Lirrah nodded at the Steel Princess as she packed an explosive flask into her sling, and began swinging. Light up the back and kill them all before they can join the conflict. Lirrah had thought about how to put her vision to use, and she was glad that Velvetica approved. She wasn't very experienced in this sort of conflict, but it was easy enough to not feel too bad about the blood that would be on her hands. Necromancers? Hadriyu. Savage creatures that only killed and consumed and caused havoc.

Lirrah had killed Hadriyu before. Marking a few cultists for the archers and mages to slaughter was little different. There would be no hesitation in her throw.

One good thing about the sling was that it didn't take a strong arm to use one effectively. Most of the force came from the swinging, so even someone as small as Lirrah could throw a good distance. She was only accurate for so far of her maximum range, but pinpoint accuracy wasn't required of her now. Just a general area.

And when Velvetica called down the storm, a general area is what she got. What must have gone through the blackguards' minds when the world exploded into bright flames all around them? With one last swing of her arm, Lirrah hurled the flask and lit up the cultists who had waited in the back like the midday sun. She loaded up another, began swinging, and when the fear and confusion was at its peak, she let another fly into a second group.

"Kill 'em, kill 'em, kill 'em," Lirrah squeaked, her little heart nearly pounding out of her chest with the excitement and stress of a battle joined.

Load. Sight. Fire. Load. Sight. Fire. As Velvetica led the charge to launch the counter-ambush, Kayliss hung back with the archers and other support troops, plinking away with her crossbow. Lirrah's sling-flung fire flasks were actually of great help in this situation, marking cultists by the light of the flames for her to pick out and shoot. The fire would play hell with her night vision, but that was a lesser price to pay when surrounded by allies.

She still wasn't quite used to this, even after several months. The chaos of pitched battle was something to have been avoided at all times up until nearly a year prior, to say nothing of having to function within a small army rather than a handpicked team. At least the next phase of the plan would be far more familiar ground for her. And speaking of...

"Cover me." Kayliss murmured to the nearest person familiar to her, slinging her crossbow over her shoulder and reaching for her blades. "I still have to prepare for my part of the next phase." With that said, she crept into the fray, staying at the edges of the melee. It took a few moments, but she managed to isolate a suitable cultist in hooded robes around her size, and she got them into a blood choke, dragging them off into a nearby shrub.

Urden backstepped from an oncoming attack, the blade whizzing close by his chest as he ducked into the opening the swing with, bringing his knee up briskly into the offender's groin, dropping him to his knees for a second blow to send the offending cultist backwards onto their back. An overhead swing would cleanly dispatch the enemy, standing up in time to see the ambush team roll in and begin properly slaughtering the cultists. Music to his ears, as was the sounds of ribs breaking after one hell of a tail whip, but that was a compliment to pay later. Oh no, for now he was working through the enemies one at a time, aiming to disorientate before killing. Each swing aimed to either create an opening or put down an enemy, working through any cult fool within hacking range. Still, he kept his back to allies, no sense getting surrounded without a good reason.

Lady Velvetica gave the signal, commanding the ambush team to attack. Roger in turn signaled Shortclaw to take flight. The griffin bounded into the air and flapped its wings, lifting off. The duo flew over Velvetica, high enough to avoid the trajectories of the arrows, bolts and magical attacks of their allies.

Their goal was to flank the enemy, attack them from a direction that they incorrectly believed was safe and secure.

Roger tugged slightly on the reins and pointed his spear at one of the enemy shapes below, one of the faceless foes at the rearmost edge of the enemy's formation, furthest away from Velvetica. Even with his eyes having plenty of time to adjust, he still couldn't see too well, but he had been paying attention and keeping close track of their allies. Shortclaw complied, descending in altitude. The griffin did not directly attack the target though- instead, he overshot and circled around to approach the ground from behind their foe. Shortclaw was not one to attack from an angle that'd put him surrounded by enemies, and Roger knew his griffin well enough to count on it.

Besides, Roger didn't want to strike too soon.

A few moments after Velvetica and her vanguard crashed into the enemy, the griffin landed with a mighty thud, smashing Roger's target beneath its front claw as it came down. Shortclaw gave a mighty screech and bolted towards a nearby pair of cultists, seizing one in its beak while the other was skewered on Roger's spear. The time for subtlety was over.

