Zarif sat upon Salador as the small band slowly made their way back from the ruins, coin purses a fair deal heavier than before. Two sat in the Ox-pulled wagon, the rest spread out around it, brandishing weapons. He inspected the walkers, wondering if they were jealous of him, up on his mount. He pulled up alongside one of them.
"You there! You are the one called Etor, truth? You had fighting well, newcomer" Zarif complimented in his still imperfect Akkadian dropping with his mysterious accent

Etor surveys the land as the ruins are just a blip in the background. He perks up when Salador pulls up beside him. He squints to better understand Zarif as his ears always try to decipher unfamiliar words. It was an habit he was not aware of. The young spearman spoke slow and loud. Loud enough that practically everyone on the caravan heard him. Not because he assumed Zarif was deaf but because he was naive.

"Yes! Truth. I am Etor. I am still learning the ropes. This has been good for me."

He points at Salador. "Thank you for letting me ride. How did you two meet? Was Salador always a friend to you?"

"Learning the..." Zarif muttered to himself, perplexed. Does he think himself a sailor? Like those that sail to the ilse of giants for their tin?
"Ahhh, Salador! Yes, good friend, he is. Of always he has been, since I was but a lad of two and ten. In my homeland, all who would travel the shifting sands has a friend such as this! It is not so, in this land of gold and gods. It is a sadness"

Etor never realizes that the sayings in his common tongue perplex the mounted man. He continues the conversation moving past the perplexed look on Zarif's face.

"2 and 10? The shifting sands sound like a great place. Is it close maybe we can take a mission there for a small homecoming celebration!"

This boy is as dense as a rocks of the northern straights! Zarif got a frustrated look on his face as he eyed the smiling spearman.
"Do you not know your numbers, boy? 2 and 10! Together." He dug around in one of Salador's saddlebags, and produced a little abacus, waving it around for emphasis. "Addition, my boy! Do I need to teach you maths after Siris teaches you to march?" The merchant sighed "And the shifting sands... To the west, past the kingdom of the Pharaohs, there is a desert that seems never to end. Those are the sands of my words. There is little and less there for anyone. Nothing to celebrate, I assure you. I come from a land across that endless sea of sand"
Zarif bore a peculiarly forlorn look on his face as he finished, looking to the west, where the sun began to set

"Oh 12! That won't happen again!" Error says with gusto as if addressing a superior.

*"I haven't been taught much so if you would teach me I'd appreciate it." This time with responds with excitement at the possibility.

He listens as Zarif speaks of his Homeland. He didn't say anything afterwards. He patted Salador softly and looked to the west with Zarif towards the sunset

“Iddin, I wanted to give you a portion of my earnings. If it wasn’t for your aid I might not have been able to buy all my armor, thank you for your assistance but I can now luckily repay my debt.”

Iddin counts the coins carefully. The amount is correct. The priest hides it away in his robes and sighs, looking Siris dead in the eyes.

“Next time you pull a stunt like that, you won’t be able to pay me back. Understand? Now I hope you have a good reason.”

“Well next time ill be sure to have killed the enemies before you notice then” Siris says with a wink

Iddin pauses for a moment. He speaks in measured anger.

“Are you this recklessly stupid by birth, or by a lack of consequences in life?”

With a small chuckle, Siris gives a big smile to Iddin
“Lack of consequences, but if I continue growing stronger then maybe those consequences will never come…. However, I will be more careful not to put the team in danger so recklessly again.”

Thinking back to the healing Iddin gave him earlier, Siris cringes his face a bit.

“Just next time, maybe be a bit more gentle with the healing hahahaha”

Iddin scowls. Clearly, this child wasn’t getting the point.

“There won’t be healing next time. And certainly no more lending. I don’t give money to dead men walking.”

