[b]Faris[/b] Faris, if nothing else, was a creature of opportunity. For the young mercenary, the screams of fallen and dying bandits served as an alert, of sorts, to show where the now crippled bandits would be struggling and clinging onto life. While a rather obvious observation, the deviously-minded woman took that easy conjuncture a [i]tiny[/i] bit further. If there were injured bandits, then there'd be non-injured bandits who helped said injured bandits up, probably when they've put down their weapons. A smile placed itself upon her face as she heard the rebounding sound of an explosion that rocked the area, blasting away the screams of the ones caught inside. She caught glimpses of fighting as she paced closer to the sound, witnessing the fight between one of the new men and eight of the hulking bandits, whistling softly to herself as he took out two with ease, before watching the other one get in a wicked blow with his swordreaver. That [i]had[/i] to hurt. The rest closed in, and followed the man down an alley that already looked like the fire and blood had spent time in it. Following closely, the mercenary turned into the alley as the first three men vacated it, one barking orders about staying put to the duo that left behind. Faris' slight smile of pleasure grew into a sickeningly sadistic grin as the prey she had stumbled upon appeared to be distracted with something else entirely(Perhaps the remains of his comrade, splattered all over the walls and ground). Additionally, the gore-soaked alley was narrow enough to make swinging an axe difficult, She allowed herself a giggle at the perfection of it all, before taking a mighty, two-handed, overhead swing at the closest bandit's skull. Two unexpected things happened(For Faris, it was a rather disorienting feeling of deja vu) very, very quickly. First, the man she targeted started to speak. The resulting crunch and immediate termination of his words caused his sole partner to spin around, eyes widening at the graphic image as the crushing sword tore the unsuspecting man's head in two. Secondly, the jarring impact of blade on bone sent a shockwave rippling down her arm. Her injured arm. The arm that she'd already fractured, and that shock had been keeping numb for her. A bright flower of pain erupted in her forearm, tearing a breath from the now regretful young woman who's fingers slipped off the thickly-bound handle of her heavy metal blade. Her eyes crossed as she staggered back, barely noticing that her prey had fallen and that the second target was now charging her. Moments later, a second burst of pain clouded her vision as the still-living bandit brought his fist around, smacking into her jawline and knocking Faris backwards. She toppled, extending her still injured arm to catch herself, immediately regretting the instinctual decision with every fiber of her being as it collapsed with a sickening crack. Blackness and sweet release of consciousness followed. The mercenary had no way to gauge how long she lay there, only praying that the return to life wasn't as horrible as she was expecting. The cold, enveloping blackness faded as quickly as it came, dragging Faris back into the world of the conscious as heavy, calloused hands wrapped themselves around her throat. She groggily flailed about, every one of her weak attacks missing the mark as the man's grip tightened, intending to send her to the grave without even giving her the decency to end her with his axe. [i]This sucks.[/i] Faris Carthul was going to die before her journey had even started, and it was all because of an exceptionally simple mistake. ....... ...... ..... .... ... .. . [i][b]Bullshit.[/b][/i] Her arm snapped out in an open-handed grab with the last of her strength, darting upward toward faint cloud of darkness and flashing teeth in her blurry vison. The impact was, for some reason, rather squishy, and she jammed her thumb into what she assumed was his nose or mouth. In the next fragmented second, the weight that was crushing her throat and holding her body down was gone, screams of rage and pain floating in and out of her flickering reality. The next breath was both sweet and pure agony, her bruised throat trying to expand to catch as much of the life-giving air as it could. Faris lapsed into a coughing fit, curling into a fetal position as her body was wracked with the unavoidable consequences of being nearly killed. The tears in her eyes hadn't faded as she rolled over, and suddenly was confronted with the surprising truth to why she was freed. From what her shaken vision was telling her, the man had collapsed by her side, clutching his head and writhing in pain, dark crimson splatters leaking across the pavement as he whipped the injury back and forth. His writhing motions had dislogded the shiny metal of her erstwhile iron blade from his companion's skull, and the gore-soaked object lay fallow just out of Faris' reach. Twisting, she extended her left arm and grabbed the offending weapon as yet another burst of pain shot from her right. Grunting a curse with the breath that still wasn't coming, the mercenary hefted her blade(What was she thinking, making the damn thing so heavy?), turned, confirmed her target, and brought the hilt down as hard as she could. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. After giving herself a minute to recover from the sudden violence, Faris began to follow the way the rest of the bandits had gone, stepping over the fresh corpse of the man who's head had been caved in, splattering the alley with a fresh coat of gore and bone fragments. --- [b]Bandit Captain Berseker and the Merry Men of Banditland[/b] The bandit leader, a berserker, lay on the ground and contemplated his life choices that had lead to this moment. He'd been a good enough leader to his men, letting them have the pick of the towns they'd looted, all the women they could carry and all the crops they could burn. He'd even offered to take care of their families should they fall in combat. It had been a good life, that, even as Vinsenia had suddenly begun an extermination campaign of his kind as their territory increased. But then everything changed the day he was captured, and brought before the little snot that had suddenly changed the defensive nation into one of oppressing war. Even the beserker would admit that the man was beautiful, a flowing example of regal elegance and casual charisma. If that's all he was, the captain would have accepted his death right there, knowing that the king's purge with iron and fire would not spare one such as him. But then the king had stepped off his throne, paced forward, and asked the lowly bandit if he'd work with him to provide crushing defeat of his enemies. The king had smiled as he described the slaughter that the beserker could bring to the towns and villages in his way, explaining in gruesome detail every blow and crushing smash. That was the moment that the beserker had decided he'd live his life for the king. The lovely way his eyes glimmered, the vigorous excitement in how he spoke of the beauty of blood and gore, the sadistic smile and the cherubic laugh, all dragged at his haggard soul in ways that the hulking man had never felt before. And now these incompetent little scum-sacks were taking that away from him. First his prey had been taken from him, and then that bitch of a supervisor had attacked him without warning. He'd show them. The berseker shot bolt upright, his body twisting and rippling as saliva dripped from his jaws, a crazy light burning in the depths of his eyes. He tossed his body forward with a demented roar of pure fury, smashing the axe that he held toward the least mobile of his two targets, the fiflthy whore who had betrayed him and the king. --- [b]Duraid[/b] Duraid's hulking form made a distressingly silent appearance in the fray about the front gate, seemingly ignoring the fragmented bandits that had already begun to scatter, running for the hills and the edges of town. Instead, his target was the steel core of the looter's forces, the collection of men around the berseking captain and hapless do-gooders who got in his way. He impacted like a tidal wave, the warning of his approach masked by the smashing sounds and screams of rage and anger that emanated from every crevice of the rapidly escalating slaughter. The warrior's steel axe buried itself in the nearest enemy, nearly tearing the hapless man in twain as it continued on, crushing the next one's skull without much issue.