---

Seeing that the merchant was willing to share her share of the ration, Irian felt a little bit guilty asking for seconds. He made note to repay the favor later if possible, having had his share of rations of his own too. Or he could maybe forage for some fresh fruits for the entire camp later. It was much better than normal food more often than not. He also was going to make it clear of his relative deviance when it comes to Veltian cuisine, but the call to arms came a bit too soon for that. The elf gave his two-fingered salute to Lirrah before hopping back onto the tree he came from with two taps of his feet.

From the high vantage point was where his expertise unveiled in subtle ways. The remarkable silence and lack of movement made it impossible to detect from even closer distance, not to mention at the range these cultists were spotted. His bow and arrow at the ready, drawn only when the Steel princess gave the order. Irian opted out of a magical arrow for now, seeing that the glow would simply give his position away pretty clearly in the darkness.

In this low visibility environment, Lirrah's source of light proved invaluable for every archers in the backline, and Irian was no exception. His arrows followed the light source with precision. He could see one getting hit in the neck with one, the distance and angle made it quite likely it was his. Seeing more cultists creeping up into the light, the elf drew a few more arrows from his quiver, and placing two on his bow, each separated by his hand, reserved for two cloaked individuals trying to get in on the raiders a few feet apart from one another.

A wet crunch served as herald to the spray of blood and bone as his mighty flail caved the skull of an overzealous pursuer, deep blues of night turning the sanguine crimson into a splash of artist's ink upon shining metal. As advertised, the raid division beneath his command had proven themselves vulgar, brutish, and infuriatingly callous when confronted with the cult's "sacred" effigies— and if the few insults that had pierced the din of the ensnarement process were anything to go by, far from above adding personal stakes to the provocation.

As one, they'd soared in return to the treeline, the fruits of their labor in tow— and as one, the incensed necromancers-to-be realized their deadly mistake. The woods sang with battle, the thrumming strings of bows and crossbows layering over the steady beat of sudden and violent melee. Istvan, towering over many, was the deep, bellowing bass drum as his flail and shield brought the full weight of his physicality to bear upon those entangled. He shattered bones, tore arteries, tossed weaker foes aside into the path of friendly archers— and all the while, seemed to relish the act of tearing into his foes, a demon in knight's dressing.

There would be few better distractions for an Assassin to be lost behind. An eternal advocate for smashing through flanks, he had begun to push in towards the center from the outskirts when Lambert elected to make her move.

"Die, die, die!"

As if a response to the merchant's squeaking call, the sudden burst of flame illuminated the man's rough-hewn frame as he kicked his latest victim into the dirt, eyes wide with adrenaline as they searched for his next. It was difficult to not imagine a manic grin beneath the steel of the helm, all trappings of nobility overtaken by combative vigor. Marching forward, the spilt blood began to fly as he swung Meteor end of over end in his grip.

The fight had begun in earnest.

In a a battle like this, managing her forces any more than she already had simply wasn't necessary unless something changed. She had organized them, given them their commands, and sprang their trap.

Now it was all a matter of crushing the rats caught within it.

Starshine shimmered.

A masked figure turned with barely any time to witness her leaving the ground, the glittering edge of her blade carving a path cleanly through his throat and unleashing a spurt of red as he toppled backwards.

If they worshipped death so much, they could experience it first-hand.

Another cultist, more prepared.

Velvetica's slim body darted to the side as his axe swung down, meeting empty air. In the very same breath, the girl's blade was thrust inwards and upwards. Leather was no match for Starshine's craftsmanship.

His corpse hadn't even fallen before she reached her next target.

He put everything into a swing of his longsword, leaning into the blow, desperation in his barely visible eyes.

Velvetica saw fit to reward him with another cut throat.

Efficiency. Speed. The core of Enneteca. Kill swiftly and without mercy.

The Steel Princess had already hit her fourth target. Her mind was focused. Narrowed.

Kill all of them. Ensure her forces did the same. Ensure they succeeded while suffering little to no casualties.

Starshine's edge took the man's life before he could comprehend the blade's thrust.

The cultists had not expected the ambush, to say the least. Taken by surprise as they were, that did not mean they were incapable of fighting back.

However, their efforts were hampered by the fact that these were far more dangerous foes then they had expected, and the raiders further back had already suffered multiple casualties before even joining the battle.

It was clear, no matter how zealous they were, there was a disparity in the quality of the clashing forces.

Another thrust in the air pierced another man's throat.