Feeling a little annoyed at his companions continued remarks, Siris decided to strike back. Taking a small step closer to his Iddin, he slightly lowers his voice

“Don’t think that I didn’t notice you on death’s door, if anyone was the closest to dying then it’d be you. I’m a warrior Iddin, I can survive on my own in combat need be; but you? Unless you intend to pick up a sword, I wouldn’t threaten me knowing I’m what’s standing between you and judgement.”

Siris turns around before any more words can be said, although as he walks away he realized that he might get in trouble or even kicked out of the group for what he told Iddin. Pretending as if he hadn’t realized, Siris raises his right hand and waves it as he keeps walking away

“Of course, you protect me and I swear I’ll protect you.”

Hurriedly getting out of Iddin’s sight he lets out a sigh, wondering if he was about to get kicked out of yet another group.

Iddin clenched his fist, takes a few deep breaths, and lets his anger simmer. This idiot endangered the entire band, and lords over with the injuries Iddin got has a result of those very actions? And threatening to kill not only his fellow mercenary, but a superior officer? Iddin mutters as he formulates a report to Captain Doan.

“The idiot couldn’t even hold formation… a complete feral mutt… hardly suitable for human gruel, much less wages… next time he runs off to commit suicide, let him… damn kid…”

Having made camp, the mercenaries were spread out around their campfire, some in tents, others warming their hands against the cold desert night. The foreign quartermaster approached one such, whom was sitting off to the side, about to begin first watch.
"Oh poor, poor Siris. Woah is he, Siris the blind! Siris the..." He hesitated, trying to think of the word, "Unlistening! Poor, poor Siris, who cannot be of listening to his quartermaster. No rations for poor Siris the Unlistening unseeing rudesoldierwhoignoreshisquartermaster" The merchant mocked as he turned on his to walk away, snickering at his own wit

“Hello to you too Zarif. You know if you gave me some food I might be able to keep a better watch instead of focusing on my hunger” he says loudly, trying to get Zarif’s attention before he walks too far away

"Poor rude Siris, poor poor unsorrowful Siris. Too proud to ask forgiveness, for ignoring his friend deep within the blue devil's dungeon. Such a tragic figure is the pride-blinded one" Sings Zarif mockingly

“Let me get this straight, you’re more mad that I ignored you rather than the fact I rushed towards the enemies?” Siris says with a laugh.

“I might’ve misjudged you Zarif, and I’ve still got to thank you for that ride at the beginning of our attack. Allow me to make amends” he says as he stands up. Siris walks up to Zarif and extends his hand.

“I apologize for ignoring you, as well as thank you for the ride. I’d love to ride that strong horse of yours again one day”

"With your life's water, you may do as you will. You swore your sword not to me, friend. But do not ignoring those who name you friend, else you may see soon you have none" The merchant took the soldier's hand and nodded, but soon raised an eyebrow
"Horse? Bah! Salador, Siris names you a Horse!" Howling with laughter, the foreigner looked over at his lifelong animal companion. In my home, we have no such beast as "Horse" Nay, no such eastern creature trods the long sands so tirelessly, with so little water."

”Zarif you talk in an… interesting way!” Siris says, laughing once more

”So his name is Salvador is it? That’s great, a fine companion for a mighty warrior.”

Letting go of Zarif’s hand, Siris hits his closed hand on his chest.

”Do not worry friend, I don’t usually ignore anyone normally. The tense situation had me a little on edge, next time we will have a merry chat while slaying our enemies!”

More than a week's travel through the sparse greenery of the Zagros mountains, following the snake-like river Karkeh the Hellions ford their way through territory unsavory to the common Akkadian, wanting nothing more than to put the thought of that strange archaeologist behind them. It was neither the harsh sun, nor the small game, nor the roving bears that brought their ire down upon the unsuspecting travelers, but the Kassites. Tribal peoples in and beyond the shield-wall of Zagros, practically unassailable by the Akkadians who deem them little more than barbarous and uncivilized. No doubt the great Šar Kiššati would rather see their kind smote from the mountainsides like that of the Yeeks that share their home.

