The archer let out a odd groan as he clutched at the ruin of eye desperately. It took the young man, barley a teen in truth, a whole 5 seconds to realize he was dead. A wet THUNK punctuated the fact, as Zarif glanced over his shoulder, back at that inhabited house he had noticed before.

Zarif: Rats! Damn you Makeen! First that incident with the crossbow, now you steal my... ugh

Salador spat to the side, obviously agreeing with his life-long friend's annoyance. Houses like that, with scared villagers always gave neat prizes. It was how he'd gotten this strangely soft headband! Quickly, he noticed two other foes, one with an axe, the other with a spear. One at a time... get closer to one, then the other. Though he heard a few frustrated shouts cxoming from the other side of the houses, he was just too far away to provide any aid. Salador bounded off to a small patch of Cypress trees, and readied his short spear

Ashür grumbles along with Iddin's frustrations, even if the priest himself presented a delectable target. With Lahamu's novice incantation failing to do more than singe a few trees, the bandit had already begun wheeking about to protect her.

The desperado's eyes open wider than their average squint, beside him a shadow enraptures the brush through the language stolen from the gods. "When did. . ?" His gaze turns to the young merc, still absorbed in what was perhaps his first foray into the art of Mysticism. To channel divine words through one's self for the sake of altering the tapestry of reality before you -- It takes a heavy toll on the mortal soul, especially regarding what form it takes. And Etor had chosen a particularly powerful word. . .

ASHÜR: "Get a hold of yourself boy!" He called out just as the glassen dome of Zuzu had encapsulated him. "It gets easier over time. . ." The bandit speaks, his voice forlorn. Though for certain, the rust on his mysticisms were apparent, long years it had felt since he played uncaringly with those divine threads. "But you don't have that luxury, watch and learn." Though in truth his voice likely couldn't reach Etor behind the glass.

A wave of harsh miasma surrounds the rebel, yet despite his hacks and coughs, the stout Kassite manages to fend it off.

The Hellions of Gyr come under heavier resistance than anticipated, perhaps they should have forseen it with greater clarity. If Lyun was anything to speak of for his countrymen, the band was yet in for a difficult struggle. Hoping all was going just as well for the other three teams of their comrades, they pressed on.

The guttural wails of a legless rebel echoed through the inner streets of Der before quickly being snuffed out, the life having simply drained from their body. The realization had struck the rest of the up-risers with another assault from the brutish Hellion. 'Traitor!!' they called, alerting those within, a messenger quickly dispatching themselves ahead. This did not perturb Lyun, he readied himself, catching his opponent's spear but not without a gnarly graze to his abdomen.

Powering through the pain, his axehead came down with force, destroying the other's collarbone and driving further yet into his chest. The gouting blood dyeing Lyun's headband a further crimson.

Then came the arrows. . .

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd taken an arrow head or two to his flesh, this time however they'd struck truer than most, thanks to their vantage. Following the trajectory of the first, another axe had found its mark straight into on of the slight hunter's faces, sending them to the ground. The brute catches his breath, his vision beginning to blur as his lifeblood leaked out onto the cobbled street. Why? What drove him to this deadly task? For the sake of his kinsfolk's future? For the Hellions? His own reasons. . .

Unbeknownst to the pitched battle of their comrade within, the band faces down yet more of the so-called barbarians in their quest for hegemony.

Meanwhile. . . Makeen, the sneak-thief of the band, realizing his invaluable battle skills would not currently be needed, enters the nearest home. A hovel of mudbrick nearly on the outskirts of Der. Within, it is abandoned, perhaps unsurprisingly so. Without delay, he begins to ransack the home! There's not much left here, it seems either the other merc bands went through it on their prior assault or perhaps the Kassites when they claimed the city. But he does find. . .