It would only be a matter of time before the enemy was utterly destroyed, or their remaining forces fled.

@Raineh Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora

Urden was keeping up his pace, engaging each enemy foolish, or unfortunate, enough to end up in his way as he worked through anyone opposed to the Lion's that he could reach. Each swing, step, and movement was preserving momentum as much as he could, wanting to avoid giving openings in enemy's guards. This worked especially well for those that lacked defensive tools like shields, even wielding two weapons was hardly capable of meeting the brute force exerted by a two handed axe designed for just this work. One managed to deflect past a swing, aiming a thrust for the mercenary's ribcage, though a step away averted most of the damage, though he still bleed as readily as anyone else. Snarling, he feinted a swing, and swung low, sweeping the legs out from underneath the offending man and bringing the spiked end of his axe down, puncturing through chain and puncturing vital organs. The din of the fighting was going strong, which meant it was still time to work, and he looked up to see a sturdier looking goon approach, kite shield and arming sword in hand. This should be interesting.

The cultist charged, shield raised, and the mercenary met the shield charge with a heavy handed, almost reckless swing aiming to slam the shield to the side, specifically towards the opponents sword arm to interfere with the impending follow up attack. Splinters flew as the blow damaged the shield, though did not break it, and rather than try and recover against the strike, rolled with it, turning into a fast swipe at Urden's side. A backwards duck caught the strike on his pauldron, deflecting enough to only nick his cheek. Bringing the axe around again, this time he deliberately hooked it against the edge and wrenched sideways, opening up the guard and grabbing the sword arm by the wrist as the cultist went to punish the forced opening. Struggling back and forth for a moment, Urden headbutted the man, the crack resounding clearly to anyone nearby, and sent the cultist staggering back.

A blind swing was aimed at chest height, but Urden had something else in mind, already low enough to avoid the sword swing. Slamming into the man, the mercenary lifted the winded opponent in a running grapple, finding himself charging right towards the Lamia, and grinned as he used the momentum to hurl the shield bearing cultist forward, creating an opening as he shouted an alert towards.... Valmyra, if his memory worked right. Still, the opening would hopefully be ample for a finishing blow, given the unorthodox move.

"Lamia, heads up!"

@AzureKnight

Lirrah's expression was utterly ineffable to all. Even she didn't know what the feelings on her face were meant to convey. A strange cocktail of terror, excitement, and outright mania coalesced into something like an enormous smile as a third flask ruptured inside an enemy formation.

It wasn't her own actions that rampaged through her mind. It was that of the other Lions. The ones who were competent at killing. For a moment, Lirrah nearly mistook István for a monster. He descended upon the mass like a fearsome Djinni right out of the bedtime stories of Near Eastern children, but she doubted your average storybook Djinni could possess the sort of bloodlust that István seemed to relish.

Your wish is granted.

István had ruthlessly rammed his heel into a cultist, stomping him into the dirt like a cockroach, illuminated in flame. He had normally seemed so calm when purchasing his coffee beans. Gruff and big and scary, but relatively even in temper. She had never really imagined him like this.

But they were all answering her call. All wish-granters, delivering on her plea. Lirrah might have been rendered catatonic if she hadn't seen similar slaughter before, when Velvetica had rescued her from brigands.

Ah, Velvetica. Lirrah could not help but think that the way she killed people was so beautiful that it might have been a harmless, expertly-choreographed dance. The blood spurting from that man's throat might as well have been a quantity of ribbons they had prepared beforehand, for effect. It seemed like he might get up after Velvetica was all done, and take a bow with her other victims.

But of course, Lirrah knew that wasn't going to happen. She could ruminate on the fighting styles of all the Lions, but was thankfully jerked back to reality by Kayliss, her newest customer. Cover her. That was something Lirrah could do. She had illuminated all the cultists who had been in the back by now, and they were swiftly being taken care of by Irian. The least Lirrah could do would be to look out for her newest prospect.

Lirrah shook her head, and concentrated on Kayliss, who had taken to the very edges of the battle. There was no doubt in her mind that Kayliss would avoid most detection even without Lirrah's help, what with the darkness and the confusion of battle, but some of the enemies had started backing off. The Lions struck like lightning, so it was easy to imagine the tripping of the fight-or-flight switch. It was the fliers that Kayliss was probably worried about.

Lirrah had her bow at the ready. Her hands were shaking, so she smacked her own cheek.

