[center][color=6ecff6][h2]Crispin Clean[/h2][/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/zvvkLSc.gif[/img][/center]

Bullets whizzed and rattled into the surrounds like deadly hail, chunks of wood splintering through the air. The world turning quiet, the lone soldier firing at the camp checking his gun as no sound was made when fired. Out of the rifleman’s mouth a silent scream as a crimson blade protruded, a nub of flesh falling to the ground as he was freed from this mortal coil. As the rifleman gasped his last, blood flowing down his front staining the uniform red, sound slowly flowed back into reality. Cracking salvos of bullets. Orders shouted. Fires blazing. 

The rifleman had died on his feet as the blade still supporting him was tilted, sliding down the length of the blade, the rifleman rolled into the newly lit flame, adding the new scent of cooking human flesh to the rage of battle. 

Clean’s form was revealed by firelight, spotless as ever, as his blade gleamed starkly contrasting with his white attire. Flicking his wrist an arc of blood splatter flew off his rapier sizzling and evaporating on the flames. Running to join up with the main group Clean was more than annoyed. He simply went to go get water to wash up after the meal and then on the way there he almost tripped over these soldiers that blocked his way. A surprise attack from the rear might be construed as ‘un-fair’ or something equally unbecoming. Fair? In combat? What a novel idea. Clean was confident with Dumah in his hand he could escape on his lonesome, but that defeated the purpose of a training camp. Plus, escaping an ambush didn’t mean that he could handily fight his way back to civilization, if there were any more parties roaming about, where he could be charged with going AWOL at the very least.

Ambushing soldiers suddenly sprouted throwing blades in their necks and flashes of crimson freed their bodies from having to support their heads. As the hem of his pants were stained increasingly red, Clean picked up the pace just wanting to be out of this battlefield. Seeing a group up ahead Clean smiled slowly, parrying dagger now in his left hand as it grew more crowded and Dumah became slightly more cumbersome. Walking through the smoke and arriving with the group, Clean looked rather distressed as he checked himself for soot and bloodstains.

[color=6ecff6]“Why are we still in this hell hole? We lack fortifications to hold out for a siege and they have dense forest blocking a direct assault, the only benefit we have in this situation is that battle axes aren’t able to make best use of this battlefield. I’d love to not die here, so shall we retreat?”[/color]