KASHTILASHU: "So they were a mole. . . That good for nothing. . ." The Kassite chieftan's fury grows upon his brow, already feeling the sting of handing over their ill-gotten iron to Lyun. Toward the messenger he bellows, "Don't let them open the gate! And don't let them leave alive either! Kill him, for the glory of the Kassites!" Shortly thereafter, slumping back into the throne he mumbles to himself, "Damn. . . where is that woman?"

SORAYA: "Looking for me, my great Angal?" The veiling woman coos through the chamber's shadow, suddenly beside the man.

KASHTILASHU:: "Hmm. Indeed." He speaks, chin resting upon a fist. "What news have you?"

SORAYA: "Only the finest news of course. Our new pawns -- or perhaps allies if you prefer, shall be arriving any moment now~. . ."

Lyun: "..."

His breath is short, his legs barely keep him upright. The brute stumbles towards one of the nearby tower as he takes out a tiny vial from a pouch. His heavy frame leans almost completely on the inner door, preventing the Kassite hunter from leaving his post. Lyun then downs the tingly liquid of his vulnerary.

One could say his mind drifts back to his family, to his allies, to his childhood maybe. They'd be wrong if they did, as all that he's thinking of are the approaching footsteps and what angle he's going to throw his axe. Maybe he will think happier thoughts, later. Maybe too late to make a difference.

The first man to approach Siris was one of their spear bearers, with a smile the warrior charges straight the enemy.

Siris: "Spears beat swords in range, I'll rush him before he has time to react"

As Siris was about to attack his foe, he hears a noise coming from behind him. Turning his head he sees one of the other enemies had flanked him, his axe already flying through the sky in an attempt to hit Siris in the back.

The armored warrior, not one to rely solely on his armor, jammed his foot into the ground to stop himself from approaching the spear fighter any further. He was moving too fast to stop, causing him to slide forward, but it gave him enough strength to be able to arch his back enough to barely dodge the handaxe that flied right by him.

Before he could straighten himself, Siris felt a sharp pain at his side. The spear had been partially deflected by his armor, enough to avoid a lethal blow but not enough to avoid a large gash on the left side of his waist.

Siris: "Urgh!!"

Acting on reflex, Siris grabbed the spear with his shield hand before it could be pulled back for another attack.

Siris: "Try one of mine!"

Swinging in a large arc, Siris slashed the spearbearer all the way from his left hip to the top of his right shoulder.

Siris: "Not sure if that's enough to take him out but I've got another problem to deal with"

Letting go of the spear, the armored warrior turns and begins running towards the man who had previously tried to attack him. The axe bearer was grabbing his secondary axe for another attack but Siris was much too fast, immediately slashing him horizzontally cutting deep into his chest and partially into both his arms.

Siris: "Tsk, too shallow "

The axe bearer, strong of both body and mind, immediately re-composed himself to counter attack the armored mercenary in front of him. As he did so, Siris saw a familiar shape behind his enemy.

Siris: "I'll leave the rest to you!" he shouts with his signature overconfident smile. The wounded axe bearer's attack is quickly parried with Siris's shield, who speedily follows his parry with a kick to the midsection causing his enemy to slightly stumbled back

With a moment to retreat thanks to the lanky bandit's arrival, Lahamu furrows her brow at her husband besides. "Think me not a fool the likes of Siris, I couldn't bear it." At that, she uses that moment to wheel about south, positioning herself to gaze through a crack in the fallen mudbrick wall, watching on as Ashür duels with the spearman. She focuses herself, extends a finger that begins to take on wisps of flame, and traces therewith a runic pattern. A blaze of fire erupts from the wall, taking the Kassite Rebel off guard.

Without losing a moment, Ashür lunges forth, his curved blade slicing the throat of the pain-stricken figure. Letting them fall dead, their body immolating in the dry grass. "I would not have to suffer such wounds, would that you all stay in form." He croaks, sending his glance ahead to the next barbarian coming down upon them.