"Get it together," she thought, "no one will come to hurt the Nem merchant in the back. Everyone else is too dazzling for them to see you. You're safe. Calm down... and shoot."

Lirrah re-steadied herself just as a fleeing cultist began to bolt in Kayliss' direction. She might not have been as practiced with the bow as Irian, but Lirrah's night vision was amazing and fleeing enemies were relatively predictable in trajectory. She let loose an arrow, and one cultist fell.

Ah... now this was something she could do. Pick off the runners. It didn't seem very knightly, but Lirrah was no knight, after all.

Pull, aim, release.

With the added benefit of not needing to shoot into melee. She wasn't confident enough in her skills to not hit an ally this far away.

Pull, aim, release.

She hoped everyone would want to try her food later.

Pull, aim, release.

---

It may not look flashy, but the elf in the tree was as silent as any assassin, and just as good a killing machine as any. With consistency, Irian's targets fell one by one before they even had a chance to make a stand. It was almost unfair, given the cover of darkness and the absolutely dominant high ground he possessed, but he knew that if the situations were reversed, those cultists would have no qualm hugging the branch that supported them and gouge out his eyes with projectiles, not to mention the horrific things they would have done to their prisoners. That's why each shot he took was without any remorse or pity, if not much effort was put in at all.

Given the almost total chaos instilled in the cultists, his allies in the front appeared to have been given the privilege to a free-dance on them. And a lot of them had a rather 'crude' approach when it came to it. Irian would hesitate on the word barbaric, but it did bring up the image of the fearsome warriors of the north, of mountainous strength and fighting lust. But there were flowers amongst the swords and axes. One of the finest examples would be Velvetica. It really was a dance to her, moving in from enemy to enemy with no moves wasted. In a way, there was something to be in awe of in the Steel Princess's display.

Not being too concerned about the princess's bladework, he turned his attention to the other members of the Lions, who might be a bit more inclined to being surprise attacked. Him, Lirrah and the archers. Mostly taken cared of earlier. Istvan and Urden. There were few desperate attempts, and Irian spared a few arrows to their faces, a luckier fate than having to meet their axes and flails. Same went for Kayliss. The backline cultists, some of whom were trying to make a run for it. They were more challenging targets, and for a second he thought of using his magic for assistance, but the scaredy cats knocked the difficulty down, and thus he decided otherwise. His bow perked up as Irian estimated the distance with a glance of an eye, loosing an arrow right into a running cultist, felling him, hopefully for good.

At the same time, he eyed out if there were more dangerous opponent in the vicinity, especially close by. He would not enjoy the irony of being counter-ambushed after springing a textbook perfect ambush themselves.

The shock of Roger's flanking maneuver appeared to have worn off. The attack had startled and shaken them, but perhaps having assessed that they had the numerical advantage, several cultists readied their weapons and approached the griffin from three sides. Roger counted at least three of them, closing in from three directions. It was an inherent disadvantage from attacking from behind the enemy lines, that one might find themselves surrounded and without support. Such a multi-directional assault might throw off a frightened, wild griffin enough to bring it down, but Shortclaw was no wild beast, nor was he alone in this.

The griffin dropped the mangled corpse from his beak and swiped at the right-most cultist with his front talons. The other two charged, intent on striking at Shortclaw while his beak and talons were occupied elsewhere. These foes would be the rider's responsibility to deal with. Roger lurched out of his saddle and thrust his spear at one of them, stabbing into the cultist's chest and physically forcing them back. The second cultist managed to get closer, but as they raised their axe to attack, the weapon knocked was from their hand by a kick from Roger's armored sabaton. In truth, Roger had actually been aiming for his foe's jaw with the kick, but Shortclaw's movements as he swiped and bit caused the attack to be slightly off. It didn't matter, though- a moment later, Roger's spear withdrew from the first cultist's torso and was planted in the second one's throat.

As both of his opponents fell to the ground, alive but incapacitated and likely fatally injured, Roger turned back to his mount, its beak and claws freshly bloodied from tearing apart the third cultist. Shortclaw certainly knows how to make a mess, Roger mused as he briefly down the foe's gruesomely lacerated body, before signaling for Shortclaw to push towards where Velvetica was- and cut down enemies caught in the middle. The more these foes were sandwiched, Roger reasoned, the more likely they'd lose their nerve and break, right?

