bunnies had pounded against their line and been filled full of holes as a result. The ensuing carnage left her wanting more, but the bunnies had retreated, pushing the front line out of the fort. She’d taken a moment with the rest of the front line Pikes, letting them get their shit sorted while she re-sharpened her blade. Now the order was for her line to advance, and the standard bearer belonged at the front, flag as high as their spirits.

Tendun turned his attention to the battlefield. “Stuff is about to get ugly. Better not miss this!” His excitement exceeded his ability to control himself. Time started to pass, slowly. The adrenaline surged through his veins with every step. His heart beats speeding up, his environment looking like ice as he moved to the front. Sound of the drums aroused the memories of previous bloodshed: a day in the hunt.

Winds of the east pressed a cold chill against his back. Why did they need to go hunting to seal a business contract. Clearly this was the work of someone who did not care for the better ethics of the job. But getting his blood would be easy, as it would just require an accident. A sharply edged accident. A bow in his hand, he could not handle. Or at least better never use again. Wouldn’t want someone to find out what he’d do. “This bunny is going down.” An old man. His beard well shaven. Short hair, but a brittle posture. He would probably have a load of wealth stashed somewhere from his mercenary days. To bad the bunny showed its ugly head too soon. It would have prolonged Tendun’s ability to reminisce about the past.

There they were, puny bunny heads. “Let’s get ugly!!!” The pace of the drums hastened. Slowly drawing his sword, Tendun remembered to switch weapons as some of these bunnies did wear actual armor. Bringing forth his falchion, he looked at his fellow tuskers. “Well? What are you all waiting for?!“ He rose his sword. “Get ready to chop some bunnies!” The beating of his armor was in tune with the drums and made the other tuskers surrounding him yell loudly. “Vras! Vras! Vras!” Some of them broke formation slightly. The taunting and terrifying looks of orcs happy for a bloodbath were very intimidating (to a bunny). With the large Tendun growling and roaring at the front line, most others behind him felt the need to join in the savage behaviour.

Koloch, by contrast, readied himself in resolve. He advanced in his heavy armor, with its slopes and angles for deflecting arrows, a blood-red, but black-helmeted, specter a gallery of gargoyle and gorgon faces on pauldrons and greaves and breastplate snarling at the enemy. “KEEP THE PACE WITH THE DRUMS!” and his bellow carried across the lines, directed at the pikes that knew the Drillmaster well enough. He carried his halberd and had the sword swinging at his hip, ready as a backup should the first weapon break or be lost.

Karrush banged her sword against her shield and roared, loud and proud. She raised her flag up high and pointed at it with her blade.

“See this, runts? This here’s the symbol of our Company! We fight for our honour! Glory in combat! Let the fields run red with furball blood! Vras! VRAS! FOR THE COMPANY!”

“Vraaaaaaas!” The group of wild orcs following Tenduns example charged forward meeting the enemy head on. In the corner of his eye there wasn’t a flag. Did he in his excitement mess up again?

The flag wasn’t behind him. It was ahead of him. Karrush had already charged forward, leading the Pikes onwards to meet their foe. Her roar, the loudest amongst the front line tuskers, rose above the cacophony as she met the onrush of fur and steel with her own, smashing into the fleshy pink bunny front line with shield extended and sword already stabbing into their ranks. Her blade sang in the midst of combat, stabbing and rending flesh as she snarled at the humans ahead of her.

The tuskers behind her were just as eager to enter combat, and the line of shields and long pikes crashed straight into the human offensive, drawing blood and pushing their line back in their fury. With blade in hand, Karrush roared and pushed the tuskers along, slashing and stabbing at the pinkies ahead of her while her line pushed forward.

Koloch stayed alongside the pikes, at the far right where there was no shield to cover his flank, taking the position of maximum danger in this formation, for which the Tusker to his left, usually the rightmost one, was grateful. He came with the pikes at a steady, relentless pace; some were down, others were at angles and the ones at back were up, circling in the air to catch missiles if they could.

The pikes had small shields that allowed them to grasp the pikes fully in two hands. The blades were nearby and Tendun and Karrush were charging them, but the Pikes formation was a relentless but steady beast of many quills, driving the enemy while they were already engaged, or engaging them so others could engage. And as those enemies became skewered, the next orc up took the place of the tusker trying to pull the pike out of the guts of the enemy, and the formation rolled on, though they were becoming bogged down in the mud, which led to warleaders to shout to make the tuskers keep their form. Some had to be picked up, or pulled out of the muck when they slipped.