Luck, the greatest asset to a soldier of fortune, as the lady of luck would have it, their very own Lyun had been bourne and molded in the the dry heat of these hills. Not merely versed in their tongue, but their culture as well, the beast of a man found them safe passage to the foothills, just as he'd done before. Through the rocky landscape tread they, seven men and one beast of the desert, their formation reflected that of the stars they marched beneath. A constellation foretelling the tragedies of their future, the tragedy of any mercenary.

ASHÜR: "There. Just cresting the hill. What haste we've made." Unwearied by the long march through rough terrain, the bandit bears some light affectation in his voice, uncharacteristic of his normal pessimism. No doubt all due to the ancient ashen Vital Powder offered to him by Lyun. He'll be back to his old self before the morrow' no doubt.

Regardless, indeed as the band ascended a hidden path up a stony escarpment, they're greeted by their still, familiar banner. Three wild dogs wreathed in flame, the Hellions of Gyr. The temporary campsite is a quiet one, none are disturbed by their arrival save one, from the small palisade surrounding the camp, a hushed voice calls down.

NINIL: "Etor, Lyun, Makeen. . ." The young whatchman's voice trails off amidst the soft crackle of torchflame. They can make out the girl counting across her fingers and quickly darting her emerald eyes back down toward them. "Well look'at that!" She exclaims. "You're all still alive. The captain can't sleep as usual, guess you lot better pop in and say hello!" She chuckles, waving the gang in as they make their little greetings with Ninil more formally, similarly put at ease to see her in just as good health as always.

Sure enough, communal yurts of goat-hide were set-up around the confines of the camp, lit by the dull smoldering flames of a still-living fire. Enough to house all twenty-two of the Hellions, optimistic as it was, it was a note that they'd make sure of with any camp of theirs. Better to take one down in memoriam than the quiet sadness of having never accounted for the dead in the first place. The seven take their time, casting aside their worn gear and the burdens of their travel. Before too long, some of the band part the folds of their commander's tent.

DOAN-NASIR: "Hale and whole, I presume?" The man's gruff voice reaches his underlings from where he sits upon earth, cross-legged. His eyes are mostly shut in a simple contemplation with a few fingers in his beard. Before him, a longspear of bronzed metal is stuck into the soil, a skullcap thereon. "The Hellions are twenty-one now in flesh, sixty-two in spirit. La'um has passed." The scent of olibanum slowly embered is thick in the air. The band pays their respects to their fallen comrade, yet they do not allow their death to linger on the mind. The ever-bandanna-ed bandit is the first to speak.

ASHÜR: "Doan. About our task. . ." He begins, though is quickly cut off by the captain raising a hand.

DOAN-NASIR: "You'll have to debrief on it later, for now I've a matter I'd like your thoughts on." He produces a clay tablet thereupon which orders are enscribed. "This job comes directly from Akkad. . . And it strikes me more like a commandment than an offering. 'for the sum of 10,000 Aurum, The Hellions of Gyr will subdue the dissident ensi Yasub-Yahad of Der and quell rebellious elements. . .' Dissidents." He mulls over that word, lets it percolate in the band's heads. "The pay is amenable, but still I am conflicted. Let your cooler heads prevail over mine -- Akkad is aware of our position to no surprise, and since we're at the doorstep of Der, they don't simply want us to investigate and capture, they're telling us to sack the city. A difficult job to be sure."

ASHÜR: "Der. . . The city bears a long history of integration with the Kassites, they say Yasub-Yahad is descendant of them as well. Our Šar Kiššati must fear the idea of so-called barbarians encroaching upon his pristine empire." The bandit muses aloud, mostly for the benefit of the younger Hellions more than anyone else.