Safely in the rear, the hundi mage kept up her litany, the luminescence getting more and more obvious, before the hundi raised her staff and pointed it out towards the battle. One by one, bands of silver runes sprung into life about her arm, slowly rotating. And yet she still hadn't finished.

The instant the mage fell silent, it was very clear she was done with her spell.

All behind the cultists, sometimes so far back as to be blatantly harmless--no doubt compensating for her difficulty with aiming carefully by overshooting--a multitude of head-sized glowing spheres appeared. Then, erratically across the mass, they all collapsed inwards to single bright points and began to swell--

For a few seconds, thunder rolled across the battlefield.

Then, the magic was gone, but the signs of its passing were all too apparent. The back line of cultists was devastated, some of them just in smouldering pieces, others merely on fire, one or two collapsed with no apparent reason. Here and there, fragments of rock had peppered them, and a few more had just been catapulted into their waiting enemies. Of course, those outside the immediate range--such as Gisela's allies--were mostly fine, as was anyone they were engaged with. As for the rocky landscape behind... well, the number of crack-filled craters gouged out was alarming for finding their footing, that was certain.

When Roger saw the reflection of a silver sphere off of Shortclaw's barding, he knew immediately what was happening. Gisela, that Hundi mage, had decided to also attack the enemy's rear ranks.

"Shortclaw, Fly!" he spoke as he tugged on the reins. This was not a command, but a frantic warning coming from a position of trust. The griffin immediately heeded Roger's recommendation, dashing forward, almost trampling another cultist who managed to narrowly dodge, leaping into the air, and taking flight. Just as they got airborne, with the Hundi's silver spheres detonated behind them. From above, both rider and mount would briefly see the ground light up and shadows briefly appear behind the hills, the trees, and the figures on the combatants.

As dangerous as it was, as closely as it had come to frying them, it was definitely a beautiful sight.

@Raineh Daze

_{@VitaVitaAR@Eisenhorn}

---

Hraesleg Lions Base Camp

---

Satisfied that her tail attack did its job, Val turned her attention back to the fray. She noticed that their captain had joined in the battle as well, her agility and deft swordsmanship felling foes within minutes. She wouldn't expected anything less from their young leader, and would just focus on keeping pace. That's when she noticed Urden making a charge at another enemy. This time he lifted him up, still charging with him in tow - and he was heading in the lamia's direction. With an rather impressive display of strength, he threw the cultist her way. Goodness! Was it some sort of strange human game?

Having no time to worry about it, she quickly prepared to intercept the flung assailant. With swift grace, she ducked the top part of her body under the cultist, then caught them out of the air with her tail. Squeezing the air of them, she skewed them straight through the neck. Crimson flowed down from their wound along the blade of the lamia's lance, she then promptly removed it before tossing them aside.

"...This hardly seems like a good time to be playing catch..." She said toward her mercenary comrade.

Duck under a swing of an axe.

Get around him.

The tip of the blade finds his back.

Velvetica drew her right hand back, Starshine stained crimson from the blood of the cultists as the man's corpse fell forward. It was at that moment that a sound like a tremendous roll of thunder struck the battlefield.

Just as the Steel Princess had anticipated.

The aftermath of Gisela's spell left many of the cultists simply vaporized completely. Others were aflame, or turned into unrecognizable, charred chunks.

Any that remained were stunned, scattered, and easily taken prisoner or slain on the spot if they resisted.

Velvetica flicked the blood from Starshine. Excellent work. There were no casualties on their side, though a few of her men had suffered injury they were not in any serious or immediate danger. The healers could attend to to them as the rest of the Lions pressed on to the main goal.

The Cultist's camp. Needless to say, it was likely the many fighters were dead, but the camp was unlikely to be unguarded. Perhaps by the dead who had been stolen, or perhaps by stronger fighters.

"Lions, you have done well," she began, "But there is little time to waist. Now that we have destroyed their raiders, we can move onto their camp and crush this twisted cult where it hides."

That was their assassin's cue. To move on to the camp herself and take care of the necromancer who surely lurked there. To decapitate the cult as soon as they arrived, to make the extermination of the death worshippers all the more swift.

Indeed, Velvetica soon lead her forces onwards.

The cult lurked beneath a rocky outcropping. It seemed as if there was a deeper passage down into the mighty rock, perhaps carved by the long-disappeared creators of the tombs in this region.

For there to be a severely diminished cult presence should hardly have been a surprise, given how many of them had appeared to take their bait.

