[@NecroKnight]

The fighting raged, and through it, Ellion had been separated from his love this night, Merebelle somewhere else, fighting in the Tyrell line. He had to hold his own, and command, and command he did. He hacked his way into one of the beast's front, pushing the pike through with a hard kick following it up, as he smashed the axe-end into it's skull, before pushing it out with a shimmer and hacking into another. They were coming thick and thin, and the line was pushing, every Tyrell soldier rallied to Ellion, they couldn't ignore what was going on, after all. The sight of Lord Dickon to his flank stopped Ellion, as a few of his men took out a couple of the crab-armoured monsters, covering their Commander.
"Dickon, mind your fucking head, get the men to push!" With it, Ellion shoved the Lord Tarly aside from the beast's claws, the large, dwarfing figure of the beast that appeared to look like a shark going directly for Ellion. It's claws, it's appetite unsavaged, it's body covered in blood of what it had killed. Some of the Reachman soldiers could barely look at it. And Ellion was seperated, Dickon had been pushed away, Ellion knew as well as Dickon could handle a sword and a bow, he wasn't a master in hand to hand. Not like he was. Dickon was a commander, a leader of armies, of soldiers and brave men. Ellion WAS a brave man. And if one of Dickon's personal men-at-arms was hacked apart, Ellion knew that Dickon would understand that direct command to let it happen. In that chaos, Ellion only looked into the eyes of the beast, and locked in, shuddering. This didn't end here.

It moved forward, using it's enormous size to swipe hard, Ellion having to dive to the side and hack into it's groin, the polearm designed to stab and shank through gaps, the pike end catching the armour, as Ellion felt the beast howl. But it was wedged. It was time enough to be knocked to the ground by it with a hard scrape, as Ellion was shoved down, with it taking his polearm from the wedge. The shark-headed monster swiped again, attempting to take Ellion off his feet, and take his head, but the Tyrell was fast, nimble enough to push his blade forwards, swiping it with a blunt hit enough to push it back. It only angered it, Ellion blocking it's parry, digging the axe into it's limb, and pulling. It howled once more, as he knew that whilst it had strength, it had no mental strength.

It was pure aggression, not thought. And he knew every second he played with death, he could go beserk and charge him, sweep him off his feet, and tear him in two. A calculated risk, the Tyrell guessed the beast wasn't doing that because he was weakened from before, and wouldn't be able to catch him. Ellion knew he had to take it apart, limb by limb, it was a savage and uncontrolled beast, not a hunter, or a duellist. It was a monster. A monster that thought it could take Ellion Tyrell. Pushing the polearm into a swing, he felt it be taken, as he countered, pushing back, Ellion seeing Merebelle run, almost distracted as he missed a swing from it's paw, angrier than ever, and forcing Ellion back. He dared not go directly, and was dancing almost around it, forcing it to stay on it's feet, and keep assessing Ellion's position, while he assessed it's points. Strength would win him no battles. Only cunning would. 

With a resounding swing, the polearm in both hands once again, he feined a high strike, before it grabbed the end of the steel weapon, before undercutting hard, seeing precisely his point of hit. This beast could rip a man in two...but was slow, and stupid. Like a jousting target, it had a centre of mass, and points of fragility. The pike pierced through, slamming into it's abdomen and up into it's chest through it's shell, and even if he was the size of the Mountain, a pike through that point would not be like a sword, it was far worse. A point source, a force concentrated into one point, rather than a wider swipe. It had been large, but slowly weathered away in a long, hard duel, and Ellion was caked in sweat, it's and his blood. Pushing, he used the polearm's momentum to impale the beast onto the floor with an overwhelming cry and shove, a Tyrell bannerman coming to his side in time to move over, close by his commander's side. Offering his sword, Ellion simply took it, wiping the blood from his forehead, before slowly sliding the blade over it's throat, walking close. With a gentle twist, there was no chivalry in it. Ellion merely had to turn the blade a few degrees, and shove.

The blood that poured was of a weird colour, as he passed the blade back, looking across at Merebelle, before drawing the polearm out again. He looked down at his tunic, and felt the bloody stains, cuts and bruises, lining his arms and shoulders, one just below his collarbone, one particularly seeping with blood. He rubbed the material in, moaning a little as he looked on, a little blurred.
"Seven Hells...." He seemed tired, exausted even. He had taken a hell of a beating, as he almost fell on his knees, barely standing up. Lord Dickon had rallied the men, and they were fighting harder than ever, and had defeated a great deal of the beasts and monsters, holding the line as they had intended. He was in a far better fighting condition, as he looked across, with a particular look.

"Are you alright, lad?" He asked, as Ellion nodded, spitting blood. Dickon was like his father in many ways, a little softer and gregarious, but no less, a commander, a martial leader through and through. 
"Just fine. Not dead, but I'm losing blood. Get me some bloody bandages. I need to lead." Ellion simply said, as Dickon nodded, as Ellion did fall down onto his knees, coughing. 
"Shit. Merebelle, can you help him? Get him back to scratch, get out of..."
"Bollocks, Dickon. I'll be fine." He said, looking across at Merebelle, wiping the blood from his tunic, having to actually take his shirt off to better press against one particular cut, tsking a little as he held it in.
"Just get me some bandages and some Poppy. I need to stay with the men." He said, the Tyrell strong of spirit, it was difficult to kill a Rose after all, the very blood that ran through Ellion's veins was that of a greenhand. He hadn't had a cut like this, but he knew how to deal with it, from past experience in skrirmishes in leading his own forces.