They were drilled for this disciplined relentlessness -- this sort of fighting was only adopted by a few orcish tribes, and it was foreign to most, but it was the basis of all discipline in the company. He chanted along side as he dismantled the enemies that tried to exploit the seam and take a flank. He was not alone, there were some of the other Blades working alongside him, doing the butcher’s work to keep the enemy from trying to get around them. But it was extra work with so much mud...Koloch didn’t quite understand it. The mud was everywhere and he was finding himself knee deep, but there was no rain.

The spikes rained down on the enemies behind, starting a duel with their archers and the blades secured flanks, but the pikes were the pivot of the entire battle.

Not only did there appear a skyline of flaming arrows, but also all of the bunnies charged towards the tuskers. After the arrows had landed, their number of casualties seemed to be less than ours, though more were killed by their own friendly fire than the amount of tuskers that charged forward.

Their numbers seen clearly, the tuskers became a tad more excited than they already were. Fighting in all directions, most of the first tuskers started to shout with every human that fell. The tuskers still hidden in the darkness of what was the main line, were surprised the bunny archers did not try to to aim higher. It seemed like they were blinded somehow.

When some of the orcs got gravely injured, Tendun charged back to the main line. Messing up like this on a first try with well-armed tuskers wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t charge in so recklessly.

The few orcs that died in the fighting weren’t worthwhile, unless the enemy thought this was the full force. With the mainline now out for revenge their savagery would triple. Exactly the way Tendun liked it. Knowing the enemy's plan, giving them false hope and then stripping it away with every exploding bunny.

The bunnies left the wounded tuskers on the floor and chased Tendun as best they could. A signal fire might be lit, but that would attract the other bunnies. So there was only one thing left to do.. Raise a rally banner amidst the bunny army. The banner being on a spiky stick really made Karrush job easy and if she stuck the landing, would allow the fastest of tuskers to maybe catch a few commanders.

After all, charging into battle and chasing a captain or lieutenant with a blade strong enough to smash a horse's’ skull was really Tendun’s specialty.

Koloch’s method against the bunnies was essentially technique, not breaking the frame of mind he was in as discipline kept him in the fight and his furnace burned. But in the midst of the killing, he realized that some of these bunnies were bigger and fiercer than the others, dressed in furs and painted, and there were others behind them, coming. He could see well in the dark and count their numbers and location, so he shouted back, in Orcish, “TELL THE SPIKES TO TARGET FURTHER RIGHT AND TO THE REAR, THE BIGGER, LESS ARMORED BUNNIES ARE THERE. BREAK THEM! STOP THEM FROM OUTFLANKING US!” But the mud was still rising, and it was getting deeper and harder for the Tuskers to make way in it, while the bunnies were suspiciously dry and above water...

Radush Eye-Drinker tended to sit during a battle. Unusual for an Orc Warlord, he set his one baleful eye over the formations and watches the enemy as they moved. Occasionally, he had the young orcs in training, as 'pages' such as the concept existed among orcs, as the next generation of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi’s recruits, signal with flags or torches to this or that company commander. He had warg-mounted members of the Chosen, veterans, in reserve to stiffen the fight if necessary, and to take advantage of the breaches. These were some of the oldest, most savage and scarred Tuskers in the company, along with the notably and unusually skilled. They were part of his bag of tricks. So were the catapults, the sappers, the campers in their train, highly organized and able to defend themselves to some extent. Not all were there -- some of the most valuable were stiffening the lines, others were hunting the enemy's most potent weapons. But many were here, waiting to be unleashed.

Massive and savagely regal, he sat with his axe across his lap and watched the battle, occasionally indicating changes in orders. He even had a bench for the purpose. His reputation as a warlord secure with his Tuskers, he could do that. The tuskersknew Radush as their prophet, their burning bush. The bunnies didn’t know, however, because few bunnies have ever survived a fight against the old Eye-Drinker.

But there were concerns. The mud was churning and making it difficult for the Tuskers. Not stopping them, but slowing the advance, making it hard to move the units. The conditions were hindering the fight; were it not for the mud already...

"So, heiress Aedyt," the old warlord spoke conversationally, accented Trade Chant, "you speak of triple the price, but Lord Arad's price was not in gold. What then, would you say to that? And perhaps you are a bunny that keeps her word, but any contract we ink will be a pact before the gods. You have until the witch comes back to negotiate, then we shall see if you will swear the oaths she would weave," he said this with a feral grin, as if to imply there was more to it than simply signing paper, "this time, Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi makes an inviolate oath on power, not some flimsy promise on paper."