But Velvetica found herself perplexed at the complete absence of any guards are all. No cultists. No animate corpses.

And more than that, it seemed as if their effigies had been destroyed here as well...

Torches smashed. Barriers broken. But there was no other force here that would have done such a thing. Even Lord Ostaric's men hadn't been this way yet.

"... This isn't right," Velvetica's eyes narrowed, "There shouldn't have been anyone else here, and if they were being attacked they wouldn't have taken our bait."

As they grew closer, she could see blood splattered on the base of the stone, near the entrance to the chamber carved into the rock. The doorway was surrounded by leering, stone faces.

@Raineh Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora

Offering minor healing as she moved forwards, Gisela was struck by a horrible sense of foreboding. It was almost like the feeling she got if she hadn't cast anything for a while, but... delayed. Like it was all too late, and everything was external rather than internal. The feeling of a storm breaking, but distinctly less... natural. If she had to guess... something magical had happened. On its own, that wasn't a surprise, they were pursuing necromancers, rituals were only to be expected, but this didn't sit right for a cult that had been so wantonly throwing its men away...

"There's been magic at work, commander. Not just raising zombies," the mage said, eyes flicking from side to side. The lingering feeling wasn't going away, just what had happened down there?

Lirrah's body was still on high alert, despite the fact that the fighting was over. Almost everyone that wasn't ripped apart, stabbed, or exploded, Lirrah was relatively certain she had killed while their backs were turned. Or, had she accidentally missed a vital and left a few alive, they were probably taken care of by the other Lions on the way to the cultists' hideout.

Lirrah did not particularly care to look, if a few needed to be finished off.

Once they got to where the group supposedly made their dwelling, however, they were greeted with an unexpected sight: destroyed effigies and barriers. Ones that they hadn't seen to. There was a lack of manpower, and a good deal of blood at the entrance. The blood was fresh, but there were no dead bodies in sight. Lirrah's eyes wildly scanned everything she could see, because she was still under the dominion of her adrenaline-soaked brain, but she heaved the sort of not-at-all-bothered smile onto her face that she was used to affecting. She was a Lion, for the moment, and Lions weren't bothered by all the things that tore into her own little Nem heart.

"I-it would have had to pe near-simultaneous, wouldn't it?" Lirrah mused, smiling with an almost disturbing amount of calm for someone's first sortie, despite the shaking words nearly getting caught in her throat.

Lirrah dare not go further than anyone else to investigate. That was for the tough ones. The brave ones.

"A coincidence of such enormity that it must pe elevated to the level of a miracle," she went on, trying to figure out how and why such a thing might happen, hoping to be of at least some use as long as she was going to be there, "which is to say, something like an impossipility. At almost the exact time they left to take our pait, a different force rushed in to take their hideout. However, since I cannot pelieve in such miracles, the only explanation for that is that the other force somehow knew our plans to the moment. A most disturping thought, put that is only one theory. If that was the case, though, then the other force must want something that they think the cultists have. Something that we might take if we were the ones raiding. Otherwise, why put their own lives on the line if we were just going to take care of it?"

Though Lirrah's response was an extension of Velvetica's initial confusion, she spoke to anyone who might listen. The longer she was talking, the more likely someone else was to get closer to the entrance and not her.

In a way, this theory may have been a reflection of herself. She could come up with it, because under different circumstances she could see herself selling the Lions' information for coin and collaborating with a third party. Cultists get killed either way, less strain on Lion resources. Everyone wins! Only, Lirrah would not do that. Information like that is precious, and could easily be sold back to any number of people who intend the Lions harm. Or maybe the group she was collaborating with were very good liars.

Though it made her nauseous, Lirrah knew well that there might be a world in which she did just that and counted her coin as her compatriots got slaughtered in a counter-ambush. Lirrah, looking slightly sick, shook her head.

"But I didn't, and wouldn't, do that."

"Call it a team building exercise, never know when you'll need to jump in."

Urden found the end of the enemy satisfactory after the thrown cultist was caught mid air, and then lanced clean through. Observing each of his allies in combat spoke volumes alone about the exacting standards Boss had for each of her underlings. Still, it was convenient to have fellows with at least acceptable reflexes. Hefting the axe on his shoulder, he glanced around at the slaughter. That was what it really was, between the bait team's own efforts and the arrival of the ambush team, well, they never really stood a chance. Even if the odds had been uncertain, the unleashed magic had certainly dashed any doubt as to who would be the victor of this first stage of the fighting. True enough, Boss was quick to rally them. First with brief praise, then marching orders. Advance into the camp proper, and put them to sword, axe, and torch. Suited him fine, and he moved himself into the leading edge of the Lions as they entered the camp, ready to engage the first cultist who rushed him, or animated corpse if he was unlucky.