DOAN-NASIR: "Precisely. Spilling blood like this leaves a poor taste in my mouth, but 'tis a choice between that or let it be dryer than the sands." Doan replies, his half-shut eyes open wide to gaze past the desperado and towards the brute of a man. "Lyun. I would not ask you to come along for this task, should we accept. But I must ask for your perspective -- your kinsfolk have always held firm to their mountain pastures, if our orders are to be believed, what would make them deign to seize Der and incite Šar Kiššati's wrath?"

Finally, Captain Doan poses the question to the rest among them, each of the mercenaries with their own set of scruples, moral codes, and lust for battle. . . "We've no longer than half a day to send correspondence and commence the operation. Should we accept?"

Lyun: "Those who crave power make questionable choices."

The brute's words are low in both tone and volume. While not a huge shift, his change in posture makes it rather clear how this has him on edge. A lower stance, eyes slowly shifting from Hellion to Hellion, hands ever so slowly approaching his weapons. The band isn't yet a second family for him, and it shows.

Lyun: "I live for my people. Those who crave power are not my people. I have no care for sides and I live for my people... Do with that what you will."

Zarif: "O-Oy! Captain, what kind of reckless ordering are you giving to these loyal ones!"

The merchant slammed his hand against the tent-pole to emphasize his shouting, making the whole enclosure shake a little. He was gritting his teeth and looking intensely at Doan-Nasir.

Zarif: "Surely you are not fool enough to send some Twenty and One men to storm the walls of Der! Not all the Arum in the world would make this one do such foolishness! Akkad must wish our destruction!"

After returning Etor went to put things down as the more established members prepared for their important meeting. Ravinia, another hellion, hurries to embrace Etor in her arms much to his embarrassment. Her tall frame completely eclipses the young spearman as she lifts him ease. Her plain garbs hide a an expanse of muscles that even lyun would not take lightly.

**"Ravinia: Oh my little Etor. I'm so glad you're back.! I made you some barley cakes."**
She showers him in kisses as she embraces him tighter



**"Etor: Ravinia please. I'm a warrior and that's why I asked for a reassignment into another group the first chance I got. I'm capable. I killed yeeks and a person. I don't need to be coddled. Although I will take some barley cakes... Please"**

Ravinia pouts and releases Etor.

**Ravinia: "Come to my tent after the meeting for barley cakes. I have to go now but I'll come find you after the meeting and I'll brush your hair."**

Etor shudders at the thought and heads back to Ninil



Ninil: Hey Etor. I thought you forgot about our arrangement.



Etor: Of course not. I just didn't want to bring it up in front of the others. If Ravinia knew she'd kill me. There's only one way to find out what I'm capable of and for that I'll never forget your discretion.

The young spearman and young watchman shake hands and exchanged aurums for a piece of paper.

The captain nods along to Lyun's words thoughtfully, remaining cross-legged upon the dusty earth. He mulls on the thought, appreciating a rare moment of insight into the warrior's soul. After a solemn silence, Doan's dry lips part, "Perhaps there's more to--" Before he could truly finish his thought the foreign merchant's voice chimes in, his reasonable concerns are well-heard amongst the Hellions. Each of then showing their obvious support. The captain raises a hand to settle the light murmur against the gentle crackles of flame. "The lack of sleep must be getting to me, or perhaps my heart is not as stony as the boys say. . ." He raps a knuckle at the skullcap upon the fallen Hellion's spear.

DOAN-NASIR: "Let me clarify." He begins, taking the tablet back into his hands and squinting in the relatively dim light. "'Know that the bands calling themselves Hartuum's Hundreds, The Dark Suns, and Shulaar's Scorpions will handle the main assault.'" Doan paraphrases to an extent, filtering out the beautification of their would-be employer's script. "'The Men of Titub and Utu's Chosen' will take a support role where needed. Remaining in reserve until Der's fortifications are broken, The Hellions of Gyr will enter the city and subdue dissident elements. . .'"

Thereafter, Iddin makes his claim. Again, the band is in general agreement, while the captain continues to nod in contemplation.