---

(Collab @Hank @vietmyke @Aristo @Lurking Krog)

Dakgu was not a talker, not with other Tuskers at least. But his connection with the wargs went beyond speaking their language. He had some sort of connection to them that was downright spooky. He much preferred their company. Literally raised in with a litter of wargs by his mother and with her wargess counterpart, he was instructed in their ways that tribal orcs didn’t always get. After all, the lot of wargs and tuskers alike there was rougher -- the wargs were more likely to eat a tusker, and the tusker was more likely to mishandle the warg.

That didn’t fly in the company when a tusker named ‘Elf-Scalper’ with a reputation for cold viciousness was the the company’s Warg-Keeper.

And so he slunk out in the dark forest, soft soil underfoot, with a large pack and a few tuskers. The bunnies had sentries out -- he could see them quite well in the dark, and had an arrow nocked, but was looking back to the others to see if they were on board with that particular plan. He used hand-sign to flash the count of foes, even as the wargs reported by scent even as he scanned visually.

Gormac prowled nearby on foot, his Warg mount following him in a low stance just behind him. 10 meters to Dakgu’s left and a few meters behind, his razor sharp eyes scanning the bunnies that bumbled around the woods ahead of them. Like his fellow scout, Gormac already had an arrow nocked in his bow. With Dakgu only in peripherals, Gormac kept tabs on all the bunnies with a sort of primal awareness.

The sentries clomped around the forest with a poor attempt at stealth- the clink of chainmail and steel weapons rang obviously against the backdrop of the forest. The scouts wore a mixture of leather and chainmail, with only a few wearing breastplates, typically over some sort of surcoat or tunic. Many were armed with spears and crossbows, with a collection of shortswords and axes as sidearms.

Gormac growled softly to himself, slowing his breathing as he prepared to fire.

In the midst of the scouts and their wargs was a tall, dark shape that moved with preternatural grace, every inch of every movement intentional and controlled. Moordekrai, blood-witch, the Wailing Doom, a legend in the southern human kingdoms, felt the bloodthirst rise within her as they approached the human sentinels under the cover of darkness. Her burning, furious hatred of bunnies was renowned even among the ranks of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi and inflamed even further by the disgusting betrayal Lord Arad was attempting to enact on them. Blood already trickled down her bare arms as she had sliced into her skin with her daggers and hoarsely whispered the Words in a language darker and older than any other in this world and gained the Sight in return. The innate power of the souls of the bunnies was visible to her now, even through the woods, and she could spy the brightness of their own magicians up ahead, hiding away in the midst of the bunny army.

“Cowards,” she whispered, and the very air around her seemed to ululate with the threat of violence. She saw Dagku’s hand-signals and raised a clenched fist -- affirmative -- in return, then pressed one of her daggers against the skin of her thigh. She was ready.

Omaz crawled among the wargs with his kin, an ensemble of predators that didn’t quite fit in with the typical pike square that was the company’s forte. Rather, these tuskers were the mavericks, unconventional in method and in spirit. No orcish war dirge would announce their slaughter. Only cold silence and the flash of metal. This was especially true of the White Snake, whose penchant for surreptitiousness had earned him half the moniker. The other half was his jade-white skin, which was now coated with mud to keep it from catching the moonlight.

The ground was mucky and stuck to Omaz’s hands and feet as he crept. Probably the bunnies’ doing - it would be hard for the company proper to fight on such muddy ground. It was hardly an obstacle to this splinter group, however. The wargs moved as one with the pitch of night. Omaz had learned to emulate them, but even he was as ungainly as a fawn when compared to the Elf-Scalper. As far as he was concerned, Dakgu was a warg in an orc’s body. Gormac came close; he’d always had a similar animalistic cast to him. Tracking came easily to the tusker and his knack for stealth rivaled Omaz’s.

However, neither came close to the reputation Moordekai demanded. The Wailing Doom, as she was called, was the company’s greatest secret weapon. The things she was capable of, the terror she could sow - it was the stuff of bunny nightmares. If you were a tusker, however, or maybe if you were simply Omaz, it was the greatest show on earth. Even he was sure he’d never seen all she had to offer, but the feats that he’d witnessed both excited and terrified him. Even now, he maintained a respectable distance from the witch, but admired her pre-battle rituals in the corner of his eye.