Despite being ready for an attack, nothing came. What struck him as the most odd was the silence. Other than the Lions, there was no noise. They had not dallied long enough to warrant a counter ambush being that ready for them, and they did not strike him as disciplined enough to hold pure silence that readily even if a counter attack was already prepared. It was just nothing except any mutterings among the Lions, their movements, and nothing. Experience was practically screaming all sorts of things weren't right about this, and the Nem began chattering along about the unlikely nature of miracles, after the Boss had commented on this not being right. Seemed like they were in agreement, though, and Urden would source a torch to take point, lifting it to illuminate further ahead of them. It only cast more light on the fresh blood, and he spoke plainly enough in response to the chatter so far. He was actually inclined to agree with the mage, though not for the same reasons.

"Sounds like the smart bet is on the necromancer got desperate, pooled all the meat and magic they had on hand into a last roll of the dice. Probably did just well enough to make something nasty, which just makes our lives that much more interesting. I'll lead, be ready to move when the nasty rotting mess comes barreling out at us."

The faces unsettled him, frankly, but Urden wasn't paid to quiver in his boots or wax philosophical about whatever ugly business was waiting inside. No, he was paid to go hack it to bloody pieces, swing by bloody swing if need be. So, he would take the lead once everyone was ready, or was countermanded by Boss.

There had very nearly been a friendly fire incident involving a jumpy archer after Kayliss had gotten her disguise on. Fortunately, she'd announced her presence before leaving the bushes and gotten away without getting shot. With that bit of idiotic comedy done with, Kayliss moved on to her part of the mission: finding the necromancer behind all of this and eliminating him.

She'd kept in cover while approaching the camp, wanting to determine the state of the enemy before finalizing her approach. Even in a disguise, it wasn't guaranteed she'd be able to simply walk into the camp without pass codes or identification. And claiming to be the last survivor of an ambush would only alert the enemy to the rest of the Lions approaching soon. However, it seemed her preparation was for naught. No guards at the entrance. How...curious. Even the most incompetent bandit assigned guards at night. A deliberate trap? Perhaps. Regardless, Kayliss stuck with a stealthy approach as she entered, creeping behind cover and making sure there were none watching as she stalked into the camp.

Her caution absolutely hadn't paid off in the case. The camp was completely empty. And ransacked. Had another troop beaten them here? It couldn't have been another Veltan force. They would have known. The Ithillins, perhaps? Still, there was nothing else here to tell for the moment without taking up valuable time. At the very least, she had to find the necromancer and confirm their death. A glance around the camp showed that the only possible way forward was into the outcropping, where some sort of cave or tomb awaited. With practiced familiarity, Kayliss inspected the entranceway for traps before proceeding onward, one dagger already unsheathed and hidden within the billowing sleeve of her cultist robe.

---

It is a flashy end to the engagement, isn't it? Kinda boring, but hey it works, Irian didn't have to lift his fingers further. Once the battle moved into its cleanup phase, he was comfortable enough to leap from the tree into the ground, walking into the open battlefield now littered with the Lion's handiworks. Irian was content letting the other members to finish off any stragglers, as he scoured the dead, still remembering the tentative locations of the targets he chose, and the ground beneath his feet for any arrows retrievable. Surprisingly, a lot of those that found its marks were still so, the arrows lodged cleanly in his victims that he could remove them without significant if not any damage. The elf completely expected a follow-up fight in the cultist camp, even with Kayliss tasked with the job.

But turns out, he was wrong.

The camp was completely empty. Desolate, ransacked? Ransacked. Velvetica and Lirrah suspected a simultaneous attack by another party. Gisela thought there was magical in the works with the necromancers. As someone who had some degree of magic capability, she was correct. There was magic at work. While the possibility that both scenarios presented actually happened, Irian considered the former to a bit less probable. It just looked too clean to be an outsider's attack. Just a feeling though, with few physical evidence to back it up.

"I'll need some of you. Let us cover the exit." Irian gestured to some of the Lions staring around the camps. "Last thing we'll need is a counter-ambush with no escape."