The youngling looks to be in a stupor. The ord of protection keeping him upright. Etor proceeds to meander into the woods

Etor: "STOP... Stop... stop"

The spearman's is not actually trying to get anything to stop. He hadn't the wherewithall to notice his surroundings for it to make sense. His initiation into mysticism has him repeating the word to try to activate the magic again. He's repeating it over and over as he walks to try to get a feel for it again but the magic is not gifting the youngling with it's presence.

Having deftly judged his two assailant's movements, Zarif kited the axe man out of range, Zarif dodged the foot soldier's spear thrust easily, and countered with his own bronze short spear, scoring a solid hit. Out on an open field like this, with plenty of room to move around, Zarif and Salador were a dynamic duo of death

With a short hop, something only the most well trained of dromedaries could do, Salador got some quick distance on the spearman, and Zarif drew his bow. Just before the camel's toes hit the ground, Zarif loosed an arrow, which took the rebel between the eyes.

Zarif: Fool man! You were wrong to face Salador the invincible, camel from the end of the earth!

After that nightmare in the caves of the blue devils, Zarif was feeling high off life, here under the light of the sun. He made a quick calculation in his head, and kicked Salador into action, galloping to just where he judged the axe-wielding brute would have to throw his axe if he wished to hit Zarif before he could knock another arrow

KURÜM: "Ho' humble barbarian. Your salvation has arrived." Having just crushed the advance force in defense of the city Der, a small contingent of the Dark Suns return, their coin-purses heavy, yet still hungry for more. The horses charge into the inner city gates, the Kassites about are full of trepidation, mistrust, perhaps rightly placed given that this band and several others had just slaughtered many of their comrades. But they are simply too unacquainted with the way of the mercenary.

KASHTILAHSU: "Humble? Barbarian? I am the great Angal Kashtilashu, and you will address me as such! I would have your tongue sellsword."

KURÜM: "So be it. . . If you'd like to see your hard work undone." The horseman flashes a wry grin up the stairways leading to the escarpment where Kashtilashu stands, who returns only with a growl. "Your word that Der's coffers are ours to pilfer after we save your hides?"

KASHTILASHU: "Grrr. . . It is so. Leave none alive."

KURÜM: "Good little Angal, that's what I like to hear. Onward men!"

Few of the Kassite rebels who'd taken the city-state of Der from within remain within the outer quarter, but the sweat on their brows and the blood of their kin in the streets, drying in the rocky soil, calls them to fight on and join with them in the hereafter. Two bearing spears take up positions in the brush alongside the road, ready to ward of the Hellions with their last bits of strength. One of them, still clinging onto life after a deep wound from Siris' blade, charges north, catching Makeen from abaft.

Further on, just within the inner city, the Kassites begin to surround their kinslayer, and traitor to their cause. Lyun continues to catch his breath, readying an axe all the while the Hellions advance.

Lyun: "..."

He gets his second vulnerary ready. His mind drifts to Iddin's incantations for a quick moment, making him appreciate the unknown concoction he's downing that much more. It takes a couple seconds for the effect to take hold, but the brute is soon almost back to his old self. The sound of footsteps outside the tower gets closer...

Siris: "Good attack Makeen!"

Looking at the previous opponent he had attacked, it had seemed Siris's previous attack wasn't enough to kill him outright, luckily his ally Ausür made sure to finish the job. After taking a split second to mentally praise himself for his strategic expertise, Siris once again focused on the battlefield.

Two spearmen were rushing both himself and Makeen.

Siris: "Two huh? I can handle this, stay back Makeen!"

Eager to finally try out his new weapon, Siris puts his shortsword away and pulls out his throwing knives. He runs inbetween the two spear-users, but not close enough that either of the two could reach him. Grabbing one of his throwing knives by the blade, Siris aims and flings the dagger causing it to enter deep into the rebel's left shoulder.

Siris: "Damn! Kind of lacking in stopping power though."