DOAN-NASIR: "Shrewd as ever Iddin-Ninshubar." Yet, he allows his soft expression to sour some, "Akkad and the Ensis of the empire very much so acknowledge our independence, as do they the other bands named. And that is precisely why they've devised this operation." The captain stands, lifting up the fallen longspear of La'um. "Our fate as sellswords is simple, to die a coward's death in the midst of our greed, used as pieces on our employers' many boards. Yet. . . With the subjugation of Elam, no great battles are left in sight four our Šar Kiššati, and so we are purposeless. We become dangerous elements, starving wolves ready to snap at any scraps now that the pickings are slimmed." He raises the weapon, thrusts it forth to where it halts before Iddin, the priest unfazed. "We are like the spear, wrought into this world by the hand's of ambitious smiths to sate only the dunes' thirst of blood."

DOAN-NASIR: "In the eyes of Akkad we must be cast aside, yet why not make use and wear us down before striking the killing blow? Yes. . . Perhaps the day for our kind will come again, but we cannot wish that upon the common man, we have chosen this fate, must we condemn the Empire for doing the sensible thing? I cannot say. . ."

DOAN-NASIR: "Forgive the ramblings of a tired old fool." He says, placing the spear upon a weapon rack beside his own. "Iddin. Men. I put to you the question, surrounded by stronger bands with a greater grip yet still upon the vices of our lifestyle -- what were to become of us should we decline and so too be labeled dissidents?"

Lyun: "On my own... terms..."

He repeats the few words of Iddin's speech that resonated the most with him. The turning of the gears in his head is clear to see, and he soon stands taller than before. Lyun pays the Hellions no more than a nod before silently walking out of the tent and away from their camp. None of the Hellions attempt to stop the man, no more than a shout or two from the few veterans. Lyun walks, and doesn't look back.

KASHTILASHU: "Hm. You are kinsman indeed." The thickly black bearded man of large build and sun-cracked skin spoke. "Our shared blood is warrant enough to accept your aid, tell us, what news do you bear?" The provisional lord of Der's voice echoes across the small throne chamber, the still warm body of the Ensi Yasub-Yahad lies dead abaft, unceremoniously thrown into a corner until they can be dealt with. About the city are the likes of Kassities undoubtedly, some are garbed in clearly Akkadian clothes, while others must have come straight from Zagros for the movement here in Der. Yet all of them are on edge.

The brute takes a deeper breath and holds it briefly. He still holds no truths regarding his own chiefdom's involvement, but that answer would have to wait. He exhales, shaking his head unapprovingly. His lack of words might lead the Angal to assume the brute is apologetic about his lack of intel, and he certainly doesn't wish to rectify that assumption. Yet.

He extends an arm towards the chief, offering his "assistance" in future endeavors.

Kashtilashu nods his squared head with a thoughtfulness towards his kinsman. Before his voice returns to the hall, another replaces it. "Great and wise Angal. . ." Appearing in the midst of the throne chamber's dim firelight, an enshrouded woman kneels, her face veiled with little more than the flesh of her wrists showing. "Ye, of unequaled courage, unrivaled spleandour. . ."

Stroking his thick beard, clearly appeased by her words, Kashtilashu says simply, "Mnn. Yes? Speak, crafty Soraya."

Had the woman's countenance not, her name certainly strikes Lyun. She is no Kassite, nor Akkadian. . . "Our scouts have spotted three camps beyond the sourthern hills, but they are no army. Greedy coinblades the lot of them." She speaks softly.

KASHTILASHU: "So, Šar Kiššati does not yet fear us? Bwahah, let their hubris be their downfall. Mercenaries will break upon these arms you have provided us!" Producing an axe of polished gray metal, the Angal tosses it toward Lyun. "You, Kinsman, you are fierce of eye and strong of body. Allow no man pass the inner gate. Now go! For the future of our people!"

