[center][h2]Here and now, we witness the last stand of the Falcons. Brought low by the Wardens tower.[/h2][/center]

The watcher retold the final moments of the struggle in the death row cells, recounting the way this mercenary group, no more than a handful of ill-tempered bullyblades, had cut through the growing insect menace and armed prisoners alike with a decisive and overwhelming presence. 

Hawke and that accursed sword, the Wardens prized mantlepiece, were back to the fray and this group had recruited the damned human. To make matters far worse the killers from Nazar were armed. If only with a single meager knife. The watcher detailed the events and the Warden, armed with his own formiddable longsword and armor, cursed wholeheartedly. More reports were coming in and it seemd the whole world had descended on this prison tower in force.

Nearly 100 armed veteran guardsman held the middle point of the tower now. Only a dozen floors lay between them and the main entryway, sealed by massive steel doors thicker than a mans thigh. All the windows remained intact, only one single insect had escaped to the outside world and blissfully had been struck down.
Magical or otherwise, someone had stopped the spread. 

What concerned him so much was how the rebellious inhabitants had been freed. Every floor was open and every cell door was wide, the prisoners below their position no doubt joined the ranks of the enemy plague by now. That would be hundreds of bodies. 

"What of the brute above. Have we eyes on that pyromaniac?"

The watcher was silent for a moment then shook his head. According to his scrying, the man was protected from view directly. The only good news was that the crazed pyromancer had scorched the last 5 floors to ashe of all its inhabitants. Insect or prisoner alike. 3 men had been spared and the warden suspected the local lords had put undesirables in his cells without detailing their.. talents. 
The burning man was freeing his imprisoned mercenary brothers.

"They will come down to us eventually. Issue orders: Hawke, the Order of Ashes, and those miserable sellswords who trashed my office are to be killed on sight." 

A runner nearby left to spread the word to the other soldiers in charge of their respective units along the barricade. 
From the staircase entrywaya the smell of rotting death grew stronger with the sound of footsteps. 
Buzzing of wings accompanied the smell. 

[hr]

Despair filled the heart of every Falcon member as the group, superiorly armed and armored strangers, descended upon the Mercenary company like a butcher to the chopping block. Hawke and the blood obsessed Macy tore through those in front of them with devastating ease as the Falcons leadership crumbled. The mages, retaining very little magical essence, became just another corpse among the masses around them. 
Kriss was less brutal in their violent approach but no less effective as the few remaining death row inmates struggled to deal damage of any kind. Unarmored, unorganized, they fell like the rest had on their bloody path from the wardens office.

Scar had the perfect seat to watch the twins work. Following him was wisest of them and both knew it, and so bent their best efforts to making the way clear. Unarmed and unarmored they were only good for hiding and watching but armed with something as simple as a throwing knife it was another story entirely.
Both twins slashed open their palm with their respective blade and whispered their spells of binding, the unblemished steel took on a pitch black stain flowing along its length. A flick of their wrist and two of the last falconers, one of them the last mage of their order, gurgled their last breathe with the knifes lodged in their throats. 
The twins were like smoke as they faded forward in a rush, quickly pulling the bloody weapons out of their targets. fingers wagged in the intricate code of their Assassin language before simultaneously pointing to Scar with a confirming nod. The twins returned to stand just behind him as a proper shadow should. It was clear from the way they deferred to him that he was, for the time being, their master. 

With the last of the Falcons' blood gracing the floor, now little more than a lake of red beneath their feet as over a dozen corpses lay sprawled across the stones, the way forward was clear. With Wilhelms key the group was quickly through the unbarricaded side door and down the stairs until yet another set of metal bars blocked their progress ever downward. What was peculiar was the lack of noise.
The only thing they could hear was the low crackle of a fire, smell cooked flesh, and taste smoke on the air. 

Opening the side door to their current prison floor, the group was confronted with a bizarre sight. Every cell in the large circular room was scorched black with plumes of smoke drifting lazily to the ceiling. The half-burned corpses of the insect menace littered the floor at the feet of a single [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/83/f1/3e/83f13eb8a6154bdc7ae383ed200461ae.jpg]figure[/url] dominating the room brandishing a longsword, its edges burned an angry white that hissed as the blood coating it was burned away. The knight was tall, well over 6 feet and wide of shoulder. Their clothing was in disrepair and showed signs of catching fire at the fringes. 
The door opening forced the knight to glance up, their chest heaving with every laboring breath but they readied their blade defensively.

Their voice boomed from their helmet, "Soldiers under the tyrants banner will burn. Speak your allegiances and spare me the lies." It was a deep and commanding, spoken as one with supreme confidence in their position of power.