There are no more words spared as their lives come quickly down to the wire. Despite his grievous injuries, Gao-Lubaan continues to swing his hatchet, narrowly failing to fell the fresh bandit mystic who quickly wreathes his foe's body in flame. Akmaan is quick to follow Ia as she breaks out west.

It is then at last that the Hellions begin to get a better picture of the situation. Lyun stands upon one side of the river, eyes set upon another of the brigands, yet his gaze is drawn directly east, where out from the thicket he waits within he can see the form of a young taut-muscled woman with fiery red hair. Her eyes are filled in two-parts with dread and fury as she darts toward the river, axe in hand.

Though they have never met, Lyun knows at once, this is the Anqullumašḫu; a very important soul to the Kassite people - Once every other generation, the Spirit of Flame for which the Kassites revere is said to inhabit a young woman and imbue her with generational wisdom as well as fierce crimson eyes and hair that shimmers against the Sun's heat. The Anqullumašḫu bears a heavy burden yet, she is expected to be a great faith leader and bedrock that brings the disparate people of the Zagros mountains together as one. . .

She is accosted by bandits from every side as she and two burly mountain-men fight off their assailants. Worse-yet, a dust-cloud seems to be kicking up on the eastern horizon. . .

Etor zips up and pierces the quick footed sword wielding foe. A serious of successive hits has bolstered the young warrior's confidence. He stays alert and vigilant but looks at his companions pushing back against their latest foes with pride.

Lyun: "Anqullumašḫu...!"

As much as the brute wishes his words could have the young Kassite running towards them, possibly even crossing the river towards safety... He knows he has no sway over her, especially with the lives of those two trusted retainers hanging in the balance just as much as hers does.

Wordless, direly, Ia does not look back, she merely grips tightly the hatchet and follows the contour of the river as it flows westward. These are their waters, Kassite waters. Waters that flow down from the Zagros they call home. Waters that. . . That she cannot help but fear her two companions will be laid to rest in. Akmaan and Gao-Lubaan move, despite their grevious injuries, with the utmost alacrity to follow her abaft. It's then that the Anqullumašḫu takes note of those further on, bearing witness to the rampaging brigands that have fallen 'pon their feet.

The flames dance across Etor's eyes and for a moment too long, he lingers on the immolated body, a grimace flashes across his face and he sets off across the bridge. There is more to be done and danger is ever present.

Lyun: "..."

The brute steps forward with the rest of the band, wordlessly putting a hand onto young Etor's shoulders letting him know it's ok for him to rush ahead at this time, should he want to. Haste is rarely without danger on the battlefield, but the boy knows it well.

Zarif, atop his trusty Salador, trampled over the fresh corpse of the hunter he had dropped with his crossbow. He overlooked the river, seeing the Kassites surround the other group. There really wasn't time, he needed to hurry. Then he glanced south, seeing his allies clump up as they approached the southern bridge.

Zarif: Alright then I'll swing around to the other bridge. That brute Lyun and the rest will be an excellent anvil to my hammer

He grinned, and the pair passed through a patch of trees, heading north towards the upper bridge

Lyun: "..."

He takes a couple steps forward and onto the wooden bridge, grabbing the fleeing lass by the shoulder and shielding her behind his bigger frame.

The red haired warrior ran past Etor and he was faced with multiple enemies. He could only trust in his instincts so far and took a moment to eat the sustenance he found a while back. At least he would die with some good in his stomach and that brought him some solace.

The quartermaster, astride the towering dromedary, thundered through the dense patch of trees, an open patch of field lay between him and the bridge, and after that, a vast stretch of grass, ripe for a flanking charge against the bulk of the enemy force. All that stood in his way was an unarmored mage, a look of fear wracked across his face as the stampeding mercenary drew his lance. No, no time to line up a shot, he'd simply run this fool down! A hammer was worth nothing if it came after the anvil had been forced to retreat!

Zarif: RAHHHHHH!

He yelled, enraptured as the point of his lance drove through the poor mage's eye. A ball of fire, launched a bit too late, exploded unstably from the expired mage's palms. It stung, but in truth, it did more harm to the corpse than either Zarif or his mount. He shook the body off the bloody lance as they rushed over the bridge and down across the field below.

SHEEV: "Filthy bandit. Can you not even capture a measly woman?!" A stout imperial soldier arrives astride horses more, his band all bearing the imperial crest of Ur. "You spit 'pon the gifts that the commander has showered your band in. We will take it from here. Show not your face to us again. Or die."

Kurgazu shrinks into himself as the riders arrive. He grinds his teeth, feels the draw-weight of his bow. "I. . . Can't flee now. This one chance is all I'll ever get. If I can at least grab the bitch while they're killing each other. . . Maybe then!"

Etor clashes with foes in quick succession. Over in an instant, the young spearman is stifled for a quick somber moment. Almost dying twice occurred in the blink of an eye and he was prepared to hit and be hit. The adrenaline rush created from this revelation induced a tunnel vision and a stillness inside himself that allows for precise striking. He rushes back to his closest opponent and plunges his weapon through the neck of the swordsman. With a succinct motion, Etor flicks the blood off his lance to continue his assault.