As the mountainous man takes his leave of the near-kinsfolk, the veiled woman again whispers honeyed words into the Angal's ear, "Wiser than the trees and sharper than any blade though you may be, great Angal, you may not be privy to the ways of the sellsword." She speaks, worming her way closer and closer with each word, "They do not know of honor in death, nor loyalty to anything but the Aurum."

KASHTILASHU: "Is this so? The Akkadian's put hungry dogs to our gate, if we were simply to feed them. . . Bwahahaa! Raid Der's coffers and make haste, let us turn the dogs upon one another, let them tear out each other's throats!"

The fighting was fierce across the doorstep of Der where it sunk into the foothills of the Zagros. But, as like they are, mercenaries are not the kind to give their lives up for any cause, no matter what idealistic future it could bring. With great guile, Hartuum's Hundreds, the Dark Suns, and Shulaar's Scorpions manage to draw out the inexperienced Kassites from their lightly fortified walls, taking the battle to the plains and farmlands. The barbarians, it seemed, bore little wit to defend the city unlike their mountain homes. Within six hours from morning's light, the main defending force had abandoned the outer walls. What's left of the Kassites cling to the inner city walls of the old district. Finding the right moment to strike as the combined armies melee out within and before the walls of the city, the Hellions of Gyr split into several groups to insert themselves -- The Men of Titub beat-back the rear-force advancing on their left-flank while Utu's Chosen do the very same on the right, allowing the band to slip in before the southern gates unassailed. Each band quickly identifies their completed objects and promptly leaves the rest up to the Hellions, having no true stock in the outcome as long as the Aurums flowed their way. With the captain's group circling about to be sure of your safety, Ashur, Zarif, Iddin, Siris, Etor, and Makeen find themselves on the inner road.

ASHÜR: "The time is now. . . It's best we spearhead rather than wait for the band to consolidate." The desperado's shifty eyes dart from one side of the horizon to the other, taking in the last of the tribal defenders who resisted the main shock force. "The iron is hot, let's move." He hisses, curved blade drawn forth. "Though I can't help but feel our formation is sorely missing something. . ."

Though normally, any red-blooded men felt the chill of fear in their spine and the claws of nervousness in their belly before a battle, on this day, the merchant, far from his home, felt something quite different, relief. He had made it through the trial with the yeeks and could fight upon Salador's back once again.

Zarif: "They are spread across the land like the locusts they are! Let us pick them off one by one!"

The quartermaster slapped the reigns of his camel and took off, grinning wickedly as he thundered across the field. He eyed a small house, with someone peeking out an unlocked door Perhaps I ought check that out after this... Often a conquered people would shower their conquerors in gifts in hopes of getting off lightly

He bore down on a far inferior unmounted archer, swinging his brand new sling around overhead. as he rounded the second corner of the house, his projectile smacked the archer hard in the head. The poor landlocked Nassite had only enough time to loose a single , grazing shot from his shotbow, scratching Zarf's unarmored side, before the second sling bullet took him in the eye.

Although Lyun’s absence perplexed Siris, it was definitely not going to stop him.

Siris: "Zarif! Allow me to follow!"

Etor missed lyun and felt a little uncomfortable without him in their formation. Knowing Lyun would break the tactic of whatever team they opposed made Etor a more confident fighter. Eavesdropping on chatter throughout the camp the idea that lyun might be part of the opposing team rattled him. His youth and inexperience became apparent in that moment as he didn't know how to be most useful on the battlefield. He'd have to talk to Siris to find out what makes him so confident and headstrong.

Etor: "...Wait for me! I'll go into the house to make sure we don't get ambushed."

This served two purposes. Etor would have more time to regroup and formulate ideas to find the best role he could play in this mission. There was also the possibility of more coin. Etor has heard of but never seen gray metal. He'd need more coins, as all sellswords do, to purchase stronger weapons. In the young spearman's the stronger he becomes the less likely he'll see people around him die and the less likely they are to leave.