Dakgu relayed the bunny count with a signal and Omaz tensed, fingers curling around the bundle of javelins in his grip. He hefted one in his dominant hand, elbow bent, ready to launch.

The plan was simple; cut a hole in the bunnies, get the Wailing Doom in there and keep them off her back while she did whatever she had in mind for the mages. Moordekai was the company’s totem even as the banner was their standard, and it was their job to just go along and do whatever they could to swat lesser things off her back while she neutralized the enemy’s most potent weapons.

And so in letting Omaz decide who was his mark, the wargs would take others nearby and it fell to the Bloodhound and the Elf-Scalper to pick off the distant threats with bows. The first strike was important in hunting.

All in silence. Dakgu was rubbed down in mud and slime, but he came up from his crouch and drew back that bow of his, with the fletching near his cheek, and regulated his breathing. The arrow flew and found itself into the lung of a human. And then the rest of the fight went off, with growling wags leaping in to take down bunnies...and lightning and fire streaking at them from the clearing even as the sonorous chanting of the humans continued. He could feel himself flinch from the heat of a fireball and the wounding of a warg, but that made him hate even more, even as he released another arrow…

A guardsman stumbled to the ground, eyes agape at the javelin tip that stuck out from his chest. He let out a ragged moan before his vision faded, and Omaz cackled silently a few yards away. He readied another throw, watching a second human fall prey to Dakgu’s accuracy. The wargs were already upon them, lunging at throats and tasting blood. Flares of sorcery lit up the night as panicked mages hurled their spells at the phantom enemy.

Omaz suddenly threw himself to the ground as a purple bolt singed the air where he’d been standing. He grimaced, picking himself up and dashing closer to the fighting. Whatever Moordekai plans to do, she’d better do it fast! He loosed another javelin at a guard, but the angle was poor and it careened off his armor in the scuffle. Too close now for a good toss, Omaz drew his falcata and began hacking with the wargs.

There were no battle cries, no savage screams for blood- at least not in their unit. As Dakgu began loosing arrows into the bunnies, so did Gormac. Sight, Breath in, draw release, breath out, nock. With deadly efficiency. The only sounds that echoed from the forest was the crumple of muffled steel on brush and the snapping of wood as men gurgled and fell to the ground. Even the wargs were surprisingly quiet- Gormac had to give it to Dakgu, the warg master had trained them well.

The bunnies began shouting indiscriminately as they tried to react to the sudden attack, but in the dark it was difficult for them to see. Gormac saw flames and bolts of magic began to fly, and quickly ducked behind a tree whenever they let loose- not to protect himself, even in the dark their mages were too blind and preoccupied with the faster, more vicious wargs than to notice him- but to protect his darkvision from the bright light.

Gormac saw a bunny draw a crossbow, a white ringed arrow pierced through his armor and pinned him to a tree. Gormac saw a bunny lose moral and begin fleeing, another white ringed arrow sent him careening into another soldier, toppling the two. The bunnies were treacherous little cretins, and Gormac didn’t intend on letting them off the hook that easily.

Nac’mrah was not used to needing to be sneaky and the muddy ground made it harder for him. He was more accustomed to standing in a pike square forming a spear wall. This fight however he was to help keep the bunny knights off the Wailing Doom while she dealt with their mages. He was now two meters to Moordekai’s left and a meter ahead hiding behind a thick old tree.

When the arrows started flying, the bunny foot soldiers panicking, and bunny mages flinging fire and lightning in random directions Nac’mrah smiled to himself. He turn slightly watching for bunnies that charge forward recklessly.

One in plate and mail started to pass by the tree where Nac’mrah. The bunny was pulled back and off his feet by the halberd in Nac’mrah’s hand falling back first into the mud. As quick as he had hooked the man, he brought the axe up then back down where the shoulder joint was on the bunny knight's right arm cleaving it off. The scream from the injured man echoed through the forest. Nac’mrah quickly silenced him with an axe to the throat before fleeing to avoid fireballs being flung at him.

It was down to the Witch now.

