The first of the squires, young orc, reached the center of the arena, long sword and heater shield in hand. The creature had already found a new target, a human man nervously clutching his wooden hatchets. He slowly stepped backwards as the creature edged toward him, mouths drooling, glistening the grass below. The man quickly glanced around him, looking for aid. He saw a female katzheer nearby and a few others standing nervously. The creature charged and the man leapt to the side, just barely being missed by one of the tooth filled maws. He turned, slashing hard at the large creature's side as it thundered past. The wooden axe head struck a bony plate and splintered in half. Not willing to give up, the man stabbed with shattered handle and found purchase, between plates at the back leg joint. He growled victoriously before the creatures tail struck him hard, and threw him several feet back.

The squire hadn't seen the successful attack, and charged forward, shield braced ahead of him, slashing downward. The sword didn't break, but it was bounced from the bone plates on the creature's shoulders. The monster turned, and lunged at the young man, who had managed to get his shield up in time. The creature's jaws clamped around the shield, attempting to tear it free. The squire growled as he was pulled around, attempting to pull back, but managed to keep his feet, his arm locked into place by the shield straps. The other head tried to get around the shield, to snap at the man, but was being fought off by the sword. The creature was momentarily focused on this damned squire. 

The man that had been thrown by the tail strike was struggling to get up, seeing a few of the combatants still fighting each other. What were those fools doing? Did they not notice the monsters nearby, or were they simply stupid and uncaring? The man was fairly certain at least three of his ribs were broken, but still he rose. He looked back at the creature watching a squire get knocked bodily away by that damned tail, his steel kris daggers being scattered across the grass. 

The Screamer watched with bloodlust in his eyes as the creatures wreaked havoc. His Warlord would be quite pleased with his attack. He could feel his magic draining, as he pumped as much into the portal as he could. He estimated he could keep it open for a halfstretch with how much he had into it now. The foolish knights and civilians weren't even paying attention to him, aside from that ogre earlier. Who would've thought that an ogre made the smartest choice? Keelie would love that story later. This attack might get him back in her good graces after his failed raid on a caravan a tenday ago. He hoped so. The Warlord of the Blood Vines was not known to be forgiving.