[center][h3]Erickson of the God Eaters[/h3][/center]

[i][u]Unknown location-993 HP-4/4 Stamina                                                                                     	                                                        [/u][/i]

Erickson [i]would[/i] have been the first one standing, and was kneeling to all the others, if not for the large sharp piece of wood impaling his left thigh. It had been lucky enough to find one of the few gaps in his armor. He groaned quietly, before grasping the large thorn and wrenching it out of his leg, wincing slightly he brought it before his face before growling and tossing it away.

Luckily the chainmail and thick padded cloth that made up the undermost layers of his armor had stopped it from going to deep, so the wound wouldn't slow him down to much. As he stood he groaned again, not from pain, but from that yelling idiot charging at their faceless adversaries. Right behind him was one of the Red women, specifically the one he had spoken to, it would be interesting to see her in action. Erickson did not charge, he considered it a stupid tactic that left one far to open to being impaled as they ran, he glanced about quickly for his shield before deciding fuck, and drew both his blades. The lighter ordinary longsword, a long shortsword in his hands, was held in his left while his custom thickened sword was held in his right. He scanned over his new opponents, bandits conjured forth with magic, no faces, no mouths or eyes or noses... [i]fucking magic[/i] he thought as he thought about the exploding carriages and now the faceless warriors. However, his face was broken by a wide toothy grin, magical soldiers were almost always worthy flesh, and he hadn't had a good, proper fight in weeks.

He had watched the three figures disappear, but pushed them out of his mind as they were no longer immediate threats. He stalked towards the faceless bandits, making his way to the small group at a hustle rather than a charge, not wanting to expose himself to their blades armored or not. He took aim at one the other two who had charged in were neglecting, laughing maniacally as he lunged forward at the faceless man, his large longsword aiming to impale the magical thing at the chest, his smaller sword held back and ready to parry a reprisal, though he did  not shout, he wanted the sound of singing steel to be his battlecry, and his laughter should be all that is needed to intimidate his opponents.