Aedyt, Prisoner of Radush Eye-Drinker, Princess of Ceril

As she was finishing her final sentence, Aedyt could feel the head-rush coming on: a feeling like you get standing up for the first time after 4 beers. She was on her own from the magic, and lucky to be still upright. Not that it seemed to be affecting much anyway: this brute had an iron will. He began to respond, speaking of a price not in gold, and a blood oath... and bunnies for some reason? He seemed to be referencing her.

well fuck you too she thought, angering at his mistrust, worried at what this “witch” would do to her. “I offered no paper contract to begin with!” she snapped before regaining her composure. “And those who would offer that before their word are the first to turn their backs on the contract, find any reason for it to not be fulfilled, for their word holds no value to begin with.”

Taking a moment longer of silence to reflect, she considered the amount of false deals, lies, and broken promises through which this beast had struggled, trying to make a living. Distasteful as he might be, he had a right to honesty, and she could respect his intent to protect his men.

“I do, however, respect your desire to protect those in your charge, in desiring a fair deal, guaranteeing it in your ...own... way.” She considered, shuddering a bit at the prospect of that to which she could be agreeing. “We shall see what these oaths entail, when the time comes. In the meantime, what was Scumbag Arad’s price to you, hm?”

While waiting for his response, Aedyt continued to survey her surroundings, observing the fight in action. The army certainly was organized – looked better than some of the groups training at the castle. Without the darkvision of the Orcs, much was in shadow and hard to see, but she spotted in fits and starts the group of swordsmen moving in close, the sparkle of the armor in the main ranks of both sides, and noticed a particularly... poorly dressed? ... Orc woman begin to stand out in the fighting crowd, a picture of elegance, terrifying in the dark night. Tearing at her own flesh, and seemingly dancing with the pain, she approached upon the enemy ranks. She was terrifying, imposing, and...

Tantilizing?

The bunnies died satisfactory deaths, many at the hands of her allies, but Moordekrai herself added to the bodycount by using the simplest of blood magicks; injuring herself to injure them. Except their wounds were far more grievous, of course. As the arrows started to fly, two soldiers in plate armor were cut down by an invisible force that tore fierce gashes in their chests, though none of that was visible behind their cuirasses. To the rest of the bunnies, it must have looked as if they dropped dead and wailed their last gurgled screams for no reason at all. While all hell broke loose around her, Moordekrai dashed forward and crouched over the bodies. She cut another fresh slice into her palm and pressed her hand against their slack jaws, pouring her blood down their throats. A horrible, unnatural light began to shine in their eyes as they opened and the two bunny knights got their feet with slow, cumbersome movements. Using the Speech, Moordekrai whispered instructions in their ears. The two zombies turned on their heels and advanced towards the mages, plodding but implacable, and Moordekrai allowed herself a small smile at the necromancy. Bunnies were always so squeamish around their own walking dead.

Predictably, the sight of the zombies drew an unreasonable amount of attention and the mages, first to realize what was going on, bellowed for the undead to be cut down and began flinging their own spells at them -- but what has already died does not lay down so easily the second time. Animated by Moordekrai's dark magic, the corpses continued onwards even as lightning shocked them and fireballs hit them, and it took the concentrated effort of three living bunnies to hack them apart with their swords, wasting precious time they really couldn't afford.

"Boo," Moordekrai said, having suddenly appeared like a spectre amidst the circle of distracted mages. Blood ran down her limbs as tattoos that criss-crossed her entire body began to glow.

The mages screamed as they went up in flames. Moordekrai pulled back Ghrokesh's seal ever-so-briefly and allowed a single blast of roiling Hellfire to explode outwards from her body, accompanied by a horrifying roar that shook the leaves from the trees with its force and put the fear of God into the hearts of every bunny in a mile radius. The mages had not been expecting a magical attack and subsequently failed to protect themselves against one, and once they noticed Moordekrai had slipped in among them, it was far too late. The very flesh was seared off their bones in an instant.

Before Ghrokesh was allowed to completely take over Moordekrai put her iron will to good used and closed the seal with tremendous effort. Her tattoos burned with bright light and flames danced in her braided hair for a few seconds as Ghrokesh clawed and fought for control, dearly wishing to wreak havoc and sate his lust, but the hellish light quickly disappeared and Moordekrai went back to looking like a normal Orc. Well... as normal as she usually looked. She gasped for breath and sank to her knees. It was a potentially dangerous moment of weakness but her display had frightened the bunnies into inaction, and as the muddy ground returned to its normal state (now freed from the magical influence of the mages) the ranks of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi were able to march forward. It would have been safer to take them down with blood magic, but this was unequivocally faster, and the opening created by her allies and her necromancy had been too perfect to pass up.