Though Iddin's words carry a hollow weight across their backs, the Hellions can't ever help but feel emboldened by the man decrying their foes. Still, ahead, the bandit's keen eye takes ample note of the dissident Kassites, broad of chest and stout of spirit much like their companion Lyun. Ashur interplaces himself between one charging forth for their priest, gleaming iron in the figure's hand, a detail that in that split moment, goes unscrutinized.

LAHAMU: "Iddin-Darling!" A soft voice parts the rumblings of battle. A young woman of slender build and one striking purple eye uncovered by her hair rushes to the gray-drabbed priest. "Don't leave me behind like that! I'm not some useless girl that you need to protect!" She huffs, her goldenrod clothes fluttering in the winds of the broken siege. "Now, how can I help?"

KASHTILASHU: "Fight harder you louts! The main forces are in retreat! No sand-sucking coinblades will get the better of us!" The Kassite chief stands from the escarpment of the throne chamber, raising his axe in pre-determined triumph. "Down with the Imperial elites! The day of the Kassites has come!"

The so-called 'Barbarians of Zagros' shuffle about the ruinous outer walls of Der, darting between ruins and yet-still occupied homes brandishing their ill-gotten implements with a fervor and zeal unknown to the likes of mere sellswords. With no proper formation, one of the brigands makes a break for it, barreling across the road towards the exposed Iddin with their iron axe outstretched. There was no doubt that without Zuzu's grace, Iddin's head would be felled. But before the blow could be struck, the bandanna wearing merc steps in.




With the Divine Language flowing through the black tongue of the Desperado, a streak of vermillion fire erupts from the inscrutable rune glowing midst the dry air. The flying axe is burnt to cinders while the remaining heat strikes out at the warrior, leaving welts and bad burns upon their sun-cracked flash yet hardly putting them down for the count.

ASHUR: "Use that head of yours, priest, lest you be throwing stones in thy glass house." The bandit's eyes shifted to their east, two more of the Kassites brandishing spears of bronze crept upon their position. 'Hm. If I'm caught by them, I'll surely be dead-meat.'

Perhaps some need to prove her worth to both her aloof husband, and further perhaps to her father, Lahamu darts from Iddin's side, her hands flurry out from the confines of her thin robes, tracing scorching patterns and divine utterances as she does. Before the brush for which the spearman stands she bellows out a cry, a ray of blistering flame sears through the earth, going wide past the first, but crisping the rebel beyond.

Standing unfazed by the gouts of fire from the mercenary, the Kassite sucks at his teeth before her. "Hey girlie, that nearly burned my lucky shirt. . !"

LAHAMU: "Shit!" Was all she could muster, the failure of her spell right beside Iddin after that proclamation flushed her face with heat.

Siris was shocked watching his leader create and burn the axe throwing man, not enough to kill him. However, that was not a mistake Siris intended to replicate

Siris: "You’re looking at the wrong warrior you dumbass!!"

Lyun: "We will burn incense tonight, honoring the men you once were."

Everyone around him has been focused on the sounds they hear from over the walls. He has been as well, to be fair, so their surprise isn't unwarranted. The nearby spearman has barely enough time to think about questioning the brute's words before he sees his own leg falling to the side. He follows right after. The second one scrambles to action, however, fast enough to block and attempt to counter.

Anyone with keen senses might pick up the commotion even from further away. Lyun flicks his hand axe clean, then readies himself, the three Kassites around him clearly ready to avenge their ally.

Etor's heart was filled with doubt and his spear would not be useful in these scenario. With enemies approaching he takes his chest plate off to be more agile and to catch his breathe. His chest heaves as more enemies approach and lady Lahamu comes to his aid. Her best efforts are rewarded with a devastating blow. The panic intensifies as the runes in his scripture begin to glow. With confusion adding to the panic Etor is at wit's end.

Etor: "STOP"

A black coffin obliterates several trees by the rebel. Etor speaks words previously unspoken. The youngling cannot grasp the power he possess so he can't control himself. He's lost in it.