On their journey through the Nightwood, Grey was more than happy to be reunited with some of the others of Brand's brood. While Danton was a name and a face that he didn't remember all that well, he had heard tales. Pamil and Krayton he was certainly familiar with, and he had greeted them with open arms. Nothing but tragic was the death of Brand, though it had lead to the reunion of this patchwork family of rangers, so perhaps it was for the better? Only time and the death of Bloody Harold could tell.

A cacophony of violence and death painted itself across Grey's eyes as they tried to focus on the caravan, his subconscious screaming at him to show these men the same mercy that Brand was shown. Or just rip off their heads. The blond ranger shook his head slowly to dispel the imagery, clearing his head with a silent breath. Beneath his dappled brown hood, his eyes narrowed, flicking from side to side as he glanced at his brethren who laid in wait similarly. Beren, Varrick, and Krayton were very near, and he gave them a smile as the convoy approached ever closer. His eyes scanned the foliage for those in the ambush hidden away with bows and arrows. Ashira he was able to pick out of the forest scenery though he might've had less luck had he not known where and what to look for.

He nodded to Loden, trying not to jump in surprise when the ranger came up behind and graced them with wishes of good fortune. [color=mediumseagreen][i]"Goddamn rangers, always so quiet."[/i][/color] Grey thought to himself, completely understanding the irony of the statement. At times he was truly envious of the ability to move with such speed and stealth -he himself possessed the grace of a dehydrated camel in a snowstorm when it came to moving silently. Even here in the ambush, simply lying it wait, it was near impossible for him to stay still without fidgeting. 

When his brothers and sisters let loose their hail of arrows on the guards, dropping many from their horses, Grey charged almost gleefully into the fray. Seeing Beren emerge from cover as well, Grey used the mans bow-fire as cover, weaving through those that Beren dropped from the combat. As he ran, Grey again dropped his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders to being clasped tightly in one hand. His eyes locked with his target, one of the kings men running to engage with Beren. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, Grey threw his cloak, allowing the brown cloth to entangle itself around the helmet of the mercenary. In a swift motion, Grey pulled out his sword, and slammed the hilt into the head of his adversary. The man crumpled to the floor, losing consciousness almost instantly after the furious blow. 

An arrow whizzed by Grey, narrowly missing as it thudded into the ground. His head whipped around to find the man who had shot at him, and locked eyes with a bow-wielding mercenary atop a horse just in time to catch the second arrow in his shoulder. Though his leather armor took most of the force out of the blow, it still penetrated his flesh. Grey growled in response, his damaged arm dropping the dull shortsword. With his good hand, he pulled his simple metal rod from its sheath and threw it underhanded at the man. It flew end over end in the air -a desperate maneuver but somehow it connected perfectly with the stomach of the bowman, winding him and dethroning him from his horse. Perhaps Loden's blessing had been more than just a wish for good fortune in the fight.

Before he could stop to celebrate this maneuver though, another mercenary was upon him. Grey was thrown to the ground by a powerful tackle coming from behind. He responded by throwing his elbow violently into the man's face, knocking him back. Grey took advantage of the momentary disorientation of the man to stand, and moved to pick up Zarall, his sword. Before he could quite reach the weapon, he was faced with a burning pain in his foot. The knife sticking out was fresh with blood, and the mercenary was already getting up. Rather than allow the mercenary to find his footing, Grey brought his forearm down on the man violently, metal sheathed blow knocking him back down. Grey pinned the man, putting one knee on his wrist, the other on his shoulder.

Eliciting a scream of pain from his own mouth, Grey pulled the arrow from his shoulder, and violently stabbed it into the mans hand -piercing flesh, bone, and ground alike. The kings man, it seemed, was far from out of the fight though, as he punched Grey in the face with a fury unmatched. The two scrapped on the ground, returning punches and kicks through their injury. As he bashed the man again and again with his limbs, Grey fought to keep the intrusive thoughts of death from his mind. [color=mediumseagreen][i]"Mercy. Life. Forgiveness."[/i][/color] Was the mantra he repeated mentally as his metal clad fist fell again and again on the mercenaries face.

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