An exasperated groan emerges from the bandit's throat, looking on to Siris's advance forward and his egging on of their thieving companion without even having slain the defensive position. . . "Hop to Etor, we've to save a couple of fools, as per usual." In the brush where they lay, Ashür's slit eyes take a gander at the younger merc, still caught somewhat in there daze. He resolves to clasp his hand upon the boy's shoulder.

ASHÜR: "Just as before, you'll get a grasp, just follow my lead."

With that, the sellsword darts forward, quickened of pace, flanking the Kassite in the trees off one side closest to the road and his ever brash compatriots. With a flourish his blade strikes true.

His father would be so ashamed. Just a little boy lost in some shrubbery. Ashur's words steadied Etor. Having Ashur's back brought him back to reality. As the bandit let Etor know that enemies still had the advantage. The others still needed help and what of lyun. Etor followed soon after. Instantly he was lost again. The promise of victory or the violence in the air, one or the other brought back the ancient words to the youngling's mind. His very soul ached so much he let off another ancient word with little thought and accuracy.




Etor: "BURIAL"

His father's face is burned in his mind. A look that always betrayed him and displayed the loss of his beloved. A look of anger when Etor displayed any whimsy for the unknown. The look of violence when he imbibed and blamed a young child for all of his sorrows. Faces he knew too well. However when Etor expelled his ancient power he realized he lost the image of his mother. Her whole presence in his memories. Gone. No warmth. Nothing.

Etor's eyes are filled with tears and the tears give way to anger. Everything was lost to him. He balls his fists and glares at the rebel.

Etor: "Enemy. Our names don't matter but what is important is that I will make it in that city. If you don't strike me down I'll burn it to the ground. If my feet cross that bridge then you will be responsible for letting the devil itself into the city. I will break and I will pillage. I'll burn the women and children. Everything of value to you will be stripped from you and sold as commodity. The stories and fables you tell your children will be non existent! STRIKE! ME! DOWN! STRIKE ME DOWN! STRIKEMEDOWNSTRIKEMEDOWNSTRIKEMEDOWN!

Yes, yes this plan is working with the flawlessly... heh, dumb rebels.. Zarif gloated as he spaced himself after finishing off the spear user. Yes, all according to plan. Yes... just a few more moments and that dumb axe brute would walk right up here, just in range of a throw, and Zarif could shoot him between the eyes. Any moment now...

Zarif: IN THE NAME OF SAH'AREN, GODDESS OF THE ENDLESS SANDS, COME ON!!!!

The infuriated merchant could not believe his eyes. How could this be happening, Had he not spaced himself right? The bastard was not moving, he was just standing there, like an idiot. Oh for the love of.... Salador spit. Seething, The two moved on, leaving the obviously braindead axe brute to himself. Galloping around the far side of the house, the rest of the Hellions were revealed, in the thick of battle with several more Kassites. Time to assist. Seeing Siris engaged with yet another spear wielder, Zarif knocked an arrow. Hed had better luck with these spearmen than he had with the axe ones anyway.

With the utmost deftness, the greatest cutpurse among the Hellions of Gyr works his magic. With a quick jolt forward, Makeen fires twin knives through the air, severing the paltry mechanisms of the gate, and allowing it to fall. The sounds of battle grow closer, Kassites within the city assault their own tower, yet there is little time to consider the implications, one of the rebelling tribesman brandishes their spear and lunges forth from the opening toward Makeen.

Regardless, a path opens itself to them, and perhaps a chance to evade the coming onslaught to the east. Abaft from Makeen and Siris, Ashur battles with an entrenched spearman. By an utterly narrow margin, he pivots away from the attack, slicing across the figure's throat with a sloppy flourish, realizing how close death had drawn near. . .

Further on another of the burly steppemen charges into the backline between Iddin and his younger bride.

ASHUR: "These reinforcements couldn't be more dramatically timed. . ."

The bandit twists his body abaft after having brushed with his own mortality. Despite the thick tension of battle, he clasps a hand upon the young Etor's shoulder. "There'll be time to stew and suffer after your dead, now get a move on!"